We live near an amazing BBQ restaurant. Amazing. Oddly, our condo is about a mile from one of the two locations and our old apartment was about a mile from the other. It's always been a favorite spot for good, cheap, caloric dinners, and the mashed potatoes were a lifesaver during the morning sickness weeks of my pregnancy.
Since the morning sickness jones for potatoes has passed, I haven't had much interest in going there. Throughout my pregnancy, meat has not sounded particularly good to me, but it's all worked out well because GH has found the mere thought of BBQ nauseating for months on end. GI cancer will do that to a person. Oddly, though, last night we both had a hankering for the Blue Ribbon, so we had no choice but to give in.
It all worked out great for me. What I ate of my meal was awesome. Things did no go so well for poor GH. He lasted about 45 min at home after dinner before he lost it all, poor baby. I don't think we'll be eating there again for a long, long time. RIP, Blue Ribbon. We'll miss you.
(Aside: the title of this post refers to my husband; the G in the GH name stands for Goose.)