Feasting on Gravel

A couple of Fridays ago, I dropped Hubby off at work and drove to Louisville. My parents and I had big plans for the weekend. First we would spend some time Friday evening with my dad’s family. Then, on Saturday, we would head down to Eastern Kentucky to celebrate my mom’s mother’s birthday. I took the cursed scarf with me to work on so I could work on it in the car.

My dad grew up about an hour south of civilization, Louisville. The drive is scenic, if a little daunting as you play dodge semi down the I-65 corridor. We stopped at the fudge shop on the town square to buy my mom’s mother some fudge for her birthday. My dad got a little impatient because Mom and I forgot that outside of urban areas a retail transaction takes a bit longer because with the exchange of money is a whole catalogue of exchanged pleasantries. This is something you have to practice or you forget and can seem rude.

We all met at this little diner and sat down to eat. The menu was a cross between a steakhouse and Cracker Barrel. There were some good possibilities. I chose the country fried steak because it is one of my favorites and Hubby never wants to go anywhere that might possibly have that option on the menu. He is not the culinary bungee jumper I am. Anyway, I was a bit excited to be eating something local because I am a fan of Alton Brown.

I have especially loved Alton Brown’s Feasting on Asphalt series. One of the reasons that I love his series is that he talks about how we are losing part of our heritage because most interstate exits are a culinary carbon copy of the one before. Alton Brown toured the back roads stopping at little cafes and diners in small towns. We got to see him and the crew eating and loving the food every place they stopped.

We did not see them stopping and then wondering if the 400 mile motorcycle ride was worth it. Like painting, cooking can be an interpretive art. To do well at either you must learn the basics before moving on to the interpretation on a theme. Not everyone knows this. They should, but they don’t. Draw your own conclusions.

After dinner, which one of my uncles paid for – and I appreciate that and am thankful for it, we adjourned to my other uncle’s house for coffee. My dad went the “back way”, although the “back way” is practically indistinguishable from the “front way” with the exception that instead of being off the main two lane road when you go the “front way”, the “back way” requires taking a series of two lane roads of varying narrowness to turn on to the main two lane road.

I am thankful on a regular basis for two things: 1. That I generally always have some knitting with me and 2. caffeinated coffee. I can keep myself in check with those two things, unless I cross the line of just enough caffeine to too much caffeine. I was not going to become to caffeinated. Wouldn’t be prudent.

I pulled out the cursed scarf and started knitting. Everybody talked about the past because talking about the present might get a little real. I knit and knit. I drank a couple of cups of coffee. I behaved. No one was injured.

In the back seat of the geezermobile on the way back to Louisville, I sat wondering how things would play out at my mom’s mother’s birthday. I knew I would be crossing into the external drama zone. To survive you need some good knitting, a decent night’s sleep and no caffeine.