12:04 PM |
A rodeo seems to be on the likely list, as does NASCAR. I love rodeos, absolutely adore them. I have never been to NASCAR and I'm pretty sure I'll hate it, but my imaginary boyfriend will probably find it a welcome relief from the plantations.
I also have two maps of the Southeast, one laminated (as my woody has no cup holders, I bet this one is the most valuable). And, I will be taking a cool picnic thing. I call it a thing, because it's not a basket, it's a suitcase. Lots of fake travel labels are on it. It looks cool; no wonder it was made for some movie or another. I bought it on Etsy. I did have to augment its pretty plates and sliverware, though. It has no wine glasses.
Hmmm. I do have a vintage sextant, the one my parents used before I was born. But that's going a bit far
The woody has no cigarette lighter. At least I don't think it does. Come to think of it, maybe it does. Does it work? I dunno.
GPS and XM need charging. Through a cigarette lighter (or I guess in the evening, unless I'm sleeping in the car). Video cam, MacBook, iPad, iPhone, iPod, not to mention my toothbrush and hairdryer, all need charging. I'll have to pack a power strip. I have an entire canvas bag full of cables, adapters, manuals and batteries.
I also don't have a radio. Or if I do, it's AM. If it works. XM runs through your car speakers. Thats a big negatory.
Now, all of this is sort of cheating, as I am planning to be not planned. However, a road trip just isn't a road trip without music. I don't want to be permanently missing in some swamp. And I really, really want to document this trip. Okay, I feel better about the electronics. Now for the wifi... let's not go there with lattes and Starbucks.
So here's what I did: I bought a "power pack." This thing can power stuff through regular plugs and a cigarette lighter port. It can jump start the car. It has a radio (for local stations, yeah!), a flashlight, and a compressor. I wonder how much it weighs. Since I have Amazon Prime, I'll know in two days.
GPS and XM need charging. Through a cigarette lighter (or I guess in the evening, unless I'm sleeping in the car). Video cam, MacBook, iPad, iPhone, iPod, not to mention my toothbrush and hairdryer, all need charging. I'll have to pack a power strip. I have an entire canvas bag full of cables, adapters, manuals and batteries.
I also don't have a radio. Or if I do, it's AM. If it works. XM runs through your car speakers. Thats a big negatory.
Now, all of this is sort of cheating, as I am planning to be not planned. However, a road trip just isn't a road trip without music. I don't want to be permanently missing in some swamp. And I really, really want to document this trip. Okay, I feel better about the electronics. Now for the wifi... let's not go there with lattes and Starbucks.
So here's what I did: I bought a "power pack." This thing can power stuff through regular plugs and a cigarette lighter port. It can jump start the car. It has a radio (for local stations, yeah!), a flashlight, and a compressor. I wonder how much it weighs. Since I have Amazon Prime, I'll know in two days.
My sister had a gay friend in high school. She had Tinkerbell tattooed on her shoulder blade. When my sister got married and we had to wear hideously large bridesmaids dresses, she tried to cover Tink with makeup. My mother told her to just let her fly.
When I look back at that moment, and also remember my mother was a no nuker when I was quite small (she also campaigned about cable TV, why should we pay for TV we already get free?), she seems so terrifically avant garde. She was always just mom to me, the lady in the Science Center group, and the mom who made Girl Scout punch, with the ice mold with maraschino cherries and orange slices floating in Hawaiian punch from the blue can, and ginger ale and sherbet. The punch was served from our punchbowl, of course, and we had glass punch cups, too. I was always afraid the handles would break off and I'd spill my drink during moving up day.
No nice people had tattoos at the time, so this girl was really wild. They didn't come out, either, so she was very brave. Most afternoons, we'd all lie by the pool to sun. She was a goddess, with skin so smooth and so tan, and her belly so flat. She always sunbathed nude. I'll remember that image forever, and often wonder what it would have been like with her.
I think this is on my bucket list. My imaginary boyfriend has to stay home, though. Who knows? A three-some someday? You need not an imaginary boyfriend, not an almost-real imaginary boyfriend, but a real boy friend, I mean friends and boy. Actually I don't need a boy at all, just a few beers.
I am very nervous posting this (what an old prude), but Brad said it's okay.
Roadfood by Jane & Michael Stern is a bit like a small telephone book, the ones they distribute in very small towns. Oh dear, they have an awful lot of listings. Should we chase banana pudding or meat pies? Chicken and dumplings or hush puppies? I vote for anything containing lard. Cornmeal is a plus.
When I was a teenager, my cheerleader friend and I wanted to make sugar cookies for the bake sale. Her mother had one cookbook which seemed to be rather, well, outdoorsy. The recipe called for rendered bear fat. I guess that's as good as lard.
My imaginary boyfriend and I are perusing the tome in front of a roaring fireplace. Visions of orangeade dance in our heads.
