Last Wednesday, I headed up to Franklin, Tennessee with Danny, the younger son of my good buddy Irwin. Our mission: to move the Mistress of Sarcasm back to Atlanta, where she would be starting a new job Friday.
One of our first stops upon arriving in Franklin was Noshville, the local outpost of a small chain of delicatessen restaurants. I had been there before, as well as to the Nashville Noshville (try saying that three times, fast), and had been favorably impressed with the quality of their deli meats. The mere fact that deli meats are even available in central Tennessee still boggles my mind.
The Mistress started off with some matzoh-ball soup; Danny ordered a prosaic corned beef on rye. My order - a tongue, pastrami, and chopped liver sandwich on rye - actually made the waitress roll her eyes and make a face when she heard it. She was horrified. Scandalized. Revolted! (I think the chopped liver is what put her over the edge.)
I did not care. I ate my sandwich with gusto. I also ate it with a handful of delightful, crunchy-garlicky half-sour pickles. Mmmmm.
Afterwards, we went next door to Gigi’s Cupcakes. It’s not like we needed any cupcakes... not after the meal we had just snarfed down... but with certain foods, “desire” trumps “need” any day of the week. And the Mistress do love her cupcakes.
Gigi bears an armload or her Samoa cupcakes.
This place was out of control. Samoa cupcakes, based on the Girl Scout cookie of the same name, with caramel, chocolate, and toasted coconut. Malted milk cupcakes. Some concoction that involved peanut butter and bananas... and about a dozen others.
Gawd.
We bought half a dozen.
I am so, so ashamed. (No, I’m not. The Mistress devoured most of ’em.)
One of our first stops upon arriving in Franklin was Noshville, the local outpost of a small chain of delicatessen restaurants. I had been there before, as well as to the Nashville Noshville (try saying that three times, fast), and had been favorably impressed with the quality of their deli meats. The mere fact that deli meats are even available in central Tennessee still boggles my mind.
The Mistress started off with some matzoh-ball soup; Danny ordered a prosaic corned beef on rye. My order - a tongue, pastrami, and chopped liver sandwich on rye - actually made the waitress roll her eyes and make a face when she heard it. She was horrified. Scandalized. Revolted! (I think the chopped liver is what put her over the edge.)
I did not care. I ate my sandwich with gusto. I also ate it with a handful of delightful, crunchy-garlicky half-sour pickles. Mmmmm.
Afterwards, we went next door to Gigi’s Cupcakes. It’s not like we needed any cupcakes... not after the meal we had just snarfed down... but with certain foods, “desire” trumps “need” any day of the week. And the Mistress do love her cupcakes.
Gigi bears an armload or her Samoa cupcakes.
This place was out of control. Samoa cupcakes, based on the Girl Scout cookie of the same name, with caramel, chocolate, and toasted coconut. Malted milk cupcakes. Some concoction that involved peanut butter and bananas... and about a dozen others.
Gawd.
We bought half a dozen.
I am so, so ashamed. (No, I’m not. The Mistress devoured most of ’em.)
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