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No matter who wins the election today, you’ll need a little hooch to either jump start the celebration or provide a little solace. Considering the long hours of repetitive forecasting and multiple punditry, it’s best to go ahead and integrate serious drinking right at the beginning of your election night experience. And what better way than an election night drinking game.

Below, you’ll find links to a few complex contests of electoral imbibing, but I’d recommend those mostly for McCain supporters who’d rather devalue the experience into a mere tally of catchphrases and keywords. For anyone who actually wants to pay attention to the results, try out CL’s Election Night Drinking Game.

The rules are easy to follow, even for Palin supporters:
When your candidate wins a state — drink.
When your candidate loses a state — drink twice.

For electoral college wonks, just change “state” to “ten electoral votes”. That makes staying up for California extra fun.

How much you drink is up to you and your height/weight ratio. Plan for the long haul and consume accordingly. And remember, we can’t all be Wade Tatangelo.

It’s a simple game. The losers quickly fade into blissful oblivion, while the winners gain the happy glow of the truly satisfied.

If simple’s not your bag, check out these other options:

San Francisco Chronicle

The Modern Gal

The Gauntlet

Metromix South Florida

Sun-Sentinel

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The thrifty folks at dealnews.com provide this handy rundown on how to cash in by casting your ballot tomorrow. From morning java and doughnuts to a chicken sandwich and happy hour scoop of ice cream, it’s democracy in action.

No word on what gyms are offering similar deals for how to take those LBs off.

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So you’ve seen my article on bacon brittle and want to make the recipe, but for some reason (stove broke, power outage, stuck at work) all you have is a gas grill (with a burner). No problem, that’s all we have here at CL HQ, and I managed to make a double batch for the grateful — if skeptical — staff this morning. How? Just watch:

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You know Sex Pistols frontman John Lydon/Johnny Rotten. He faded away for a couple of decades, gracefully heading into obscurity in the late eighties and nineties with fame intact. Then, a few years ago, he came back. Maybe he was bored. Maybe he was broke. In any case, for a while at least, it seemed there was still some of that beautiful noxious anarchy left in the depleted 50-something.

In 2006 he starred in one of those B-list celebrity reality shows, but walked off the set before the final episode. While touring this summer with three other elderly Pistols vets, he was accused of racial abuse, allegedly punched a woman in the face because he didn’t like his hotel room and lamented that he had to perform to “polite schoolteachers.” Yeah, that’s about right.

But now Lydon has made his biggest anti-establishment statement since God Save The Queen. He’s starring in a television commercial for Britain’s Country Life Butter.

Sigh. My childhood has now been completely, irrevocably claimed by commerce.

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I like to check in with my friend Michael Ruhlman every week or so. And by friend, I mean a guy who writes books I read and admire. And by check in, I mean read his blog. It’s always full of great food info, but this past week he’s been breaking some great news, as well. Here’s the Ruhlman Rundown:

• Tony Bourdain’s yearbook photos (I can call him Tony because I am his friend, too).
• Alinea, The Cookbook — one of the most important and innovative chefs in the country (Chicago’s Grant Achatz) worked with his friends and partners to write, photograph, design and self-print a massive, obscenely beautiful cookbook. And it only costs $50. Take that, Ferran Adria.

In other news:

• Swedish typo poisons stupid home cooks
• National Geographic gets into food with a beautiful new interactive site full of maps, photos and cheese-o’-the-month clubs.
• French scientists use particle accelerators to authenticate vintage wines. I’ll take my 1914 Petrus with a side of mini-black hole, thanks.
• Fish to eat. Fish not to eat. Grouper is a no-no.
• The US government can — and does! — forbid producers from testing for Mad Cow.
• Forget about innovative and exciting food, why can’t Bay area restaurants have bathrooms like this?
• Ikea good for more than just cheap wood crap.
• Still want your food news and info from a newspaper? Too bad.

Thanks to Grub Street, SeriousEats, Grinder.

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This roundup’s been idling in the blog machine for days, and we still can’t fix the formatting, so here goes the [Stop] route. Our apologies. [Stop]

A day to defeat the video game, a lifetime to live down the shame. [Stop] Big ups to web traffic! [Stop] Jessica Simpson to stump for beer. A light beer. Substance-less, in fact. Yep, that sounds about right. [Stop] Winehouse back to rehab-Blake redux. Again. Once more. [Stop] Dave Matthews’ sax player LeRoi Moore, dead at 46. RIP. [Stop] Hasbro’s Clue circa ‘08: The butler did it, in the bathroom at Koi, with the knife seen in those scandalous pics with Lindsay Lohan. And don’t forget the super powers. [Stop] Not content to live la vida loca with one bambino, Ricky Martin does dos at once. [Stop] Forbes reveals the hip hoppers living largest. (Guess which money-monikered rapper?) [Stop] The New York Post has no love for our Cous Cous. That’s okay, we have plenty. [Stop] Bleep, meet the new bleeping bleep. Really bleeping funny, you bleeper. 

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First things first: Somebody’s getting it…

David Beckham, The Musical. Tee hee, they said “Goldenballs.”

Phelps’ pop culture domination begins/continues.

Kellogg’s trumps Wheaties for Phelps promo gold: Ahhh, snap!

Phelps’ backlash begins/continues.

“Fierce, flawless and fabulous” mommas-to-be: Christian Siriano to design for the preggers set. Next up, haute baby messes.

Just in time for the first week back: The economy cuts class.

(more…)

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Chapter 11 — Tough cookies for Mrs. Fields.

Julia Child, secret agent chef.

30 Seconds sued for 30 million for failing to deliver the “goods.” (Shouldn’t Jordan Catalano and co. get a bonus for NOT making “music”?)

Where were you when Phelps landed his eighth (and his seventh the night prior)?

That means none of us were at the movies, and the numbers prove it.

August anniversary, part 1: E.P.’s death.

August anniversary, part 2: Madge’s birth.

Trump’s latest role: McMahon’s landlord.

(more…)

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P. Hilton sued for shutting the flip up. Isn’t that a sign of the apocalypse? All of that?

P. Diddy should be sued for not shutting the flip up.

Aw, we heart you, comeback Britz: You can take the country out of the girl, but…

Elvis and Priscilla Barbie dolls. They’re right about the plastic Priscilla thing, just waaaaay early. (Now where’s our matching Graceland Barbie Dreamhouse?)

Uncle Joey finally talks about that song. You oughta know what we’re talking about.

The Chupacabra does exist, and this proves it. Really?

Bigfoot, too, though alive? Not so much.

Another broken record for Phelps, another broken ratings record for NBC.

“John Edwards in a onesie.” Gadzooks.

(more…)

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Comedian Dane Cook gives a blow-by-blow commentary on the poster for his new movie. Here’s the thing. He’s funny. Kind of.

The latest Olympic scandal: Lip synching kiddies!

This just in[visible]: Super awesome cloak coming soon.

Ben Stiller responds to Tropic Thunder controversy. Yeah, we’re still seeing it, too.

Forbes ranks the top-earning celeb chefs: Rachael Ray prevails, our beloved Bourdain barely placed with a paltry $1.5 million.

In other gourmet news, Tommy Boy Cruise lands his latest role. Speaking of Senor Crazypants™…

(more…)

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