I must state first off that before hitching up with the Sharchitect I'd never been drawn to Fried Catfish and the "must have" side items that accompanies it. But 12+ years after the hitching, I have given up and joined the crowd. I know its not just an Arkansan phenomena and really, not an exclusively Southern dish. So last night we did so partake in the breaking of hush puppies and piled on our plates with the necessary mounds of coleslaw, pickled green tomatoes, onion slices (raw), pickle & lemon wedges and fries. We left full and content thinking silently to ourselves about the fact that we'd done this same thing only a mere 6 days prior to this event. At the same place. The Catfish Hole. Its a local favorite that I'd recommend to those traveling to the city. A very casual experience.
Have I mentioned how the Sharchitect likes to promote and exploit share the fact that I'm a knitter? It is truly a sweet jester on his part but sometimes it gets embarrassing. Before leaving for our feast of the fish, he asks me to bring along some of my knitted projects to show off to our friends during dinner. We hadn't visited with them for a few years and had some catching up to do. I hated doing it but I told him no. No, I just couldn't do that. Because, as many of you fellow knitters may know by now, those who don't enjoy the craft don't understand our personal fascination with it. I conceded only because I was wearing my YinYang sweater and had decided to wear it before he'd asked. Oh, and I carried a felted handbag too but hubby is so used to seeing it that he forgot it was one of my little ditties. Honestly, I don't like pointing out my handiwork. I have this blog to show off my stuff and I'm not making anyone read it. Folks are free to choose whether to read my blather or cycle on to other more intellectual pastimes.
Speaking of pastimes, look what can happen if you choose to snuggle up real close with your husband way too many times:
To me this is shocking. How can a 40 year old uterus handle it? I get cramps just thinking about it. Sorry, TMI. And I thought it was expensive feeding one teenager!
Since I have an Arkansas theme to this post, I'll leave you with this image of what I can only call my dream car (not):
Go Hogs! Whoooo Pig Sooiee!
