Deep-fried pickles and fried boiled eggs ....
Worked hard today, and finished late. My back is almost back to normal - still a little bit sore, but basically better.
On the drive home from Fort Myers, I called a couple friends to see if they wanted to meet at a local watering hole for beers and wings.
Martha and Bill met me at Buffalo Chips, the most "colourful" spot in Bonita Springs. It's totally eclectic, and completely unpretentious. Beside the main entrance is a sign that says "An Upscale Dive." It's where the locals - the old-timers, the riffraff, the local volunteers, and occasional celebrities congregate. Bob Seger (remember the Silver Bullet Band?) lives nearby and visits regularly.
We chose an outside table so Martha could smoke. The day had been hot, but there had been no rain and it wasn't humid. The big fans made a nice breeze and it was pleasant, sitting in the shade under the canopy.
Martha started raving to me about something she got there that isn't on the menu, but they will make it for you if you ask nicely. It's dill pickle chunks, battered and deep fried, served with ranch dressing for a dipping sauce. I honestly thought she was joking with me, until it arrived at our table.
I have to confess that I LIKED IT!! Probably won't sleep tonight, with all the grease from the wings and the fried pickles, but - oh, well!
One of the local chicks came in wearing a bikini bathing suit top that was a few sizes too small for her, a ring in her belly button and low-slung pants. She was swearing like a drunken sailor and didn't care who heard her hollering.
Sheila the mail carrier arrived with her husband and sat with us. She had a knee replacement a while ago and is still chewing pain pills. A couple beers, in combination with the meds, did funny things to her speech and facial muscles. I wished her husband would have taken better care of her, but it was none of my business.
Sheila ribbed me about a package she had delivered to my house a week ago. I remember getting that package and being very surprised, because it wasn't supposed to be delivered to my house. I haven't received mail at my house in years, but somehow, things got mixed up and the doofuses in the sorting room put it on her truck. But it's against regulations for her to take the mail truck on a gravel street, and since I don't have a mailbox at the end of the street, she was in a quandary. So, although she didn't have to do it, she got out of her truck, carried the package down my gravel street and put it in front of my door.
As usual, Martha and I talked politics. She is a city councilwoman, running for re-election in January, so we talked about her campaign. Both of us are getting geared up for the campaigns for a few other local and state seats as well. I'm very worried about a couple of those electoral seats. We talked about new and pending legislation, and other community-related things.
After a while, old Corky Mayhew wandered into the joint. He stood at the counter inside and started to order some takeout food, and then, to our amazement, walked around the counter and into the kitchen to supervise. A while later he carried the food out, put it in his car, then headed over to our outdoor table with a mason jar of draft beer in his hand.
Corky is one of the "old Bonita Mayhews" - has bought and sold much of Bonita, over the years, but never lost his good-old-boy aura. His face has turned to leather from years in the Florida sun. His hands and stubby fingers are thickly calloused and his fingernails are stained with machine oil. He pulled a piece of angled iron out of his pocket and started an intense discussion of how he had machined the piece to try and fix an air conditionning unit, but it didn't work. He needed something about an eighth of an inch thicker to do the job.
Corky launched into a story of how he had once made fried hard-boiled eggs. He put a dozen eggs into a pot and went into the next room to watch tv while the eggs boiled. Only thing is, he forgot to put water into the pot. After a while he heard some cracking noises from the kitchen, but had forgotten about the eggs, so he just ignored the noises. His cat started to make a fuss, then she started to yowl and claw the air. A while later, he heard some very LOUD, cracking noises and went into the kitchen to investigate. The pot was red-hot, and the eggs were dancing around in the bottom of the pot. The pot was ruined, but the eggs were cooked nicely, just as if he had boiled them in water.
So much for my social interaction and culinary education on a Friday night with the locals.
I love Bonita Springs, and I love the people here. I love sipping a beer slowly, watching all the people around me. I love the company of good friends. I love going out once in a while and eating greasy food that is definitely NOT good for me. I love going to a place where I don't have to dress up or stand on ceremony, where I can just kick back and laugh.
