Herban Sprawl

That’s how Jacqueline Onassis described her son and his friends when they were teenagers. To that I would add smelly, generally lazy, dense and somewhat volatile – kind of like dropping wet cauliflower into a hot wok.

I’m a huge fan of Zits, the cartoon about Connie and Walt’s son, Jeremy, and his friends. I laugh out loud because it zeros in on the essence of the teenager in general, which is, in fact, too funny for words.

Lately Jeremy has been in deep trouble because in the middle of the night, armed with only his learner’s permit, he took Walt’s car and drove by a new girl’s house something like 65 times. He was picked up by the cops and Walt was given grief about not knowing where his kid was.

To be sure, Jeremy is a plugged in tuned out kid with busy thumbs, but he also carries an awesome academic load - and none of his friends do anything seriously bad. Hector is the voice of reason; the strip’s everyman. Pierce is the free spirit. Sarah functioned as the counterpoint to Jeremy, and then there were RichandAmy. Along the way, Hector picked up a girlfriend and now there is a new love interest for Jeremy: an over-achieving hyperactive girl named Viral. Just the name sent me over the edge!

So, for Jeremy to tell his mother he didn’t know what had gotten into him, that it was a romantic impulse, melted her heart and mine. When he wailed to his father that it wasn’t fair for God to give hormones to teenagers, I howled. His mom did what boomers do. She pulled out a text in an effort to understand. Rationally she could dismiss his actions. Then her emotions as a mom kicked in and now she wants to brain him.

Best Guy Friend has a teen-aged boy, and as he put it, been there, done that and have the insurance premiums to show for it. He understands the basic method of escalating the discussion to get his son’s attention. But just as Jeremy is, deep down, a sweet kid who gets lost in the moment, so is BGF’s son.

BGF’s sweetie got hit with a massive gall bladder attack after our Big Dinner. She landed in the hospital with her pancreas in serious ‘bloatation’. She was in utter agony.

I was feeling guilty for providing the meal that likely triggered the gallstones’ desire to get the heck out of Dodge, but I waited a bit for the doctors to do some pre-surgical magic before going to visit. And who came to see her while I was there? A pair of big, hairy galoots - BGF’s son and one of his buddies.

I was reminded of Jeremy – the sweet side that is still a kid. They were dressed like punks, but their grammar was good, their manners were stellar and they came to see Dad’s sweetie! So, yeah, the insurance premiums are scary, and yeah, the grades could be better, but deep down there is a good heart – one that cares a lot about the adults who populate his life and will show it by making a voluntary visit to the hospital. I call that a glass half full.

Shanna Flowers did it again. She pointed out the obvious: the Star City’s school board needs to quit shilly-shallying and redraw the attendance zones. But before they actually do that, I want to throw in a little food for thought. Just because the consultants say they should is no reason to run off and do it.

My reason for putting a little doubting Thomas into the acceptance of the report has to do with one section with which I was intimately familiar: reading.  According to their parting shot from last year, the elementary reading coordinator position needed to be eliminated because, according to them, there was no unified reading program for the division. Well, there had been, which is why that person had that job. What happened between the time Rita Bishop went to Pennsylvania and the time she returned, is that an individual collected a salary for administering a program that ceased to exist in Dr. Bishop absence. Well, she’s back now and she’s reorganizing things. So much for the consultants’ recommendation-

Some of the schools are overloaded; others are underused. It could be that at least one building isn’t worth saving. It could be that more than one should go the way of Victory Stadium. But before they call Cleveland Wrecking, the school board needs to really parse this out, and better they take time to do it thoughtfully than jump the gun. Once those buildings are abandoned, they would be very difficult to bring back.

Additionally, as Ms. Flowers pointed out, they can forget doing it without controversy. Somebody is going to cry foul no matter what they do. The one thing they should bear in mind is that they need to ignore City Council’s poor example of backroom decision-making and do it out in the open.

Carolyn Hax got on her soap box about our lives of “too much” and she really nailed the issue of what we do to ourselves all in the name of leading admirable lives. I pondered what she wrote and concluded she had distilled many of my own thoughts better than I could ever hope to.

I remember a time when I wasn’t really connected to the community in any meaningful manner. I led a rather introverted life, going out only when the spirit really moved me. I was a single person at the time, had ended a, for me, long-term relationship, and was reveling in the freedom of doing what I wanted when I wanted. And that included having popcorn for dinner, if that’s what I felt like eating.

