The other night I was bemoaning to Bob the fact that I had gone to a great place and, if I was still doing my Treasure Hunt newspaper column, I would certainly write about the experience. Then — just like one of the smoke hazed revelations of my youth — I thought, I don’t need a newspaper, I have a blog!
And so, ladies and gentlemen, witness the return of Treasure Hunt, where I go out and about and write about what I find.
All this because I really, really, really want to write about John Berryhill’s new breakfast stop, “Bacon.”
It’s right around the corner from the restaurant and is less like a cafe and more like a counter with some tables, chairs and there might even be a couch. You order — bacon is $1.25 a slice and there are like eight versions, including Berryhill Bacon (the one that started it all) and yes, chocolate covered bacon. All I can say is, you have to try it.
There is a variety of baked goods and you can also order steamed eggs and such.
When I went, I ordered the Berryhill Bacon (it comes to the table in a paper cup, with the top of the bacon draped over the edge). It is savory and sweet and really tasty.
My son was with me — he was in town for a friend’s wedding — and he ordered Kurobuta bacon. This one was strictly savory and had some sort of herbs sprinkled on.
I also had the bacon and white cheddar scone (the last one!) and Tyler ordered a giant pretzel, like the ones you get at the mall only better.
It’s a fun place to trade snips of bacon, talk and look out the big windows onto the day. And really, how can you go wrong when bacon is the centerpiece of the menu?
Cats really don’t like water
Some of you who know me from Facebook will already be aware that I gave our cat Mister a bath the other day. I wore gloves (they are special cat handling gloves I got at Petsmart), an apron (the kind that ties at the neck and waist, to better cover you, my dear), jeans jacket and heavy jeans. Suffice it to say — not near enough padding. I believe I would have needed metal-plated armor and even then, if there had been seams of some kind, you know any place a thin sliver of a claw could snag into, well, I think you can guess what could happen. And of course, it did. I did not come away unscathed but Mister did come away scented with baby shampoo smell (much improved) and a fluffy sort of cat coat. But there were moments of that bath when I really knew I was dealing with an animal that was in the fight or flight mode (he chose fight!) and I was on the answering side of his be-fanged and some 20-clawed weapons of mass destruction. Thank God for a kitchen hose that works!
My brother Dan died on Friday, May 13. My dad died March 21, 2004 and my mom died June 15, 2000. My brother Bill died in August 1995 and I hate that I can’t remember the day.
I guess what I’m saying is, I miss them. My family, the folks I grew up with and who knew me and I knew them, I don’t know, probably more than you ever know most people. It is sad to lose those people who care about you and know all your soap opera life and which year you did what boneheaded thing and remember when mom got so mad when we found her driver’s license and knew how old she really was? And remember when dad drank too much beer and couldn’t pee and had to go to the hospital? When my cat terrorized mom’s bridge club? When Uncle Al jumped into the river looking for his glasses he’d dropped in? When Dan got stuck in Africa? When Bill put chocolate syrup on the mashed potatoes (he thought it was ice cream) and then ate it anyway?
You don’t know those stories. Now, nobody knows them but me.
I think it is my duty to give some of these stories to you so I won’t be the only one holding the bag. It’s too much for one person to handle, at least that is what I’m telling myself. I think really, I just want some company.
So if you’re so inclined to read them, I am inviting you to come back from time to time for some of my family stories. Some of them are doozies.