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Anyone who knows me at all will tell you I am, at best, a finicky eater. I always have been, and for the life of me, I don’t know why. It certainly wasn’t a learned behavior from my parents, who ate practically everything.
No, Iee^have a discriminating palate and I am not adventuresome at all.
Or at least I wasn’t until Iee^met Tom.
BT (or Before Tom), I was content to eat at any variety of chain restaurants and most of the time would order the exact same thing, over and over.
But AT, Iee^learned that while chains are OK on occasion, it had to be the lowliest dive around if it attracted my man’s appetite.
Once on a weekend rendezvous while he was still in Georgia, we were driving through South Georgia at lunch time and there were no chains to be had as we passed one farm after the other.
I was driving and promised him that the very next place we passed, I’d stop.
Oh, those were words that I feared would haunt me.
It was a run-down, Sanford and Son type service station on the outside and I, who am not a snob, was truly afraid to step inside.
I shouldn’thave been. Inside was the antithesis of the outside. Sparking clean. Well organized and the food . . . oh, my the food. It was too die for. Everything was homemade by one family and as the patriarch told me, “Anyone can heat up a can of beans. Here we cook ‘em.” (He didn’t have to worry, I don’t eat beans–they’re green.)
In the years since, Tom and I delight in finding the out-of-the-way Mom and Pop cafe when we dine out.
Almost always we’re more than satisfied when we leave and more often than not, it was a lot cheaper than any chain restaurant.
We all have our favorite diners, drive-ins and dives and I’d like to hear about yours. Drop me an e-mail.
I may not be an adventuresome eater, but I do like the risk of finding a delicacy in my own backyard.