Okay, maybe it took nearly 13 hours to get home from North Carolina yesterday – yay, holiday travel! – and possibly my back is still molded into the shape of a 2005 Honda Accord passenger seat. But I can’t call the day a bust, because we stopped at Allman’s in Fredericksburg, Virginia and had what was possibly the best barbeque ever, with the exception of that made by my own dear, sweet husband.*
*Actually, for me it was a tie. Don’t tell him.
Actual sign seen along Route 158 in Currituck County, North Carolina. One must ask: of what?
Quoth Brian: “That’s a bad sign.” Badabing!
My sister is like the poor woman’s Martha Stewart, except that every time you set a holiday table with unpressed linens, Martha pays a coolie to kill a Chow Chow.
We were going to be hosting Thanksgiving at our place this year, and believe me when I say that it would have been a Smackdown of epic proportions that would have taken weeks – nay, months – to properly write up. But then, unbeknownst to us, more people were invited than our apartment can comfortably (or even uncomfortably) hold, and my brain started mis-firing again. Ergo, we are in North Carolina where there are chefs and chefs-in-training bustling about the kitchen and I don’t have to do anything but take pictures and write and eat. And eat. And eat.
And I? Am not complaining.
T-minus one hour. There will be cooking. There will probably be some kind of Thanksgiving-in-July thing. There will be Foo Fighters, which makes total sense. We may finally figure out who Melissa is. Or, you know, not.
The last Frig? finally caused a breakdown with no one approaching the correct answer, which was (and this is verbatim, from the original photo caption): “Salmon with cilantro cream sauce (yuck).”