Today we wrap up with servers and burgers from Schacher’s Plates + Dishes.
In Virginia, we find young Lacy serving up a delicious-looking bacon cheeseburger with onion rings. That’s a fun indulgence.
Next, we visit the mysterious Roswell, New Mexico. Maybe it’s just me, but Christie looks a little extra-terrestrial herself, with her hair pulled back so tightly and those frameless lenses.
That “Alien Goo Burger” looks a hot mess, and not a burger at all. You may think these images were taken many moons ago, but only 13 years, to be exact. To be sure, prices were lower.
Evidently, they closed shop three years later. Roswellguy111 posted these words on the interwebs:
Crash Site Cafe Owner a mean guy
I worked for Danny Bowen the owner of Crash Site Cafe. The man was a good cook but he cheated his employees and cheated us pay. His business closed because he ran into financial trouble and because he was a mean boss. The food was the best but the owner was a bad guy. Crash Site Cafe is closed. If you’re going down second street as you enter Roswell, look by next to Sonic and you will see the abandoned restaurant with weeds and loneliness.
Weeds and loneliness. Well, how about that? Something disappeared in Roswell.
And something disappeared on this beverage glass. Clothes! What do you make of Alexa at The Palms in California? She’d fit right in here in Austin. Peace, man. And peace out.
Debbie looks pleased as punch to be clocked in at New York’s Buckhorn Family Restaurant. Maybe she needs a bite of cow to up her protein levels. The meal is called “Texas Steak and Eggs” but this Yankee is missing the Southern sweetness.
Shelley seems much happier, if not reluctant to be photographed, to be serving up fish and chips at Ontario’s Westwind Tavern.
There we are! Jenny at Dalman’s in the North Pole, bringing the welcome wagon. Yes, I WILL take the grilled beef steak and onion, thank you. A 20% tip for Jenny!
In tandem with today’s other Andorra post, I share with you an Andorran coach, which visited three countries in 30 miles. Thirty miles, that’s precious. That’s like half a commute to work. Anyway, these folks were celebrating Patron Saint’s Day by driving up nauseatingly curvy dirt roads and then getting out and cavorting about in the heat. Fun!
While I can appreciate wanting to avoid unclean wine glasses–especially those still marked with lipstick from a previous drinker’s pout, that the busboy clearly overlooked–I cannot condone such risky business as this. Imagine drinking red wine from a Catalan porron!
But such are the ways of those from Andorra, a l’il, independent principality situated between France and Spain in the Pyrenees mountains. And no, I’ll never go there because money. Only 86K people live there. In my terms, it would take 11 Andorran populations to match the size of nearby Austin.
Maybe there’s something in the breeze that makes them peculiar in their oral fixations.
This souvenir cigar is two feet long, rolled at Sant Julia to sale for tourists to snatch up. It does seem burdensome to light, especially for certain people I know with little T-rex arms. Wouldn’t you get sick of puffing on this after awhile? And where on earth would you set it down? In the world’s largest ashtray? Certainly not in your pocket.