It is, in my never humble and unsolicited opinion, the greatest week of the year. To hell with all the other “holidays,” to hell with March Madness, the Super Bowl, Wimbledon, The World Cup, and whatever other inferior stuff y’all are into. It’s Masters Week. Each day brings special events, commemorative merch, and limited edition releases, and – until Thursday – once a year inside the ropes access. Yesterday we saw some practice rounds, checked out where everyone would be staying, and caught a few outfit previews.
Masters Tuesday is the kickoff of the tournament events, as Tuesday night everyone with an official Augusta National Masters jacket will be treated to dinner, hosted by the previous year’s winner. This year had tons of promise. With all the rest that the PGA season offered us I had honestly forgotten Patrick Reed was the previous champion, so when I saw the menu I eagerly clicked it, hoping it’d either be something totally unhealthy and unpalatable to only the frattiest of husky Georgia boys, or, he’d stick to the legion of past champions, as he is so wont to do in pretty much every other aspect of life. He did neither. The menu sucks, to be quite honest.
“It’s going to be a very fun night.”@PReedGolf hosts tonight’s Champions Dinner, featuring a menu emphasizing specialties from his native Southeast Texas. #themasters https://t.co/n48IMX6sFs pic.twitter.com/rzah9ubQdL— Masters Tournament (@TheMasters) April 9, 2019
Besides golf, Patty Reed and I share another trait. We like to eat. I’m not calling the guy fat, but if his luggage got lost on the plane and he needed to borrow an outfit, he’s not asking DJ or Brooks. One would think then, that a guy from the South who, if he hadn’t stuck with golf would probably be selling manufactured homes and driving a 350 King Ranch, would pick a menu that reflects his waist size 36 roots. Salad as an appetizer? What the hell? Was the Twin Peaks outside Augusta not able to cater? Where are the dove poppers, Pat? I could almost forgive the salad if he hadn’t chosen such atrocious salads. I don’t know anyone who has willingly asked for a Caesar, and wedge salads should only be served at Easter brunches to grandmas who are having to consciously keep from letting a hard R loose.
I’ll give it to him on the wedge salad dressing choice though. There had to be at least one buttermilk based dish on this menu, and I bet that vinaigrette is served with diabetes test strips.