Quarantined - Cleveland vs. Guacamole

I can’t help but feel a bit morose with the light green walls of my room taunting me, their cheerful state a mockery of the solitude that my mother and the neighbors forced on me.

Another beer commercial chokes the television, the girl on-screen in tight faded jeans with one of those wrap around snug tops that can fold into any style. The Official Game Day Drink, the girl says, before ripping it back as if she does this everyday.

Because everyone who drinks all day looks like that. Then I stop and think. Maybe she does. For all I know this girl has one of those quick-burning metabolisms they try to convince us is possible on the screen.

Thumbs up to you, skinny beer girl.

I wrestle the sheets from my overheated body. My bed has a person-sized imprint in it, courtesy of the past couple of hours. I raise my obligatory team shirt from my stomach and start fanning my skin. Thanks to our heater, you would never know it’s winter.

The disjointed whirring of the fan plays above my head. It’s lost the juice for anything faster than carousel speeds, and the small pass of cool air has only become a tease. For a moment, as I focus in on the rhythmic chukk chukk chukk, I feel oddly disconnected from this reality.

And first and goal! The announcer blares on feverishly. My attention returns to the TV.

I give a clap because that’s just what happens when your team is close to scoring. The room would feel empty without. I have to wonder if my single clap was worse though. It definitely sounded like it was trying too hard.

I keep my eyes glued to the screen, because at least there will be some forward motion at this point. Something quantifiable I can count on. A recognition that I watched the important bits.

TOUCHDOWN, KAREEM HIDE!

I decide to simply wink at the screen for this. I can’t help but feel my awkward solo cheering should be kept internal.

“And there’s the kick,” I speak along with the announcer. And it’s in. Cody Parlock.

The beer girl returns to the screen. I wonder if I should invest in a top like that. Well, congratulations, Stud Lite advertisers, you’ve convinced me to shop for something.

Except I think I’ll get it in gray, instead of her fuchsia.

I reach onto my nightstand for the bowl of guac that my sister left for me before she and the others traipsed to the neighbors’ matching house across the street. She had also left me an unopened bag of tortilla chips.

It’s the simple things that let someone know they’re loved.

But my chip comes back empty when I go to scoop. I look at the bowl in dismay and use the chip fragment to scrape out the remnants of the dip. It seems I had gormandized all of the ambrosia-like substance already.

A frown tips my lips. I want more.

And we haven’t even gotten to the end of the third quarter and the neighborhood chant.

I pat the side of the bowl, and, with deep regret, place it back on its tray on the nightstand. I fit it right next to the tiny vase with its tiny yellow flower. Because, for whatever reason, my mother thought it would be a nice touch to my tray of chips and guac. She pays attention to details like that.

I stare at the flower for a counted minute, its yellow petals showing off in my green bedroom with its broken fan and rumpled sheets.

I absentmindedly lick the remaining salt from my lips when I see a car commercial. The 2021 Beep Angler!

We’ve eaten my sister’s guac for every game this season. But I guess last week, Mr. Langford somehow came into possession of Poblano Mexican Grill’s famous guacamole recipe. His smug superiority about the matter caused him to lobby hard to change our game day guac. If I’m not mistaken, he pleaded his case in a neighborhood-wide email blast a few days ago.

Didn’t gel with the masses. We’ve had a winning season with our go-to guac.

I wasn’t entirely listening to the story, though. I was scolding my fan at the time in preparation for today.

I hear a ringing from my phone.

I quickly scramble for my Cleveland hat that I wore last week and move to the window before answering the video call, while also looking out at the garage across the street.

And there’s the crew. Mrs. Johnson with her little dog dressed in his gear, and Mr. Taylor with his arms around her and wearing the sweatshirt that he hasn’t washed since the start of the season. Tammy and Alice are doing their pre-4th quarter shots. My brother sits in his chair while everyone else stands, as he sat last week and we won, so he can’t change his seat now. Still a better position than I’m in, sitting up here in my room all by myself.

I just had to watch last week’s winning game by myself. Now I’m sentenced here.

Therefore, my brother is the one who calls and shows me everyone doing the 1,2,3 chant that apparently won us our first game. I watch the exhibit, noting where my place between Alice and Mr. Frank once was, up until last week.

I liked to throw myself into the song and dance, simply because hey, why not? I always imagined what the scene would look like to an invisible audience.

Now I am that invisible audience, and I must say, Mr. Taylor holds the line much better than I believed. I wonder if he was a drill sergeant in a past life.

“I’m out of the dip,” I tell my brother. My eyes stray toward my empty bowl. Yep, that’s become my main concern again.

“Sorry, sis, you’ll have to go without. It’s the last quarter, nobody can leave yet!” he shouts before hanging up.

I sigh. Rude.

I watch the beginning of the 4th and notice that we’re up. Of course, I can't do anything to jeopardize the win.

What a tackle by Meters Garrett! You can see where he crosses behind number 43 and there’s no getting around that.

I fist pump. I decide that to be a suitable compromise. Yes, that will be my positive reaction from now on.

The game progresses and I look once more at my empty guac bowl. I don’t know what all is in it, but I kind of like it that way. I prefer to think of it as made of magic. That’s what it tastes like. Mmmm.

I glance at the door, a thought swirling. It’s a bad thought, though. My eyes dart back to the screen. We are still in the lead. What really are the chances that we’ll lose now?

And first down at the 40 yard line. A five yard run by Nick Slim.

Good, we have the ball back.

I think I’m going to go for it. If Beer Girl can drink all day and still look like a twig, then I can brave the masses for an extra helping of the guac. Be fearless. Be in your element. Be like Beer Girl.

I step onto the carpet, my first step toward freedom. I slide my shoes on and pick up my bowl.

I grip it tightly. Can’t be dropping it now.

I slowly slide out of my door and down the steps, my heart beginning to pound.

I question if the risk is worth it, and then I look once more into my empty bowl.

Right. Time for the last play of the game. The one for all the glory.

The floorboards squeak beneath my feet as I make my way to the front door and gear up. Hat. Gloves. Spoon.

I’m ready.

I hurry outside and across the street, ducking to the side of the house before anyone can notice me through the windows. I crouch as I will my heart rate to slow. The air bites at my face and it feels like it’s cleansing me of the stale green monotony of my bedroom.

This next maneuver is going to be tricky, so I must execute it with caution. The dip is sitting right next to the garage door, behind the row of chairs facing the television. Nobody will see me as long as I’m quiet.

I psyche myself up and then step silently through the ajar door.

Success! They haven’t eaten all of it yet. Hmm, how could they have not?

I’m scooping the guac into my bowl, ignoring the tiny sliver of doubt that skates through me. I’m just getting ready to step back outside when a cacophony of shouts, jeers, and inhalations of breath freeze me.

AND IT’S BEEN INTERCEPTED! THE PASS TO OMAC BECKHAM JR. HAS BEEN CAUGHT BY NUMBER 27 AND TURNED AROUND FOR A TOUCHDOWN.

And with only 30 seconds left in the game, it looks like this was the winning touchdown. Chef Mayfield will likely try to come back strong from this in next week’s game against the Ravens.

My eyes bug out as I look at the giant screen and see our guys rushing after the other team’s player.

Crap! Just my luck. Perhaps I should avoid sidewalk cracks, too. I clutch my bowl to my chest.

Looks like I’ll be back in my green painted room next week, staring at my little yellow flower and talking to Beer Girl.

Except this time it’ll be with a larger bowl of guac.

The Guacamole

This recipe will guac your world! Just make sure you prepare and give enough to everyone...

My sister’s guacamole recipe has been a staple in my family on game days, and whenever I find her with these ingredients in the kitchen, a sense of familiar familial connection fills the house. The traditions and superstitions extend from my family to the neighborhood, making not only the game days community affairs, but establishing the guac as a community must-have, as well.

Ingredients:

6 Haas avocados, scooped and pitted

2 limes, juiced

2 tablespoons of water

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 teaspoon kosher salt

½ teaspoon cracked pepper

1 teaspoon ground cumin

1 jalapeno pepper, seeded and minced

6 tablespoon chopped cilantro

4 tablespoon red onion, chopped

Pomegranate arils

Cayenne pepper (optional)

*Pro tip - avocado ripeness - make sure your avocados are softer than a football, but not so soft that you deflate it with your grip

Directions:

Place the scooped avocado, lime juice, water, and garlic into a blender, bowl, or molcajete. Blend or mash until the desired texture is reached. Mix dry ingredients in a small bowl and while stirring, sprinkle the spices into the dip. Then fold in the jalapeno, red onion, cilantro, and pomegranate arils. If using a blender, transfer the guac into a serving dish. Garnish the guacamole with more cilantro and pomegranate arils. Add a dash of cayenne pepper and a flourish of coarse salt if desired.

Serve immediately with tortilla chips, on toasted baguette slices, or with Don’s Champion Quesadillas (see the recipe in our other story - Superbowl Snackdown).

Co-authored by Emily Boes and Michelle S. Park Kołacz