You totally did think I was going to say “goose.”

Also: I don’t want to hear any of your shit.

Yes, we are in coastal Carolina. Yes, there has been the eating of barbeque, there will be the eating of seafood and there has been much pizza. Yes, I should be stuffing my gullet with ‘cue and crab ’til the she-crabs come home. However: I am at the BEACH, goddammit. And just because I’m in North Carolina does not mean I am immune to the siren song of a chili dog and some really good frozen custard. Oh, and french fries. I love a damn french fry.

Hence exhibit A: Not ONLY are there chili dogs, not ONLY are there dubious “better” (Than?) burgers, there are “beach fries,” which may or may not be different and/or better than regular fries and the WORLDS [sic] BEST ICE CREAM. Yes, my friends, the World’s Best Ice Cream is right here in Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina.

The building looks kinda like a Dairy Queen, but with a steeple. Like there’s a god of soft-serve frozen custard and this is the sanctuary we have built him, 20 cubits wide by 40 cubits long by 15 cubits high.

I assume the master frozen custard recipe is kept in an ark inside the sanctuary, languidly guarded from the Nazis who would use it to further their own power play day and night by half-alert teenagers from Virginia spending their summer at the beach.

Yes, I am going to hell, but at least I had a really good chili dog first.

Exhibit B: Chili cheese dog. Note than some among us who are not myself eat this with a side of mustard. Interesting

I’m not sure how this was physically done, and I was THERE.

The chili dogs and french fries, while very good, were not exemplars of their breed. Really, they were just precursors to the milkshakes and were eaten so we wouldn’t feel like total gluttons who ate nothing but ice cream for lunch. (Although now that I reflect, FUCK THAT. I am on a motherfucking VACATION and I WILL eat ice cream for lunch if I so choose.)

Anyway:

The cup to the rear contains a chocolate malted that had so much malt powder that it verged near – nay, brazenly charged across – the line between “tasty” and “medicinal.” At least for me, because I don’t like malt. Brian, however, was in malt heaven. I’m pretty sure he wants to go back for another one this very second.

In front was my COCONUT CREAM PIE MILKSHAKE. And this is how I know that the recipes they guard must have come from the hand of a higher power because oh my fucking god did this kick ass. Thick and creamy, vanilla-y and coconuty, with toasted coconut all throughout…maybe we should go back right now.

Dang, y’alls.

Tomorrow: The Barbecue Cometh.