My home was a two story townhouse of which one bedroom was completely given over to junk that I couldn’t keep under control, and another where I had my books, desk and television. When I bought a chaise longue for $2 at an auction, my den was complete! I could keep the public area of my home clear of clutter and clean it up in a matter of minutes if I needed to. The mess was out of sight and behind a closed door.

My family received a lot of beautiful hand-made gifts created by my nimble fingers while I watched Masterpiece Theatre, Dallas and Falcon’s Crest. I read a lot of very fat books on far ranging topics. Sometimes I was a little lonely, but I had a very prissy cat who ran the household with an iron paw and things really did not get out of hand.

I cannot pinpoint when things changed, but I know there was a time when my calendar book showed very few things in it, and was a 2 x 3 red leather thing with blue pages, made in England, that fit in my purse. Nowadays, my calendar book is a 5 x 7 spiral bound thing that seems to be the only way I can keep it together around here. If I don’t write it down, it won’t get done. And there is a lot to do.

Hax pointed out, without saying it in these exact words, that we are hung up on a kind of perfectionism because we are competing to show the world how well we live. I’m not sure that’s what the deal is in my household, but I do know that even as a “retired” person, I am juggling a lot of things, and trying to do all of them well. Throw children into the mix and there is a certain recipe for complete exhaustion and circuit overload. It makes me glad we stuck with cats.

Maybe the trick is to learn how to use the words, “I’d love to but I have too many other obligations right now.” Unfortunately, what they say is true. If you want something done, get a busy person! Bette Davis said, “If you want a thing done right, get a couple of old broads.”

The editorial staff of the Roanoke Times printed an excellent piece on why the commonwealth needs to get out of the liquor business. I have been saying this ever since I moved here, but as my Best Guy Friend patiently explained to me lo those many years ago, Virginia is being dragged kicking and screaming into the 19^th century.

Having state run liquor stores is no hindrance to our moonshine industry. Franklin County is still the moonshine capital of the world. That will never change. But by getting out of the retail liquor business, the state could save all those salaries, health insurance costs and retirement plan contributions. Also gone would be the rent and utilities for the stores and all the attendant costs of running a chain retail operation.

What we could have are liquor distributorships that pay lots more in business taxes, competition in the marketplace, and the alcohol taxes to fund our transportation needs. The money the state could reap from the licenses and such like would be absolutely wonderful for the bottom line. It just doesn’t make sense for the state to keep monkeying around with liquor sales. If they turned it over to private concerns, there would be parity in the ability to buy liquor on Sunday with no blue law action required. But, until the House of Delegates gets to be anything close to resembling moderate, we can expect the same old same old.

Only those of us who have experienced gin wars “get” this. Back in the day, I never paid more than around $15 for a half gallon of Tanquerey. All I had to do was watch the Thursday grocery inserts and there would be the markdowns from Walgreens, Osco, Jewel and Dominick’s. If one lowered the price on gin, the others followed suit and they’d keep lowering the price until the lost leader special paid off. When I moved here, that same bottle was about $30 in the ABC store.

I’d been here about two years when I was making my annual trek back to the flatlands and asked everyone what they needed from the liquor store. I got a lot of blank stares. I explained. Maffa allowed as how she could use some gin, and someone else expressed dubious interest in some vodka. I could tell they still didn’t really see what the fuss was all about.

When I got to Illinois, there was a vodka war in progress, so I checked that off the list, PDQ. $12 for a half gallon of I forget what brand. When the Thursday paper came out, gin and Canadian were on special. I waited a day or so and the unadvertised specials popped up as the competitors scrambled to undercut each other. I got a half gallon of Tanq for $17. Returning to the hills, I duly made the booze deliveries and collected money. Maffa’s jaw dropped when I said she only owed me $17. That included all the taxes, too.

Interestingly, Chicago has added liquor tariffs on top of those levied by the state. They can do that in Illinois. My hometown area is a bit cheaper, so that’s where I have shopped over the last few years. No matter which way you slice it, if you check around, you can always do better. And if there aren’t that many bargains, I hit the stores in Kentucky on the way home!

Now here’s the rub. The people in Nawthn Vuhginya already have the luxury of shopping around for bargains and picking up a bottle of tequila on a Sunday. They can cross the border and shop. The rest of the state, in the meantime, gets short shrift. This is a no brainer, but the House of Delegates, with its notorious lack of common sense, has no chance to pick up extra revenue on the backs of those who like to “crack a little ice” at 5:00. They are just so backward, bless their hearts.

