I'm Not In Kansas Any More

While at the bluegrass festival I tried two things I’ve never had before. Fried pickles and Indian Tacos. (Sorry, no pictures of either.With my vodka i.v. in place and thousands of people surrounding me, I didn’t think it wise to break out the camera. I have a tendency to drunkenly misplace my camera.)

Fried pickles are reportedly a Southern tradition famously enjoyed by Elvis. I’ve never had them or even seen them in the most hole-in-the-wall soul food joint in the South. I’m sure fried pickles are out there, but don’t think that people eat these things regularly. Why? It ain’t fried chicken, people! It’s just a pickle with fried batter - essentially a hot pickle that makes your hands greasy. Recommended if you’re fond of pickles and you salivate for greasy bar appetizers.

Indian tacos are fry bread smothered in beans, tomatoes, lettuce, cheese and other traditional taco fillings. Fry bread is a Native American, fried, unleavened bread made from wheat. Not bad for festival grub.

I also stopped at Sonic for a lemon slush and tatter tots. This is the first time I’ve actually eaten anything at Sonic, but I used to suck on lemon slushes in the 100-degree summers in SC. My summers here have been void of lemon slushes. There aren’t five Sonics in every town around here like in other parts of the US. The closest one to me is 50 miles away.

The piece de resistance… two versions of mac and cheese made by my boyfriend’s mother! (Hi Evy.) One was made Southern-style and topped with onions and crumbs. The other was made with a cheese sauce and topped with horseradish and crumbs. Unfortunately, she has set the precedent and I no longer will accept invitations to dinner unless I get two pans of mac and cheese. Don’t worry if you can’t cook. I’ll begrudgingly accept a box of chocolates, too.