The Griddle

I'm about to encompass everything that is still wrong with my attitude towards food. I will probably never be able to view food as just fuel. I can part of the time, the routine times, the day to day times, I can believe it's fuel and view it strictly for its nutritional value. Short of an emotional blow-up I can do that. At least until the weekend. I am a social creature and many events/outings revolve around food. I also like to cook for people. I've been told I'm kinda good at it. It's and inherited trait. I like food that taste good. Excuse me, I love food that tastes good. So, weekends I have my love affair with food and pass it off as socializing... So sue me. This particular coming weekend I am going to a hole in the wall town in Nevada. The special thing about this town is not the event that it hosts, although it is rip snortin good time. It's not the history that goes along with town and the area. No, the important thing about this town is that it houses the BEST breakfast place I have ever eaten at. Like I can't even think about The Griddle without slobbering a little. They only do breakfast, so by golly they do it right.  They have this machine that they dump a box of oranges into the top and it spits out the most heavenly orange juice that has ever crossed my lips. Their omelets I'm sure are made with no less than a half-dozen eggs a piece. The corn beef hash could possibly be my future husband, I love it that much. Their toast even tastes better for some unknown reason. It's like a phenomenon of some kind, the place is an enigma. So, I'm gonna go have breakfast at The Griddle, probably twice. I'm gonna love every minute of it. I'm gonna try not to feel bad about it afterwards, it's a special treat, and everyone deserves a treat now and again.