Stuff.
Stuff. It was on the menu. It was written on the wall, so it had to be true. Stuff - “Like your Mom used to make” it said. My mother never made 'Stuff'. She made things that I used to call stuff, as in “can I have some more of that stuff?” But she never made capital-S “Stuff”.
“So what's in it?”
“It's taco meat and cheese covered in biscuit gravy.” Get white boy wasted.
“Biscuit gravy? That bowl of heart attack you can get at Denny's?” Ouch. Taco meat and occlusion sauce. Sounds yummy. “I'll have the half-pound Death Burger (mixed with tabasco sauce and covered in jalapeno peppers) and a side of Stuff, please.” It was quasi-vacation. Normal eating habits don't necessarily apply. We found a seat at a crooked table carved with so many names and years that it read as a complete overall pattern. It looked like drunken worms had eaten their way through the alphabet.
We sat, watched basketball and listened to country music, neither of which I have any love for. We talked about things and waited for our food. The bar was called the “Dixie Chicken”, and is apparently well known among the Texas A&M crowd. I'd never heard of it until I planned to come to Texas. I did a little research on where to go eat, and all of the sources discussing the very impressive cuisine of College Station, Texas agreed: Go to the Dixie Chicken, get a half-pound of Death. And Stuff.
“If you eat this more than once a day, you will die.” Neel just nodded his agreement. His mouth was full of Stuff. Hello, I am the butt-plug of your life.
We were in College Station to attend TEEX, the Fire Training Center attached to Texas A&M. The Aggies. I need the “Hazardous Materials Incident Command” certification for my job. I now have that. Two more to go.
“So what's in it?”
“It's taco meat and cheese covered in biscuit gravy.” Get white boy wasted.
“Biscuit gravy? That bowl of heart attack you can get at Denny's?” Ouch. Taco meat and occlusion sauce. Sounds yummy. “I'll have the half-pound Death Burger (mixed with tabasco sauce and covered in jalapeno peppers) and a side of Stuff, please.” It was quasi-vacation. Normal eating habits don't necessarily apply. We found a seat at a crooked table carved with so many names and years that it read as a complete overall pattern. It looked like drunken worms had eaten their way through the alphabet.
We sat, watched basketball and listened to country music, neither of which I have any love for. We talked about things and waited for our food. The bar was called the “Dixie Chicken”, and is apparently well known among the Texas A&M crowd. I'd never heard of it until I planned to come to Texas. I did a little research on where to go eat, and all of the sources discussing the very impressive cuisine of College Station, Texas agreed: Go to the Dixie Chicken, get a half-pound of Death. And Stuff.
“If you eat this more than once a day, you will die.” Neel just nodded his agreement. His mouth was full of Stuff. Hello, I am the butt-plug of your life.
We were in College Station to attend TEEX, the Fire Training Center attached to Texas A&M. The Aggies. I need the “Hazardous Materials Incident Command” certification for my job. I now have that. Two more to go.