Oh my. I am wiped out, and so are the diners at the 2008 Mardi Gras dinner party. We were pretty restrained - only did in about 5 bottles of wine, altogether. For 8 people I’d call that downright conservative!

For those of you wondering what all the fuss was about, here’s the menu:

Goat cheese, chive and lemon turnovers with Giada’s sgroppino cocktail

Oysters Roffignac

Creole Chicken Okra Gumbo

Red Snapper en Papillote

Roasted Haricots Verts with Garlic and Shallots

Frisee and Belgian Endive Salad with Blood Oranges

Chocolate Bourbon Parfaits

Coffee with Chicory

I was amused to discover that one of the diners (new to eating here) was amazed that I had made the turnovers from scratch - teeheehee. Best guy friend assured him this was the case. There is something about dear ones who “get” us that really makes a person feel good.

Anyway, our newcomer ate and he ate. I love to cook for people who really and truly will eat! He’s on my A list!!!
Maffa gave my intrepid realtor the tour of my toy closet - I think he’s still scratching his head over the amount of stuff I have jammed in there. Hey. A girl’s got to have her toys, and a girl who cooks needs stuff to put food on! But, I think he has a really clear understanding of why I want a big dining area. Considering the amount of listings we’ve gone to tour, I think I owed him big time! And, he has strudel dough stretching experience, so guess what we’re going to be doing soon?

He’s another good eater - A List!
We roared through some preliminary dishwashing and now are hanging out, getting ourselves worn out enough to fall asleep. Middle age is a funny thing. Some of us just hit the pillow and crash. Others of us need to be the right amount of tired or it won’t happen, which can be frustrating.

Here’s what I learned, though. The papillote recipe is a little better with a thinner fish fillet. By the time you pile on the shrimp and crab and sauce, it makes a pretty fat package. The other thing I learned was that parchment paper that has been coated with silicone is aces for lining a baking sheet. It’s miserable to fold and crease in order to create a little paper balloon. So, uncoated parchment is best in this instance.

The other thing I learned is that when roux is clumpy, you can follow Keith’s advice and bring it to a full rolling boil and let it rip for a while. That will allow the fat/flour combination to incorporate itself. The gumbo will thicken nicely. I didn’t bother with rice because we had so many other dishes, but the recipe would be better with it.

Now, the eyelids are slamming shut, the back is asking for the TempurPedic, and the cats are suggesting it’s time to turn off the lights and settle in for the night. Sleep tight!

The prep cooking is going swimmingly. I had one hitch in my giddyap that had to do with the roux.  In Creole cooking there is a saying, “First you make a roux.” I needed one that was the color of a walnut table. Emeril’s recipe said 30 minutes. It was more like two hours! But it was a beautiful shade of walnut brown and I was mighty proud that I hadn’t cremated it.
Today I made something I’d never made before (all this is still a deep dark secret because I don’t want the guests to run and hide before the whole thing gets off the ground!), but before it sees the light of day, I’m going to sample it. The House Goddess had to give me encouragement on that, and she was, as usual, correct.

Scottie and Keith rang to tell me the fish was ready, so I zipped off to the store, picking up a couple of bottles of prosecco (predinner cocktails) on the way. Keith gave me advice on my roux issues, so I know I can resolve that with no trouble. then he helped me choose the best of the lot in the vegetables. As he pointed out, once they start cooking, they look different anyway, and given the recipe, I have no idea why I needed them to be cosmetically perfect.

Scottie, as it happens, used to work for my previous fishmonger, Capt’n Paul, who, sadly enough, went out of bidness. (That’s the Southern pronunciation, dontcha know.) We have a lot of funny Paul stories that make us laugh. He got me some really fine fish for this dinner. Keith is a chef, so when I want to know which cut for what purpose, I get great advice, and  lot of good suggestions. I hope the manager at the Fresh Market knows how lucky she is to have them.
Meanwhile, the sauces are either made, or just about made (one is on the stove, simmering). The dessert is in the freezer and as soon as The House Goddess lets me back into the kitchen, I’m going to knock off a couple of other little details.

No sign of Maffa and it’s late afternoon. I knew she wouldn’t get here by lunch, but hopefully she’ll be here for dinner. The House Goddess said she’s like a friend of hers who can’t get out the door, either. We added a leaf to the table, arranged chairs and she did her picky, picky thing. (The House Goddess has her ideas about things and there is no sense in asking her to do a lick and a promise because it doesn’t work that way!)