Worked hard today, and finished late. My back is almost back to normal - still a little bit sore, but basically better.
On the drive home from Fort Myers, I called a couple friends to see if they wanted to meet at a local watering hole for beers and wings.
Martha and Bill met me at Buffalo Chips, the most "colourful" spot in Bonita Springs. It's totally eclectic, and completely unpretentious. Beside the main entrance is a sign that says "An Upscale Dive." It's where the locals - the old-timers, the riffraff, the local volunteers, and occasional celebrities congregate. Bob Seger (remember the Silver Bullet Band?) lives nearby and visits regularly.
We chose an outside table so Martha could smoke. The day had been hot, but there had been no rain and it wasn't humid. The big fans made a nice breeze and it was pleasant, sitting in the shade under the canopy.
Martha started raving to me about something she got there that isn't on the menu, but they will make it for you if you ask nicely. It's dill pickle chunks, battered and deep fried, served with ranch dressing for a dipping sauce. I honestly thought she was joking with me, until it arrived at our table.
I have to confess that I LIKED IT!! Probably won't sleep tonight, with all the grease from the wings and the fried pickles, but - oh, well!
One of the local chicks came in wearing a bikini bathing suit top that was a few sizes too small for her, a ring in her belly button and low-slung pants. She was swearing like a drunken sailor and didn't care who heard her hollering.
Sheila the mail carrier arrived with her husband and sat with us. She had a knee replacement a while ago and is still chewing pain pills. A couple beers, in combination with the meds, did funny things to her speech and facial muscles. I wished her husband would have taken better care of her, but it was none of my business.
Sheila ribbed me about a package she had delivered to my house a week ago. I remember getting that package and being very surprised, because it wasn't supposed to be delivered to my house. I haven't received mail at my house in years, but somehow, things got mixed up and the doofuses in the sorting room put it on her truck. But it's against regulations for her to take the mail truck on a gravel street, and since I don't have a mailbox at the end of the street, she was in a quandary. So, although she didn't have to do it, she got out of her truck, carried the package down my gravel street and put it in front of my door.
As usual, Martha and I talked politics. She is a city councilwoman, running for re-election in January, so we talked about her campaign. Both of us are getting geared up for the campaigns for a few other local and state seats as well. I'm very worried about a couple of those electoral seats. We talked about new and pending legislation, and other community-related things.
After a while, old Corky Mayhew wandered into the joint. He stood at the counter inside and started to order some takeout food, and then, to our amazement, walked around the counter and into the kitchen to supervise. A while later he carried the food out, put it in his car, then headed over to our outdoor table with a mason jar of draft beer in his hand.
Corky is one of the "old Bonita Mayhews" - has bought and sold much of Bonita, over the years, but never lost his good-old-boy aura. His face has turned to leather from years in the Florida sun. His hands and stubby fingers are thickly calloused and his fingernails are stained with machine oil. He pulled a piece of angled iron out of his pocket and started an intense discussion of how he had machined the piece to try and fix an air conditionning unit, but it didn't work. He needed something about an eighth of an inch thicker to do the job.
Corky launched into a story of how he had once made fried hard-boiled eggs. He put a dozen eggs into a pot and went into the next room to watch tv while the eggs boiled. Only thing is, he forgot to put water into the pot. After a while he heard some cracking noises from the kitchen, but had forgotten about the eggs, so he just ignored the noises. His cat started to make a fuss, then she started to yowl and claw the air. A while later, he heard some very LOUD, cracking noises and went into the kitchen to investigate. The pot was red-hot, and the eggs were dancing around in the bottom of the pot. The pot was ruined, but the eggs were cooked nicely, just as if he had boiled them in water.
So much for my social interaction and culinary education on a Friday night with the locals.
I love Bonita Springs, and I love the people here. I love sipping a beer slowly, watching all the people around me. I love the company of good friends. I love going out once in a while and eating greasy food that is definitely NOT good for me. I love going to a place where I don't have to dress up or stand on ceremony, where I can just kick back and laugh.
posted by Me | 8:45 PM
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