Holy fuck, I am seriously hungover. Of course that’s what happens when you drag your lazy ass off the couch to attend a friend’s birthday party on a weeknight. So what could have possessed me to do such a thing? Was it my affection for the birthday girl or the two hours of open bar featuring all of my favorite top shelf liquor, beer, and champagne? Fuck no, it’s all about the possibility for those delicious little hors d’oeuvres.

So today, while I’m burping up a delightful combination of Hendricks, Macallan, and Veuve at my desk, I’m still regretting that one last fried risotto ball I missed out on. Dear god those fuckers were tasty.

Any party can, and should, be judged by the quality of the hors d’oeuvres. Hell, I can still rank every Bar Mitzvah I ever attended on the quality of their (kosher) pigs in a blanket.

Today your task as commenters is to select the best and the brightest of delectable shrunken foodstuffs. With the first selection, I’ll be helping myself to a tray of mini latkes topped with crème fraîche and caviar. I am not joking in the least when I tell you that I could eat those little fuckers by the hundred, and if I have to prove it, I will do so happily.

The rules are the same as always, you draft one hors d’oeuvres at a time (no napkin stacking here, fatty) and wait at least ten picks before you select again.

Take it away, I’m going to reload on some mate to keep me from passing out on my keyboard.