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Stopping at the new pub everyone is raving about…
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Not having to make reservations, worry about masking or social distancing.
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Cruising the cocktail list…
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And enjoying a few boozy blueberry lemonades.
The food?
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Fabulous! A hand tossed wood fired chicken Florentine pizza for me, grilled sea scallop salad with candied pecans and strawberry vinaigrette for the husband.
Life. It finally seems to be getting back to normal.
😊
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It’s been a while since Facebook’s targeted Ball Wash ads flooded my feed. And silly me, I thought I was over the proverbial hump. Then I saw this…
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Ball Hammocks are not a step up…. and I seriously doubt dads need them. I mean really, look at that man. You can tell he would much rather have gotten a tie.
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Damn. Now I’m going to have to give up pizza forever.
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Bambi Bunchers? Please, no.
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Sweet Jesus. I really don’t care if your nuts are happy… and is it me? Or do those nuts look more like garlic anyway.
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There are a lot of wonderful places in the world to make love. Under a chocolate chip cookie is not one of them.
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I suppose cozy tube steak was inevitable.
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Noooo!
Not the red squirrel…..
😱
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After reading an article about a fine arts student in Montreal who made clothing out of food?
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I realized the contents of my refrigerator have to step up their game.
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Damn it cabbage, get up off your ass.
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And to think I’ve been wasting my broccoli in casseroles.
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A potato chip shirt? Sure it’s all innocent fun… until someone opens the dip.
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I don’t know about you, but an orange isn’t going to cut it for me. My girls would need cantaloupes.
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This is the interior of our local pub.
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Small, rustic and not at all fancy. But the food is fresh and tasty, the drinks are strong and cheap. What more could you want?
We’re regulars and feel good supporting a local business. Our town has never had a pub before so the owners had to fight long and hard for licensing as well as acceptance. Some of the older residents of our little hamlet thought a bar would attract a bad element, but this small establishment is just as likely to be serving lunch to a troop of Girl Scouts as they are the functioning alcoholics. Lawyers and fisherman. Bankers and construction workers. Hippies and veterans. You never who will sit on the neighboring stool.
We’ve met more locals here in the past 2 years than we have living in this town for 19. And it should come as no surprise that when we introduce ourselves and explain where we live? Everyone always says… oh, the big red barn with the nice porch. Sure!
And if you’re wondering just how rural my town can be? Take a look at who pulled up the other day…
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🤣
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The other day we drove almost 2 hours to look at a used pool table. It was a piece of junk and we had to drive almost 2 hours back. Funny how that works. So when I saw a sign that said Pies! Pies! Pies! I knew we had to stop.
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At an adorable little store on a lovely 40 acre farm.
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Yes, a mother and her 15 year old home schooled daughter run the entire farm by themselves. Please note all work is done by horse and ox. Maine women are nothing if not capable.
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The store was filled with the fruits of their labor. Jams, jellies, relishes, honey, pies, wool, dried flowers, wreaths, maple syrup, soap… and yes. Everything was made by their own hands.
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And this wasn’t some run down ramshackle operation. It was lovely, well kept and clean.
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When my husband opened the upright freezer and saw it was packed with pot pies, quiches, turkey soup, mushroom ravioli, pesto, and minestrone he asked the girl when they found time to sleep.
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Jam came home with us. As did some soap, some soup and of course…..
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Pie.
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Which instead of a traditional crust had a marvelously buttery and flaky rolled pastry foundation.
Pie.
It’s what’s for dinner.
And maybe breakfast.
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This first one might be a bit of an exaggeration…
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But there’s a reason I have a permanent dent in my right shoulder and tend to list a little to that side.
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Cross off the always annoyed and it’s a perfect description of me in the past year. Sigh…
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We cat people pretend our feline overlords feel deep affection for us…. but it’s just as likely they’d eat us if we dropped dead on the living room floor.
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Now that, is a dilemma.
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Someone needs to invent the technology and WordPress needs to adopt it.
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Because our apple trees are in full bloom and the scent is beyond heavenly.
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I wish the pictures did them more justice.
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The white and pink blossoms really pop in person.
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And from the looks of the quantity, it’s going to be an autumn filled with pie.
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And cobbler, and torte, and crisp, and cake, and muffins…
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Well, you get the idea.
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Can someone please explain what frog logs taste like…
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And why anyone would want to find out?
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This completely cracked me up, because it’s true. I’ve waged war with that cursed masher for years.
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Charming… or ridiculous?
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I’m going with the latter.
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The Sunday senior pool games are still going strong. And this little old man is so sweet I’ve started baking goodies.
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Because nothing says hard core pool tournament better than fresh banana bread.
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On our way home from our scenic drive the other day we stopped for a cocktail ( or two ).
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Repeat after me… martinis are not made with rum. Nope. Uh uh. Never. Cherry Gin Ricky it is.
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Nice flavor, but a little too sweet so I asked the bartender to dial back the grenadine on #2. Bartenders are wonderful people, so helpful and attentive to our needs.
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Cocktails with my husband always requires food, so he ordered mussels while I opted for Truffle fries. Both were yummy but the real news? Even after I declined ketchup, 3 packets made their way to our table.
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Oh, the extravagance! After the waitress said she couldn’t take them back due to Covid rules… and when my husband remembered there was a shortage causing people to list them on eBay for $15 per… he scooped them up and brought them home. Where they’ll languish in the drawer until the next global pandemic lockdown.
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Perhaps you’d like to hug a water buffalo.
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It’s free, and you have to admit the toddlers sure are cute.
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Of course inviting you to hug a calf and then directing you to the store to purchase a rump roast of his family is a bit rude….
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I hope no one tells this sweet little fellow Uncle Otto didn’t really go to Boca on vacation.
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*Gulp*
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River's world..... 