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" I guess it&amp;#039;s pretty late in the day to worry about seeming unmanly, but I really don&amp;#039;t like watching football live. Where I live, it&amp;#039;s cold; you can&amp;#039;t see the action from thirteen different angles and in slow-motion, like you can on TV; and of course, there&amp;#039;s the whole business about having to wear pants. But going to football games means you get to go to a tailgate, and the tailgate may be the summit of manly eating \u2014 and hence the perfect meal for this blog to celebrate. I&amp;#039;ve been to some great ones. Two years ago, I went to Chef Brad Thompson&amp;#039;s legendary tailgate at Giants Stadium, where the chef cooked duck-liver scrapple, house-ground pork roll, pepper pot soup, and hot pretzels, made from freshly kneaded dough, cooked in a tinfoil-lined shopping cart. There were also copious amounts of Esposito sausage, as I remember, and a lot of beer. (Beer is essential at a tailgate, as it keeps you from noticing that you are slowly freezing to death.) A couple of years before that, I helped consume an entire barbecued kid goat, ostentatiously served out of the back of my 1981 Buick Regal, where it lay on the kind of shower curtain that murderers line their trunks with. A couple of years before that, I was the only person to attempt tailgating a Grateful Dead show at Robert F. Kennedy Stadium in Philadelphia, using a propane-powered hotplate to serve grilled-cheese-and-spam sandwiches on sliced Pullman bread to filthy hippies for $5 apiece, and using the proceeds to buy psychedelic mushrooms and Chinese food. I have a lot of happy tailgate memories. Still, I&amp;#039;ve never been able to execute the ultimate one, which in my mind goes something like this: I have to have unlimited resources; it needs to be at the Super Bowl, obviously; and I need to have a lot of time in a commissary reminiscent of the Island of Dr. Moreau to get my meats ready. (It goes without saying that there won&amp;#039;t be any vegetables, other than tallow-fried tater tots \u2014 and they don&amp;#039;t really count.) First of all, I need to construct what I&amp;#039;m calling &amp;quot;The Porkupine,&amp;quot; a 30-pound piglet with burnished, lacquered skin spiked with sharpened spareribs across its length. Then I make &amp;quot;The Pignata&amp;quot;: another piglet hung on a stick, to be struck by various drunken revelers until it bursts open, scattering sausages and riblets everywhere. A heavy piece of weathered black iron formerly owned by Bronco Nagurski will be laid across two heavy cinderblocks and I&amp;#039;ll have an ancient grill man cooking onion-y little sliders all day; and I may invite a couple of world-class barbecuers \u2014 Adam Perry Lang and Myron Mixon, let&amp;#039;s say \u2014 to cook beef and lamb, respectively. (I know that Myron Mixon is known primarily for his whole-hog cookery, but I see another, more ovine side to him that hasn&amp;#039;t yet been tapped.) There will be big kegs of Old Milwaukee, for old time&amp;#039;s sake, and unpasteurized Norman cider for those who want something harder.  And a football game to go to afterwards, if anyone can move. MORE OZERSKY ON EAT LIKE A MAN: \u2022 America&amp;#039;s Pork Obsession \u2022 How to Cook Steak in a Fireplace \u2022 The Problem with Thanksgiving Turkey \u2022 Why Can&amp;#039;t Britain Make a Good Burger? \u2022 My Dry-Aged Beef Confession \u2022 Alton Brown, Man v. Food, and the Rise of TV Gluttony \u2022 The Most Overrated Burger in America \u2022 Inside Mario Batali&amp;#039;s Eataly "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.esquire.com/food-drink/a9289/best-tailgate-food-012111/>