that perfect hand…

In Ocean's 11, Danny said that "the house always wins. If you play long enough, never change the stakes, then the house takes you. Unless, when that perfect hand comes along, you bet big… and then, you take the house." Here's the hand I've been dealt, sometimes it's risky and sometimes it's safe, but all the time… it's perfect. It's mine.

props to my pops


My dad is a rockstar. I don’t know if you know him, but underneath his harrowing, intense stare and his fridge-like body type, one that you wouldn’t mess with, is a heart of both beauty and bravery… where he is willing to enter into the depths of the most difficult and grueling and challenging test in the history of all competitions. He’s a risk taker, resilient, flexible, committed, and an overall genuinely good sport. SO here’s the stage:

Dad (also goes by Jackie, Papa Gee-Joe, ‘the Hammer’, my bff, etc) is the most brutal critic of his most favourite Christmas treat of all time: peanut brittle. In fact, it’s quite possibly the only thing that I know of that my mom cannot make the best in his mind. For a lifetime, he has loved (as we all do) my Auntie Tanya’s brittle… so much in fact that Dad gets his very own massive tin of it for Christmas every year.


This year, in the snowy little oasis of Armena, AB, my dear reserved, gentle, wonderful sister Jes decided to get aggressive and make her own brittle to see how it would measure up against our biggest problem: Dad’s taste buds. Upon tasting it Dad felt that Jes’ set, although very airy, was a little overcooked.

Not to be discouraged, we decided that it was time for Dad to stop talking so much about peanut brittle like he’s a connoisseur of the stuff and prove, once and for all, that his aversion to anything but Tanya’s brittle was simply based on taste. Here in lies the challenge:

Christmas Day, Dad is blindfolded by one of Jayme’s new scandalously fashionable scarves (thanks Jayme). We lined up 5 types of peanut brittle in front of the challenger and in something slightly resembling Iron Chef, Dad, the food critic that he is, hunkered down to decide what was his favourite peanut brittle.

The choices were:

1. Carol Simpson (so Uncle Chuck’s ma)
2. Auntie Tanya
3. Jes
4. Store Bought

We didn’t have any of my Mom’s, thankfully. It was delicious, but that would’ve brought far too much bias. He picked Auntie Tanya’s in the end so at least he’s consistent. Oh well. Jes put up the good fight — he said her peanut brittle “floats” in his mouth… whatever that means.

Here’s some photos of the scariness than ensued:

'talking the talk'

the battleground

the warrior - preparing to fight - with his pallet cleanser of milk

assessing, critiquing, peanut-brittle snobbing

spectator - not into it


graciously losing

ok maybe a little into it

'alright champ, it goes like this..."

4 thoughts on “props to my pops

  1. lol…nice work! I love how you portrayed the peanut brittle ‘throwdown’. I am aiming to win next year:) haha. love ya.

  2. oh I miss you guys! I agree, your dad rocks!

  3. Haha, that’s awesome!!

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