Drunk Food: The Miracle


           If I’m being entirely honest, I had only first been introduced to the magic of drunk food this, my 3rd, year. I had always previously slunk home and clumsily made toast or cereal, or on a particularly satisfying night, both. I chugged back a bottle of water in a vain attempt to prevent the crippling morning hangover, and slipped into a spinning bed blissfully unaware of what I was missing.
           That is until 3 o’clock one semi-forgotten night when my stumbling friend declared she was in desperate need of poutine. Now, I know this makes me a bad Canadian, but I do not particularly enjoy poutine. But this night, this night was different. Never before had I understood the wonder of half melted globs of cheese thrown half-hazardly on a box of fries and suffocated with gravy. Somehow the dish I had unpatriotically described as disgusting had turned gourmet. What was this drunk trickery? I needed to test this out again.
    Since I was going out the next night as well, a rarity for this extremely broke student, I decided to try my hand at the free kind of drunk food: home made. Since the Buzzfeed: What Drunk Food Are You? quiz dutifully informed me that I am, in fact, grilled cheese, that is the route I took. The process was an interesting one, being that I was pretty damn drunk. The cold butter turned my bread Swiss and the amount of cheese piled in, on, and around my pathetic slices of burning bread was ungodly. I had created the kind of monster Frankenstein would run from. And yet, still, it tasted as though angels had descended from heaven simply to make me a grilled cheese sandwich. The effect of greasy food at drunk o’clock in the wee hours of morning was that of a miracle. Yet I still had one experiment.
    The next weekend, equally smashed on a mixture of Peach Schnapps and Ice Tea Flavoured alcoholic goodness, I tested my theory on pizza. There is no way anything on this or the next planet can make pizza taste better than it already does. The perfect mixture of soft and crunchy. The ideal amount of grease. And the mere fact that even the simplest pizza is still cheese melted on bread, and really, can you go wrong with that? My hopes for the drunk food miracle were low as I staggered into Little Caesars for their reasonably priced shitty yet still delicious pizza.
    To make a long story short: you haven’t really had pizza until you’ve had it drunk. The experience is intensified. The cheese is cheesier, the sauce more tomato-y, the crust crunchy and soft and perfect. Every slice, though I’m not sure it’s even possible, has those weird little delicious bubbly bits. There was something mythical about this pizza. I think I might have even briefly gazed upon the meaning of life.
    All in all, drunk food is a miracle that all should strive to experience.