Eating habits are just a smidge different out here than were they in Dallas. I'm not criticizing but am merely observing. There's many an eatery out here where there's not a single good choice on the menu, health-wise. I'm loving the blue-plate aneurysm special, really, but certain discoveries here have had an *ahem*-- a-- well, a deleterious effect on my otherwise cast-iron stomach. In specific, I speak of the patty melt. Oh, I come to praise patty melts, not to bury them. But the patty melt comes with a price that'll get you in the end. I've probably heard the term "patty melt" over the course of my life hundreds of times, but never got around to asking what it was. I figured it was pretty much a cheeseburger, right?
A patty melt is chopped, caramelized onions mixed with ground beef and cheese, sort of a sloppy Joe consistency festooned between two buttery slices of Texas toast. I like to think of it as a Sloppy Bubba.
Anyhoo. Sloppy Bubba does bad, bad things to my innards. Yes, I know this is a phenomenal overshare, but I'm writing this Friday night and thinking this weekend will probably bring occasion to go down to the local greasy spoon [The Feed Bag] and get my recommended daily allowance of Sloppy Bubba.
And now for a palate cleanser I give you a picture of a tree I took Thursday: