A crowd of us decided to take advantage of a beautiful, crisp autumn day and take a ride up to the hills of Ellijay, home of the Ellijay Apple Festival.
Well, it was crisp in the morning, anyway. By the time the sun was over the yardarm, it had warmed up into what seemed to be the low 80’s. Hardly crisp – but still, with cloudless, deep blue skies and low humidity, it was the perfect day for our Festive Activities.
Joining She Who Must Be Obeyed and I were Dr. T and his wife Shelly, and Gary and JoAnn F., all friends of long standing. Dr. T, Gary, and I are The Original White Hat Posse, and the ladies put up with us as best they can.
The White Hat Posse: Dr. T, Gary, and Elisson.
First stop was at a local Intercontinental House of Flatcakes, where we encountered a Most Unusual Waiter.
The usual waitstaff in places like the Intercontinental House of Flatcakes consists of middle-aged women, with the occasional Fresh-Faced Teenager. But here, we had Tosh, a middle-aged Japanese gentleman of modest stature, moderate girth, and Outsize Personality. I mean, this guy was off the fucking hook. And I could relate, for Tosh was the kind of guy who can Do the Voices.
The man was manic, by which I mean to say his Nutjob Knob had been turned all the way to 11 – and then broken off in the socket. He took our orders in a nutty, Japan-meets-Jerry Lewis kind of frenzy, every so often shifting his voice into a higher register, as though he had inhaled helium. And he would punctuate all this with a Woody Woodpecker cackle that was astonishingly authentic.
It takes a lot to nonplus Elisson…but I was nonplussed.
After breakfast (we made sure to lob Tosh a hefty tip – he was a scream!), we caravanned up to Ellijay in two cars – men in one car, ladies in the other, the better to allow the Girlz to talk about whatever fluffy crap they talk about (probably our dicks) and for us to talk about the Manly Crap we talk about (sports, Humorous Radio Shows, frints ’n’ burgoolies). The time passed quickly and we got to Ellijay well before mid-day.
The Apple Festival, from a distance, resembled a Post-Katrina Tent City, but once inside, it revealed itself for what it really was: a Nawthen Jawja
They had clogging. Not the kind I’m so good at, but the kind that involves people tromping around on a wooden stage in Clonky Shoes. Sorta like Deliverance meets Riverdance. Impressive.
Milk, milk, lemonade. Around the corner, fudge is
They had Festive Food. Hell, they had everything. Turkey legs. Corn dogs. Dog legs. Corn of the cob, sans dog. Fudge. Ice cream. Hot chocolate (which I’m sure was a big seller in the 80+ degree heat). Freshly-squeezed lemonade and cherry limeade. And Fried Shit of every description. Everything tastes better fried – including this Fine Train-Wreck of a Lunch Platter:
Everything tastes better fried. Even this...whatever the hell it is.
An hour or two of tramping around the Applefest in the
The hamburgers were pretty good, all things considered, although requesting a specific degree of doneness was – so the waiter informed us – a Big Honking Waste of Time. You get what you get is apparently the philosophy of the house. Since what we got was good, no worries.
Then we made the mistake of ordering up a slice of Chocolate Meringue Pie (which the waitress insisted on calling “Chocolate Cream Pie”) after seeing the immense portions the patrons at the adjacent table were shoveling down.
It was dense. It was rich. It was Completely Fucking Flavorless. I mean, no taste of chocolate whatsoever. I guess we all had been hoping for something more along the lines of a Greenwood’s Classic…but, alas.
Thus fortified, we headed home. After a break of an hour or so, we all reconvened at Dr. and Shelly T’s home, there to soak in their heated pool and share a light supper.
All in all, a very enjoyable day. Good weather...good friends...and we even managed to score a couple of pecks of good apples!
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