There is nothing I like more than a good continental breakfast. That may be a slight exaggeration but it's pretty high on the list. The best was the time my brother caught our house on fire and we had to stay at the Hampton Inn in Albemarle for a while. They had these mini sausage biscuits that are too die for! A dab of mustard on that sucker and it was a little pillow of heaven. Earlier this summer I tried to convince my sister to put on pajamas with me and go to that same Hampton and hoard all of their miraculous biscuits. We never did it, but think about how easy it would be. They would never know. PS I'm going to start doing this if I fail to find a job out here and can't afford my Trader Joe's anymore.
With a satisfying breakfast under our belts, my mom and I headed to the home of the king...Graceland. We didn't pay to take the tour of Graceland, but we did pay homage to his excellency by signing our names on the stone wall that surrounds the perimeters of his breathtaking estate. I wrote something lame like, "Following my dreams too." I know, I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. I should have said, "I can't wait to eat a fried peanut-butter and banana sandwich with you in heaven." I'm just going to pretend that's what I wrote.
Now, for what was probably the best part of our cross-country road trip. The Neely's BBQ restaurant in Memphis, TN. Let us have a moment of silence for the absolute most succulent meal I have experienced in recent memory......Amen! I can't believe I am admitting this but the Neely family may have converted me to a Memphis BBQ fan. For nearly 25 years I have been a devoted fan of Eastern NC-style BBQ. The moist pork drenched with the tangy vinegar-based sauce that punches your tongue with it's spiciness has been an unshakeable number one on my BBQ radar. But this pulled pork sandwich slathered with it's thick, sweet-n-spicy sauce and topped with a mountain of cool, creamy cole slaw was an ethereal gastronomical experience. So amazing I almost canceled the rest of the road trip and pitched a tent in the parking lot and called it home.
We eventually stuffed our satiated bellies back into the CRV and trolled through Clinton's homeland of Arkansas. Insert obvious joke about his infidelity here and we'll be done with that state.
Next up: Being pissed in Oklahoma. And not the British meaning of pissed either.
Author's note: My brother is not a pyromaniac; his pop-tart got stuck in the toaster and lit up like a firecracker. Special thanks to our friend and former-neighbor Robin Morris for fighting that fire with her fortuitous extinguisher.
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