My Dad loved going out to eat, and one of his favorite places specialized in pancakes. It was a plain Jane joint with a page after page menu of pancakes, waffles and toppings sweet and savory to boot. You could order a short stack of fluffy buttermilk pancakes with the classic blob of whipped butter and the teeny tiny pitcher of syrup that always meant asking for more, or go with something more exotic like banana pancakes swimming in pineapple sauce.
A new grocer opened up in town a couple of months ago. It was a familiar stranger from a town where I previously lived. I visited often as it was close to where I worked. I tried to stop one day soon after they opened, but after unsuccessfully circling the parking lot, I left with the intention of returning after the hubbub had died down; that few days turned into several weeks; what a sad affair.
Last Friday I had a glorious few minutes to spare. I was in the area, this market no longer being the closest to me, so decided to stop. Parking and walking up to the entrance, I was immediately reminded of what I missed.
Yeah, me too, and that’s coming from a girl who doesn’t make meat a priority, much to the chagrin of a good part of her family. Maybe it can be contributed to the whole Oktoberfest season thing, but fat, juicy sausages in all shapes, sizes and flavors are what I’m craving. Continue reading
thyme, and everything else 