Some South In My Mouth

I was planning on going to London this evening.

Leave work, hit the Chunnel, arrive in Old Blighty and catch the Cure's only UK show this year at Wembley... Just another day in highly interconnected Europe, right?

I'd followed some bad web site advice and waited 'til the day-of to purchase my Eurostar tickets across the Channel, completely forgetting that it's Easter weekend. Discount fares? Not to be found. And accommodations almost as scarce. Fuck.

I sulked my way through the morning and decided to hit the ol' cantine for lunch. One of the stations had a sign up: "BBQ."

"No way," I thought. "There's no way you're fooling me into getting some sort of foreign food when it's really just some lamb in brown sauce."

But I got a whiff and was surprised. "That smells like... BARBECUE SAUCE!"

I got a half rack of ribs, with some egg salad, green beans, and wedge-cut potatoes on the side. There was no peach cobbler (I grabbed a Nutella crepe for dessert instead, for shame!) and washed it all down with a soda.

Whatever weight I may have lost in the 3+ weeks I've been in France, I probably gained back today. By the time I get home to watch some NCAA tournament action (online) tonight, I'll probably be filling out my jeans and have a gut flopping over my waistband again.

But sometimes after a major disappointment, nothing's better than the comfort - and salt and grease and tangy sweet sauce - of home.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go load up some Lynyrd Skynyrd and wave around a 2x4 like "Hacksaw" Jim Duggan.