I was cleaning off my memory card last night and look what I found... our short, short life in Florida together when I would go down to visit Eric. Our last weekend there, when we knew he was moving back to Utah, we figured we might as well squeak in the Everglades. It was a fabulous day. Probably my favorite of all my visits. We found this massive roadside produce stand called, "ROBERT IS HERE." Boiled peanuts, fresh cut pineapple to order, fruit you'd never heard of, avocados the size of my foot, and a fresh honey tasting station with over 20 different flavors. It was the best regional produce stand I have seen outside of PA. Next, we went to the park and were literally less than five feet away from dinosaurs that could have eaten us whole. They were huge!, nuff said.
So, as we are driving away, a few miles down the road there is this crappy sign that says, "Now that you've seen the gators, COME EAT THEM!" I made Eric turn around and this is what we did:
I wish you could have met the guy that made it for us. The place was actually closing, but he said we looked like good touristy people that deserved his special Gator Basket. As he was frying it up he told us how he moved his family out of the Bronx to Florida so his kids would stay out of trouble and get a better education. I wish I had recorded the conversation because it was all in a luscious, thick, NY accent with tales of being shot at, drugs and jailtime, with an endearing Florida ending filled with loud grandkids and a Gator Basket with special sauce.
And yes, it does taste like chicken.
