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Monday, March 14, 2011

Georgia -- Random Gas Station and Mama's Boy

As soon as we crossed into Georgia, we stopped at a gas station for our hourly snack time, where we came across something that almost made me faint while simultaneously pitch a trouser tent:

This is not, I repeat, NOT photo shopped.  Did it really take twenty years for Sun Chips to figure out that jalepeno cheddar jack is a much more natural flavor for a chip than fucking CINAMON!?   This flavor also kicks the shit out of Garden Salsa, which is the flavor that has become the fourth horseman of the Sun Chip apocalypse; that, and those new biodegradable bags that are louder than a swarm of locusts.

Also - all of you Jews, Muslims, vegans, and vegetarians might want to reconsider your chip choice, because according to Wikipedia, some flavors of Sun Chips have pork enzymes in them!  Crazy shit, right!?

Pictured above are the remnants of the boiled peanuts (aka “Goober Peas”) we got from the same gas station; remnants because I couldn’t photograph them in time before B-rock went all Operation Dumbo Drop on them.  Boiled peanuts are a traditional southern snack, much like that of chitlins, kracklins, and cousins.  Boiling peanuts usually takes at least four to seven hours, and are usually boiled in a bunch of salty shit, but in most of the southern gas stations I’ve encountered, “spicy Cajun style” is almost always an option, and actually the only flavor I've ever had.  Did you know that boiling peanuts with the shells-in releases four times as much anti-oxidant power as opposed to roasting them or eating them raw?  Neither did I, until I ate them, and then took a poop that was double fisting a bourbon and pbr, and had a lit cigarette in its poop mouth.

So we played a really bad ass farm to table fine dining restaurant in Athens that night, but unfortunately didn’t get to eat there because their mission statement doesn’t include helping touring musicians not be blinding beacons of filth.  So instead, you get to read about Momma’s Boy!

There’s sort of an unspoken franchise of brunch places like this in just about every small college town in the country.  It’s the type of place that serves all their beverages in mason jars, usually plays blue grass music, usually has a lot of vegetarian options, and there’s a  fairly good chance you saw one or more of the hung-over wait staff at the show the night before.  These places are pretty crucial to find on the road because they 1.)  usually have a way for you to get out of there for $7, and 2.)  are usually delicious.  I went for today’s special:  Pork chop with an egg over easy topped with raspberry hollandaise and served with cheese grits and a biscuit.

Now the description in itself is pretty drool worthy, right?  So was it awesome?  I mean, well, it wasn’t BAD or anything, but I guess maybe the best way to describe this dish is to compare it to the career of late 90’s alternative rock staple, Smash Mouth.  Like the band, this dish had about four successful singles, but not necessarily any singles I actually gave a shit about or would care to revisit.  Like the cheese grits: pretty good, but all they had to do was get the cheese on them while they were still piping hot so the cheese would actually melt!  Much like Smash Mouth, who could’ve had more than a decade’s plus staying power had they not been such fat ugly people!  Kudos for trying to mix it up with raspberry hollandaise, although it kind of fell flat, much like Smash Mouth’s cover of “I’m a Believer”.  Anyway, a career, and a dish, that I will pay my respects to for their ambition, but will stick with the Pigeon Hole in Cville and listen to Beck.

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