I wasn't able to go shoot this morning. I was nursing a sick tomcat. He improved steadily (it's surprising the good a little olive oil can accomplish) and when the assorted crew rolled up, I was ready and able to get over to the wondrous hog roast.
Lemme just say -- one moment, have to stop myself droolin' -- if there's a better meal than farm-fresh roast hog with home-made barbecue sauce on freshly-baked real bread* and washed down with cold cider, I don't know what it is.
We shopped a bit, then went back to Roseholme and sat on the porch, chattin'. The grown-ups had locally-brewed Gnawbone IPA which I am assured is world-class, whilst I enjoyed a Jarritos tamarind soda. (I only barely drink beer; it's nice with a grilled steak sometimes but otherwise, I do not seek it out. So sue me. I'm a retired binge drinker: beer was never on my radar).
It was a grand time. Eventually (this means after a nap), it was time to rake leaves and then time to scooter over to the big-box building supply store for leaf bags.
On the way back, I stopped by Locally Grown Gardens to score an apple pie and had a gander at the salmon waiting to be grilled. Yum!
Not such a bad place to be, ol' Broad Ripple.
* Not that squishy stuff they sell in stores. I'm sure it's nutritious and fillin' but I'm talkin' about actual bread, with taste and texture.
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
1 year ago