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Posts Tagged ‘Smokin’ Bowls’

So I went to my first chili cook-off last week.

I ate 25 little cups with varying degrees of spice and meat assemblage including beef, turkey, duck (I think), wild boar, venison, and lamb (I also think). The evening was genius and concluded with a very restless night’s sleep and bubble guts that spilled over into the next day. Was it worth it? Yes! But in retrospect, there was no need for seconds—that was just foolish.

[Many of the finest dining establishments in Manchester brought chili to the contest, held at the Equinox Resort. Local schools, clubs, and organizations made a damn good showing too—especially the kids at the Long Trail School.]

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This may seem like a little photo overkill for a post about a soup place (without any photos of the soup, to boot), but for someone who has a tremor, I’m super proud of these:

Smokin’ Bowls: the lazy wife’s savior during a blizzard.

Shoot the moose if I’m not tired of telling you about the weather, but on this particular night, after hitting Rob with a “no food in the fridge, dude,” just when he’d managed to pull into the driveway after 7, tire-spinning attempts, our options were indeed limited by the drama of the snow.

Pfff—of course. Our favorite hashish-humored soup shack. (more…)

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[Trunk LTD t-shirt + DVF skirt from ages ago + vintage squash blossom necklace + Motif 56 cuff]

I’m not one of those Southerners who claims only my state does BBQ best. Or that only the South does it best, for that matter. I mean, I’m partial to it, and all, but all BBQ is excellent given the person making it puts a little heart in it. [Tell me your state does boiled peanuts better than mine, though, and I’ll drag yer ass to a roadside cart on the interstate halfway from Jville to Gainesville and watch you eat a Ziploc baggie full while mosquitoes eat your hide, then beg you to tell me different.]

But mention BBQ and I’m game, regional loyalties aside. This small aberration in the vast, well-paved parking lot of my Southern superiority complex proved helpful to Roberto, who kindly drove to pick up some dinner—pulled pork in a Mason jar from the roadside Smokin’ Bowls soup stand down the hill:

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