I'm in Love...

Valentine's Day Edition

So far, my favorite thing about living in The South has to be the barbecue.  I was never a fan of it all when living in South Florida, but now I realize that is because, quite frankly, that stuff just ain’t real BBQ, y’all.   I’m in love.

Currently, our favorite place is The Shed.  The story behind this place is awesome.  And its called The Shed because, well, it looks like this:

We love this place so much, but that’s going to need to be a whole other post in itself.

Anyway, Jaron just sent me an email notifying me that we are attending this:

You mean to tell me that all of the best BBQ from The South is getting together to make their best of the best? And more importantly give out samples!!??  I don’t even know what Hog Wild means, but I’m SO in.  

Jaron really knows the way to my heart.  Happy Valentine's Day!

The Wagon

While hanging out with some of Jaron’s friends, I often hear them talking about old cars.  “Dude, did you see that (make/model)?! That’s a (year)! That car/truck could haul (ridiculous amount) pounds and reach (ridiculous) miles per hour in (miniscule) seconds, blah blah blah.  This might have something to do with the fact that they are all engineers, but I must say, they know their old cars.

This got me thinking about my old car.  My first car.  Yes, it was old.  Gather round while I reminisce.  

My first car was….wait for it….a 1986 Toyota Cressida.  But it gets worse better… It was a station wagon.  Picture this:  I am sixteen years old, just got my license, and I pull into the high school parking lot.  My station wagon, amongst Volvos, Acuras, Jettas, and other cute little shiny cars, sticks out like a sore giant grey thumb.  Needless to say, I was pretty embarrassed by the car.  Don’t get me wrong, I definitely appreciated having a vehicle to drive at sixteen, I was just definitely not pulling up to the local hangout in that thing…even if it was at a Wendy’s parking lot. (I still don’t understand how Wendy’s ended up being the cool place to be…Not even inside Wendy’s…in the parking lot?!  How did that happen?  Anyway, I digress…)

Even though the wagon had automatic seatbelts that would inevitably strangle all unsuspecting passengers, even though the wagon was born the same year as me, even though a car battery leaked in the back and burned a hole in the carpet, even though my friends would ask me to honk my horn in the parking lot because it sounded similar to a burp/fart,  I eventually got over my embarrassment of the wagon. 

 

I only had the wagon for a few years and I was thrilled to get a new(er) car, but as I look back on my early high school days, I have to admit, I kind of miss it now… (Insert cheesy-slow-motion-video of me and the wagon).  

I realized I don’t have a single picture of the wagon – so I went online to look for pictures and I came across this:  

Photo rights:  JapaneseNostalgicCars.com

That’s right.  My wagon is a “Japanese Nostalgic Car”.  Nostalgia is right.

So I am calling out to all of you who have shared the love/hate relationship with the wagon.  I have not a single picture of it!  If you have any pictures of it, please send them to me or leave a memory in the comment section below!  Thanks!

PS:  If you were a victim of the automatic seatbelt strangulation, I apologize on behalf of the wagon.  I’m sure he didn’t mean it.  He just wanted you to be safe. 

Are You There, Bagels? Its Me, Alli...

As much as I am loving Mobile, I am having an issue with something.  I cannot find a good bagel.  I mean, I can find a bagel at Panera, but it’s not a REAL bagel.  I want a bagel like the ones from the tiny, overcrowded deli with angry waitresses.  Its weird; all of a sudden, the Jew in me is not satisfied.  I am ok with the fact that I have not been to temple, but I am NOT ok with the fact that I have not had a real bagel.  (Sorry, Bubbie!)

Before I moved here,  I never had to worry about where my bagels were going to come from.  They just showed up in a hot brown bag Sunday mornings (Thanks, Dad!).  So to fill this void in my soul/belly, we took matters into our own hands.  Literally.  We made bagels.  I never even fathomed the thought of making bagels, but Jaron, of course, knew it was possible.

It went a little something like this:

Rolling the dough into "snakes" and attaching the ends...

 

 Like so.

 

Doughy....

Boiling the doughy bagels...Whooda thunk it?

Fresh out the oven...Too bad you can't smell these.  

They smell like Awesomeville.

Did they come out like I had hoped?  No.  They tasted just like Lenders bagels. You know, the kind you buy in a bag that are mass produced by a machine in a factory.  I want the ones made by a big fat dude in the back of the overcrowded deli being yelled at by the angry waitresses.  Maybe next time I will let Jaron do all the work...and I will yell at him….just for good measure. 

PS:  Jaron is not a big fat dude.

PPS:  I had to say that otherwise he won’t make me bagels anymore.