I cannot believe I’m on schedule with all this! I even finished the menu, which is a watercolor picture of a few members of our Krewe. And, I learned a little something with that, too. The invitation pictures were painted on Fabriano 140 lb. coldpress 5 x 9 block paper. The menu was on Strathmore 140 lb. coldpress block paper. There is no comparison between the two in terms of how they feel under a brush, nor how they take paint. I’m going to have to go for the Eye-talian from here on. (Like I wouldn’t anyway?)
As soon as I finish today’s last preparations, I can kick back with some carry-out from Chicken Rules and, provided she’s here by then, Maffa and I can decorate! It’s not a Mardi Gras party without all the proper cooterments! I’m thinking a little Al Hirt or Pete Fountain, a little wine, a little taste of the secret thing I made today… Oh, yeah, babe, as Emeril would say.

Yep. Les bon temps are gonna be roulering all over the place tomorrow evening!

Call it OCD, call it perfectionism, call it anal retention, call it whatever you like - the truth is when Big Kitty and I decide to invite people over for something a little bit out of the ordinary, the entire household is thrown into battle mode. In this case, it’s the annual Mardi Gras dinner party that we haven’t given in several years. However, we realized we missed doing it (we missed ME doing it is more like it!), so we cranked it up.

Days 6,5 and 4 were spent in behind the scenes cleaning and preparation. We’re talking polishing the silver, finding the best dessert bowls, digging out the “cooterments” and generally clearing out and clearing off surfaces that haven’t seen the light of day in far too long.

Case in point is a cute little tea cart. It used to serve as a t.v. stand, but then it became the catch-all for my paper accumulata. The only person better at accumulating paper is my long time best guy friend, but his excuse is that he’s a busy lawyer and single dad. Stuff just piles up. When he moved out of the building that had housed the family firm for a century or so, I went to help him pack. What I did was plunk a load of paper on his belly, hold open a trash bag and order him to cull.

I had to do the same for myself in my awfiss. For the building managers of the schools where I taught, it’s hard to believe that my awfiss is so named because it is so awful. For the lady who policed our offices in the Jefferson Center, it was an impossibility. When the staff was just down to Steven and me, and he was mostly out of town, I went at our workroom with a vengeance. The irony of my horrid awfiss at home was not lost on me.

But I needed that little cart for the event, so I fired up the shredder, emptied the recycle box and got a fresh trash bag. From there it was “Grandma Kate’s refrigerator.” This is family code for a bulging refrigerator, packed from front to back and top to bottom with no room for even a raisin. Not a box of raisins. A raisin. My sister and Cousin Mopstick can bear witness to this. My sister and I are prone to this, but she’s married to a clutter controller and I’m married to a clutter creator. Her case of GKR gets dealt with on a very regular basis. Mine has to have a disaster before I break down and deal with it. Well, either that or decide to throw a dinner party and need to make space. Or get word that BubbaChet is coming for a visit. Lordy, I would NOT want BubbaChet to see that kind of mess! No, no, no!

But with any of these enterprises, as others will likely attest, there also arise the inevitable “and then and then” projects. E.g. I needed space in my fridge, and then I had to make space in my big freezer for all the stuff I needed to remove from the refrigerator freezer. And then I couldn’t get to the big freezer because the store room had gotten out of control, so I had to clean that up. And then all that junk I removed from the kitchen drawers when I did a fall housecleaning got knocked over, so I had to find a box to park it in until I was sure it should go to the Goodwill. And then when I finally was able to open the big freezer, I realized it was way too full because of all the bags of minimuffins left over from an AAUW event, so I had to rearrange those. And then I could finally clean out the refrigerator freezer because there was room for the overflow. And then I saw that the dust bunnies had really multiplied and were making more dust bunny babies right before my very eyes, so I had to find the broom and sweep up. See what I mean?

Meanwhile, Maffa and I went over the menu and the choreography for serving this extravaganza. Maffa is just as OCD as I am, and she has exquisite taste, but an instinctive sense of how to merge tacky and elegant into something really nifty. She has been assigned the task of Head Stylist. We decided to deal with a centerpiece when she gets here and sees the Mardi Gras cooterments that have been gathered.