Here is what I have found that Guy would like me to visit:
Alabama
Panini Pete's Fairhope
Has Guy on home page, and paninis? Please. Will visit if on my route and I'm hungry when I get there. Also has t-shirts and coffee mugs. And a tab for "Bloggin'"
Manci's Antique Club Daphne
Hmmm... has a nice website- suspect. However, lots of cheese and bacon and ranch dressing. Also, the gimmick is kind of great. Looks like a great place for Brad to pose for a picture.
Louisiana
Casamento's Restaurant New Orleans
Has "merchandise"-- hmmm again. Also in New Orleans a real negative (minimal cities for this girl)
Parasol's, New Orleans
Hooray! No web site. Negates New Orleans location problem
Rivershack Tavern Jefferson
"Home of the Tacky Ashtray" but tweets and facebooks.
Mississippi
Darwell's Cafe Long Beach
Uh, oh. Guy Fieri's plug on home page. Also moving dots at bottom advertising web developer. Plus, the video looks like a bunch of frat bros after a keg-- they think it's great, but we don't.
Tennessee
Uncle Lou's Fried Chicken Memphis
Geez. What is it with Guy Fieri's pic? Web site a plus only because you can order the seasonings and sauces. But, they have a press area. C'mon, press? But this looks like a place I'd really like
Tom's Bar-B-Q Memphis
Damn. Guy's pic again. A video even. But gotta love "Where Friends Meat," and the contact is an aol address.
Pizza Palace Knoxville
I dunno. I'll have to be really sick of southern food to eat pizza. But the sign looks cool, and it says drive-in. I wonder if that's true- great for Woody, and my imaginary boyfriend won't have to get out. Unfortunately, I'll probably have to pee. Web site's nice and basic.
And, Florida
Ted Peter's but not because he said so. I grew up eating there.
And it has no website
While I have been poking around to find places I want to see or do (or, especially), eat, I have run into some places that are near and dear to my heart.
In 1972, my family moved to St. Petersburg, Florida. At that time, it was really, truly geriatric. Shuffleboard was the state sport. Flying back and forth from the North to the brand-spankin' new Tampa airport, we would always get to pick up the coconut patties, notwithstanding that Tampa is not in the tropics (semi-tropical, no coconut palms). They came in yellow boxes shaped like saltine boxes but smaller, and each patty was wrapped in waxed paper. I think they still exist, but with cellophane packets. Sometimes, we also got sickly-sweet orange blossom perfume. I can still smell it.
Our new house was on a small bay, and as we were fisherman up north, we had to try the fishing there. Mullet are the predominant aquatic vertebrates in those parts. Mullet are also vegetarians.
My sister and I were used to digging up worms in the mud flats exposed at low tide in order to fish at high tide. Our father used the big fork to turn up rocks and mud clods while we picked the wigglies out. We put the worms in a can in the refrigerator. I was always afraid they would get out.
So. What bait to use for mullet? Bread? Lettuce? Bananas? It turns out there is basically no bait for mullet. You need to learn to seine. The nets are round with weights all around the edges. To do it right, you chomp down on one side and toss the rest in a perforated parachute. The weights sink the net, and then you pull it in, hopefully with fish in it. My dad did it for awhile with not too much satisfaction. We watched the pelicans poop on the dock and occasionally tiptoed out onto the oyster bed.
No mullet in our kitchen. And then we discovered Ted Peter's. Ted Peter's is a wooden shack that smokes mullet in a little smokehouse at the side of the restaurant, if you can call it that. The place is famous for its fish spread, which is made with the mullet and probably mayonnaise or something. It is served with saltines, a favorite food group of ours. Dad always had the whole smoked fish. I think they smoked other kinds of fish, but I can only remember mullet.
Ted Peter's also served gigantic hamburgers. Remember, this was before quarter-pounders were invented. I'm not sure how they would compare, but those were some mighty large burgers. And German potato salad. They just called it potato salad, but we knew that there were two kinds of potato salad: the one with sieved hard-boiled eggs, carrot shreds, and Italian dressing AND mayonnaise AND sour cream for regular, and German potato salad that grandma made infrequently and was rather immigrant-y. Ted Peter's was stealth German potato salad. It was made with onions and bacon and vinegar and served warm from the pan.
My grandmother actually had a prescription for alcohol written during prohibition. I have seen it. She would drink her sherry in her room, with confidence that we all knew it was good for you. She used to go out to buy it, along with gelatin orange slices and Carmel Nips. One day, Gramma got stopped driving the wrong way on a one-way road, and we were all at the mercy of my mother's schedule to get anything good, and basically we didn't get anything good because Gramma had been our pusher.
When we went to Ted Peter's Gramma had a beer. I don't think anyone else did, as I had only seen my parents drink once or twice, a Tom Collins at a fancy restaurant. We all loved sitting on the picnic tables under the canvas ceilings. If it was particularly rainy, the curtains were rolled down.
