I'll Have the 'Heart Attack' to Go, Please.
*** continued from previous post ***
I swear, we sprinted to the long table of food faster than a pack of feral German Sheppards chasing a pair of late-spring Mormons.
Mom dove for the waffle maker, but not before saying with that same evil grin, "but what if we DO want waffles?"
Your Mother can be quite funny. This wasn't one of those times.
As for myself, I was in meat Nirvana. There were chafing dishes overflowing with ham, maple smoked ham, thick-sliced bacon, thin-sliced bacon, pepper bacon, sausage patties, sausage links, venison sausage, drifter sausage (WTF? Well that would explain the lack of hobos and transients in this neck of the woods.), scrapple (sausage mixed with cornmeal then fried - I KNOW! It made my knees go weak.), polish sausage, and finally turkey bacon.
Considering the meaty spread, I thought the turkey bacon an interloper and refused to give it any real estate on my plate. In the end it didn't matter. I promised myself that I wasn't going to go overboard, but wound up with a plateful of meat that would have gagged an emaciated hyena.
Mom had long since returned to our booth. With a cane in one hand, and the contents of a well stocked butcher shop carefully balanced in the other, I weaved my way through the stares and slack-jaws and took my place across from your Mother.
"So," she said, looking over my plate, "should I get the defibrillator, or do you think you'll be able to navigate to the hospital on your own?"
"Funny woman. Such a funny, funny woman." I looked at her plate. I suppose that there might be a waffle under there but it was hard to imagine through the strawberries and - I mean this in all sincerity - a Matterhorn sized pile of whipped cream. "Just sweets for you this morning babe?"
"Oh hush and eat your cardiac arrest," she grinned.
Nary a word passed between us for the next 15 minutes. I hadn't realized just HOW hungry we were. If anyone had tried to take our plates, they would have come away with a reduction of digits.
Ummm . . . phylanges. Those would have been delicious.
*** the journey continues tomorrow. Curses issued to those who comment ***
I swear, we sprinted to the long table of food faster than a pack of feral German Sheppards chasing a pair of late-spring Mormons.
Mom dove for the waffle maker, but not before saying with that same evil grin, "but what if we DO want waffles?"
Your Mother can be quite funny. This wasn't one of those times.
As for myself, I was in meat Nirvana. There were chafing dishes overflowing with ham, maple smoked ham, thick-sliced bacon, thin-sliced bacon, pepper bacon, sausage patties, sausage links, venison sausage, drifter sausage (WTF? Well that would explain the lack of hobos and transients in this neck of the woods.), scrapple (sausage mixed with cornmeal then fried - I KNOW! It made my knees go weak.), polish sausage, and finally turkey bacon.
Considering the meaty spread, I thought the turkey bacon an interloper and refused to give it any real estate on my plate. In the end it didn't matter. I promised myself that I wasn't going to go overboard, but wound up with a plateful of meat that would have gagged an emaciated hyena.
Mom had long since returned to our booth. With a cane in one hand, and the contents of a well stocked butcher shop carefully balanced in the other, I weaved my way through the stares and slack-jaws and took my place across from your Mother.
"So," she said, looking over my plate, "should I get the defibrillator, or do you think you'll be able to navigate to the hospital on your own?"
"Funny woman. Such a funny, funny woman." I looked at her plate. I suppose that there might be a waffle under there but it was hard to imagine through the strawberries and - I mean this in all sincerity - a Matterhorn sized pile of whipped cream. "Just sweets for you this morning babe?"
"Oh hush and eat your cardiac arrest," she grinned.
Nary a word passed between us for the next 15 minutes. I hadn't realized just HOW hungry we were. If anyone had tried to take our plates, they would have come away with a reduction of digits.
Ummm . . . phylanges. Those would have been delicious.
*** the journey continues tomorrow. Curses issued to those who comment ***
Labels: Bacon, hunger, meat, smoked meat
posted by David M at
8:56 AM
2 Comments:
...starve 'em long enough and anything tastes good. I've never had scrapple - but just thinking about having it with maple syrup drizzled over the top is making me drool.
Oh, it was. So many meats. So little time.
Thanks for posting JD. :)
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Keep it nice or I release the Zombies.
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