The House Goddess will come the day before for a last minute touch-up because she will die before she allows anyone into this house unless it’s been given her seal of approval. (Don’t ever argue with The House Goddess.)

So, today is Day 3 in the countdown and I need to clear the guestroom so Maffa has a place to lay her weary head, and go out for the first round of grocery shopping. Scottie and Keith at The Fresh Market are already excited about this. I placed my fish and seafood order last week, and they had plenty to say about what I am making.

Meanwhile, the guests have already been discussing the event over coffee. I really hope it lives up to their expectations! Keep them there prayers a-comin’!

Today marks the 35^th anniversary of Roe v Wade, that controversial law that allows today’s women to make a reproductive choice in private. Furthermore, it allows them to carry out that choice, legally.

Two articles ran in today’s paper that got my attention. One detailed the charitable funds that have been necessary to allow poor women to make use of this law and the other dealt with who really pays the price for a sexual encounter. To be fair, nothing in this world is simple, but it seems that there are a lot of young women out there who don’t understand how slowly their rights are being eroded. Every act of legislation that increases the difficulty of getting an abortion is a law that is really a punitive action toward women for having sex. What I’d like to know is, where are the punitive laws for the men and boys who provide the sperm that causes such shame to be dumped on women and girls? (And I do not mean this over-blown sex offender scare -)

A little history, people. Back in the day, there were two states that stepped to the plate and legalized abortion. I’ve always found it ironic that conservatives worship Ronald Reagan, when it was he who signed California’s law guaranteeing women the right to terminate pregnancies legally and safely in hospitals with doctors and nurses attending them. The other state was New York. If you lived in the Midwest, you had to pay a lot of money to get there, but it could be done. Likewise, in my hometown, women made illegal little trips to, of all places, Peoria.

I grew up in a time when a girlfriend’s sister got pregnant by a married man –the brother-in-law of another girlfriend, ironically enough. I didn’t know the details at the time because they were really, really careful about hiding this pox that had been visited upon their respective families. However, the girl was sent to a unwed mothers’ home in the Quad-Cities and that’s how her predicament was resolved. But the fact is, that poor girl was the one who paid the price. You might begin a diatribe against the idea of dallying with a married man, and I would agree it was dumb, but what the hell was he, the older of the two, doing fooling around with someone other than his wife? As my mother used to say, “It takes two to tango.”

In another situation, the young man stepped to the plate and paid for his girlfriend to fly to California to terminate a pregnancy. It wasn’t an easy decision for either of them, but with the help of a network of liberal ministers, they made the arrangements and the procedure was done. I applaud the kid for taking his share of the responsibility. Neither wanted their families to know so they, thanks to the Great Communicator, took steps to eliminate the problem.

The daughter of a friend was raped by a man not of her own ethnic background. Because they do not countenance abortion due to religious beliefs, the daughter had and kept the child. Every day she faces this reminder of having been forced to submit to a stranger, yet she loves her child with all her heart. She is a rare woman. I never could have done this. I would have wanted that thing, that reminder of my fear and the violence against me, out of me and obliterated!

In 1973 Richard Nixon signed a bill into law that would allow women to terminate pregnancies, but then in 1976, the 94^th Congress under Gerald Ford, and dominated by Democrats, voted to disallow Medicaid payments for abortions. The same year, and I find this a rather macabre irony, the Supreme Court reinstated the Death Penalty.

Abortion is legal, ladies, but only if you can pay for it yourself. If you don’t have the financial wherewithal to support a child, and therefore wish to not have a child, we won’t help you out. If you have the child, decide to keep it and want to work to support yourself and the child, we won’t help you out with childcare, either. So, the woman is still “in trouble.”

If I had a nickel for every girl I knew, back in the day, who “got in trouble,” I’d be very, very rich. But see, that’s the issue. It’s still the female who gets in trouble, not the male. And in cases of rape, it is the female who is violated and left with the reminder. And the lawmakers who control the purse strings are predominantly men. So the message is, “we will continue to pressure you for sex, we will even rape you, but if our sperm connects with your eggs, you’re on your own.” (Again, I am leaving this sex offender issue for another diatribe.) This is the kind of stuff that was happening back in the day and thirty-five years later, the story is the same.

I can still understand the angst women face in making the decision - and the sense of loss afterward, even though they were positive and would make the same decision again. I can also understand those who made the decision and felt no pangs of remorse afterward. My own biological Baby Ben never got around to ticking, and I have no regrets. I am a superb aunt and I was a loving teacher. As a mother-type I’m better off sticking with cats. Each of us is wired a little differently.

