I’m not a food blogger. I’ve never really aspired to it, but I’ve gotten into the habit of posting the things I make that turn out well. This brings me to this sandwich. Sandwiches are important.
Twelve grain bread with gouda, spinach and avocado-seasoned with a dusting of Spike and served on a Halloween-themed Dixie plate. We use paper at my house-I know, it’s shameful…
You know what’s not shameful? This delightful dish! This mammoth morsel! This marvelous munchy!
Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun…
When I ate my first Big Mac, there was not a McDonald’s in my home town. You had to drive about an hour in any given direction to get to one. When I tried my first one, it was love at first bite. (Scarcity drives demand, don’t you know.) I don’t remember if it was my sophomore or junior year in high school, but we finally got a McDonald’s in my little East Texas town. The cars literally stretched about a mile down the street the Saturday it opened. I’m not sure that there was ever a more anticipated opening in our little burg. It was big news. Yep, big news. But it wasn’t pretty. I have vague memories an undetermined period of time where I consumed Big Macs daily. Looking back, it’s hard to believe.
I don’t love Big Macs anymore. I don’t love McDonald’s. And I certainly wouldn’t drive out of my way to get to one. There have been times when I’ve pulled into the drive-through for my kids and smell has repulsed rather than enticed me. In spite my general abhorrence for the restaurant chain, however, about once a year, I have an inexplicable craving for a Big Mac.
Over the last couple of weeks, I felt it coming on. I’d see a commercial, and be tempted. I knew it was coming, and when I woke up this morning, I had a sneaky suspicion that today was the day. Today was the day for a Mac Attack!
I’m not gonna lie. I was stress eating. Stress with a capital “S”. And I’m not ashamed to say it…That sandwich was good. I enjoyed it. I didn’t feel bad about it. I don’t now. And I’m done. Done until the next time. My next annual (or whatever-I’m pretty sure it was well over a year this time) Mac Attack. Nostalgia? Probably Tasty? Usually. An anomaly? Absolutely. Acts of random gastronomy…
We are “go” for chickens!
I’ve been trolling Craigslist for weeks and quickly determined that given how little I know about chickens, buying my first batch of pullets from a state inspected breeder was probably the best route. Fast forward to Tuesday of this week. I took off work early and drove 45 minutes to Fowl Weather Farm, a not so distant breeder that seemed to fit the bill. The young proprietress of Fowl Weather Farm was helpful and professional and we ended the day Tuesday with four new friends and Chicken Mission accomplished!
I had intended to buy at least two Dominique (pronounced dominicker) pullets and was open to the breed of the other two ladies. I ended up with two Barred Rocks and two Black Sex Links. Black Sex Links aren’t kinky. A Black Sex Link is a cross between a Rhode Island Red Rooster and a Barred Rock hen. You can tell what sex the chicken is by the coloring around its neck, hence the moniker of “sex link”. And although their name shows a stunning lack of imagination, all should be great laying hens. The Barred Rocks look just like a Dominique to the untrained eye, but apparently lay slightly larger eggs. Eggs being the driving force behind this chicken mission, I was fickle and opted for the Barred Rocks. I have an egg dependency, you see. I’m not ashamed of it.