Z's been a bit picky in the meat department. He has scarfed down baked ham at the major holidays, but even that he won't eat all of the time. Doesn't seem to like beef in any form. And up until this weekend, he has never allowed a piece of chicken to sneak into a spoonful of anything. (He will eat my chicken noodle soup, but it is puréed beyond recognition, I suppose.) He wouldn't even try my peanut butter and herb fried chicken, which sounded about as kid-friendly as a main course comes. Z's a fruit and bread man, and prefers eggs and cheese as his protein sources. But all of that changed this weekend, and getting a taste of Western Nebraska fried chicken and gravy. The danger now is that we may have spoiled him. He may come to expect that dinner always should taste like this, and every time he needs a decent meal we'll have to drive two hours east.
Zebb on the Farm Slideshow
Wherever you are and whatever you're doing, we hope you're with the folks you care about this Memorial Day.
1 comment:
I'm glad Z is getting a little Nebraska soil on his soles. It's good for his soul.
I heard Steve Earle tell a story once about his birth. I think he was born on a military base, so when he was born, his grandfather sent a Prince Albert can of Texas soil, so Steve's first steps would be on home soil.
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