Gramma was really old. She eventually kind of fell apart physically, and my mother couldn't take care of her anymore. She was put in a nursing home, "a nice one," not too far from our house.
By that time, I was old enough to drive. My parents gave me a car and told me to take my sister wherever she needed to go. We were free. And we loved Gramma. And Gramma's nursing home was across the street from Ted Peter's.
As time had gone on, that street got to be four lanes wide, two in each direction, and it was pretty busy. One day, my sister and I sprung Gramma. We threw her in a wheelchair and raced across the road to Ted Peter's. I remember that she had to go to the bathroom, and it was a bit of a struggle to get her into the weathered closet in the back, but that was part of the gig.
We sat and had fish spread and potato salad. We asked Gramma if she wanted a beer. I have never seen someone so happy in my life. She slurped the suds and slid the fish onto the saltines. We raced her back over before anyone noticed she was gone. And shortly she was gone.
I have been told that Ted Peter's is still there. I intend to introduce my imaginary boyfriend to it on our road trip.
In 1972, my family moved to St. Petersburg, Florida. At that time, it was really, truly geriatric. Shuffleboard was the state sport. Flying back and forth from the North to the brand-spankin' new Tampa airport, we would always get to pick up the coconut patties, notwithstanding that Tampa is not in the tropics (semi-tropical, no coconut palms). They came in yellow boxes shaped like saltine boxes but smaller, and each patty was wrapped in waxed paper. I think they still exist, but with cellophane packets. Sometimes, we also got sickly-sweet orange blossom perfume. I can still smell it.
My sister and I were used to digging up worms in the mud flats exposed at low tide in order to fish at high tide. Our father used the big fork to turn up rocks and mud clods while we picked the wigglies out. We put the worms in a can in the refrigerator. I was always afraid they would get out.
So. What bait to use for mullet? Bread? Lettuce? Bananas? It turns out there is basically no bait for mullet. You need to learn to seine. The nets are round with weights all around the edges. To do it right, you chomp down on one side and toss the rest in a perforated parachute. The weights sink the net, and then you pull it in, hopefully with fish in it. My dad did it for awhile with not too much satisfaction. We watched the pelicans poop on the dock and occasionally tiptoed out onto the oyster bed.
No mullet in our kitchen. And then we discovered Ted Peter's. Ted Peter's is a wooden shack that smokes mullet in a little smokehouse at the side of the restaurant, if you can call it that. The place is famous for its fish spread, which is made with the mullet and probably mayonnaise or something. It is served with saltines, a favorite food group of ours. Dad always had the whole smoked fish. I think they smoked other kinds of fish, but I can only remember mullet.
Ted Peter's also served gigantic hamburgers. Remember, this was before quarter-pounders were invented. I'm not sure how they would compare, but those were some mighty large burgers. And German potato salad. They just called it potato salad, but we knew that there were two kinds of potato salad: the one with sieved hard-boiled eggs, carrot shreds, and Italian dressing AND mayonnaise AND sour cream for regular, and German potato salad that grandma made infrequently and was rather immigrant-y. Ted Peter's was stealth German potato salad. It was made with onions and bacon and vinegar and served warm from the pan.
My grandmother actually had a prescription for alcohol written during prohibition. I have seen it. She would drink her sherry in her room, with confidence that we all knew it was good for you. She used to go out to buy it, along with gelatin orange slices and Carmel Nips. One day, Gramma got stopped driving the wrong way on a one-way road, and we were all at the mercy of my mother's schedule to get anything good, and basically we didn't get anything good because Gramma had been our pusher.
When we went to Ted Peter's Gramma had a beer. I don't think anyone else did, as I had only seen my parents drink once or twice, a Tom Collins at a fancy restaurant. We all loved sitting on the picnic tables under the canvas ceilings. If it was particularly rainy, the curtains were rolled down.
Gramma was really old. She eventually kind of fell apart physically, and my mother couldn't take care of her anymore. She was put in a nursing home, "a nice one," not too far from our house.
By that time, I was old enough to drive. My parents gave me a car and told me to take my sister wherever she needed to go. We were free. And we loved Gramma. And Gramma's nursing home was across the street from Ted Peter's.
As time had gone on, that street got to be four lanes wide, two in each direction, and it was pretty busy. One day, my sister and I sprung Gramma. We threw her in a wheelchair and raced across the road to Ted Peter's. I remember that she had to go to the bathroom, and it was a bit of a struggle to get her into the weathered closet in the back, but that was part of the gig.
We sat and had fish spread and potato salad. We asked Gramma if she wanted a beer. I have never seen someone so happy in my life. She slurped the suds and slid the fish onto the saltines. We raced her back over before anyone noticed she was gone. And shortly she was gone.
I have been told that Ted Peter's is still there. I intend to introduce my imaginary boyfriend to it on our road trip.
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