Even though she has renounced her decision, I still applaud Roe for standing up for her right to choose. It was a brave thing to do, and while she may resent the legacy, it stands as a landmark in the history of American women. If you don’t agree with abortion, fine, but stay the hell out of women’s sandboxes. You have no idea what you might find if you start digging into their private business.

Well, that’s over. The Giants are going to the Super Bowl. I have to say, right at the start, I do not like football. I watch football only because I happen to be in the same room with Big Kitty, and he loves football. I didn’t know this before we were married. He used to disappear on Sundays and again on Monday nights. I had no clue it was to go watch football with his friends. Beh!

Post-wedding, I found out the truth. I also found myself watching Magic Johnson, Kareem Abdul Jabar, James Worthy,Michael Cooper and Kurt Rambis. Who knew?

Anyway, Big Kitty would normally be rooting for the Giants, thanks to the UVa connection with our local boy, Tiki Barber, but this game was influenced more by his opinion that the Packers could beat New England. All of this is fine, but I don’t like the Packers because I’m from the Land of Lincoln, and have an allegiance to da Bears. So, I’m just hoping the Giants have what it takes, and good luck to them.

Meanwhile, it’s mighty cold in the Star City, as well. Certainly nothing like it was in Green Bay tonight, but anything in the 30s is noteworthy in these here parts. I stepped out only long enough to nab the newspaper from the porch. We are riding on the cusp of one of those patterns where we might get some activity from the Gulf - or not. It might just slide east of us instead.

To go with our wintry weather, there is the Jane Austen series on Masterpiece Theater. Winter and Jane Austen go well together. An ideal snow day for me when I was teaching was a pot of tea, my gently worn copy of Pride and Prejudice and a cat on my lap. The  cats, being such blatant opportunists, don’t care a fig for Jane Austen except for her ability to keep me in one spot, near the radiator or in front of the fireplace, and suitably padded with Gran Ruth’s wool quilt.

Today, however, was Day 6 in The Countdown to the Mardi Gras Dinner Party of 2008. No Jane Austen. I had other fish to fry.

The menu has been settled, the fish and seafood ordered, the game plan carefully thought through and written out, the tableware carefully selected, and the invitations ready to be mailed. (I made watercolors bearing the likeness of the Mysticke Krewe des Flamantes’ mascot and attached those to the invitation, so it’s just a little souvenir of the evening.) Today’s task was to polish the flatware. At Christmas I realized the tines needed attention - badly.

While I polished, I remembered lines from Florence King’s memoir, Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady, in which she described her granny and the maid polishing the silver. The house itself was filthy, but the silver gleamed. I can relate. If it weren’t for The House Goddess, I would be sticking to my kitchen floor, but my silver would be perfect!

Tomorrow is Day 5 in the countdown. Pray for me!

In response to your queries:

The Star City is thus named because in the 1940s the merchants’ association had a giant neon star erected atop a prominent mountain. It is tacky as all get out, but there is nothing better than flying in at night and being able to spot it. And, as much as I love visiting my hometown on the Illinois River, when I come back, seeing the star is when I know I’m home. One of these days, I’ll get a good picture of it and post it so everyone can see a for real neon star on a mountain in Virginia.

Now as to your BBQ question. We have a couple of pretty decent places hereabouts, but I’m still on the fence on this. You see, I was accustomed to, and loved, BBQ in the flatlands. In Chicago, there were a lot of good rib joints, where you got meaty ribs slathered in spicy, hot ketchup-consistency sauce. Yum!

I’ve had a lot of trouble learning to like the BBQ around here, and, horrors, I don’t really see the big deal made of North Carolina vinegar sauce. then this place opened up that makes Memphis BBQ. Well, Big Kitty, who also loves BBQ, and I dutifully trundled off to try it, but it was ICKY! The potato salad had a half dozen dreadful little lumps of something that sort of resembled potatoes swimming in a pool of goop. the BBQ had big hunks of fat and gristle, and was greasy. Or as they say in the Star City, greeeezy.
Ohhhhh, Gentle Reader, you have started me on the subject of food, and I LIVE TO EAT!!!! And now, I could really go for a big platter of ribs from Skokie!

Thanks for writing. One of these days I will describe for you the orgasmic pleasures of the Chicago Dog.