It snowed again last night! What in the heck. Last weekend I was driving around in the convertible, enjoying the mid-seventies, and now this? Further evidence of the universe’s conspiracy against me. I was warned against getting drawn in by the “Fool’s Spring” season, but I bought into it anyway. It’s a harsh switch, to be sure.

Yes, I missed updating this yesterday. This was a valid miss, as it was a national holiday. I’m not sure what that means, since I didn’t get the day off, but I’m gonna roll with it. Another reason might be that I just forgot. I don’t have much to work with anyway. If I go all the way back to Valentine’s Day, we joined two other couples for a great dinner at home. We had probably the fanciest charcuterie plate I’ve ever seen to kick the meal off, then fantastic salads, then a prettied-up short rib Shepard’s pie. Great dinner. Then, this past weekend we had friends up for dinner at our house. Monster-ribeyes were on sale, so I went with that. The one I picked out came in at a gluttonous 3 pounds, it fed the four of us easily. We rounded out the weekend with a little wine tasting at some local spots. Seemed like a great idea with the sunny, warm weather, and the end of football season. Apparently, everybody else had the same idea though, it was a little busy for my liking. We actually bailed out of one of our favorite spots, felt a little sorry for the staff. They were just getting crushed, and it was obvious it was going to take longer than we cared to wait.

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So, I missed a week there. It wasn’t even pure laziness this time, my laptop broke. I got it going again on Tuesday, but figured by then it was far too late to bother. I thought it was trashed actually, and had started shopping new ones, but once again the google came to the rescue. Amazing times we live in, I tell ya’. The screen wouldn’t come on, just kind of a white light which slowly faded to black when you turned it on. After some searching, I found a page that said, “hold down the power button for 30 seconds.” Well, that plan sounds like a reach. Whaddya know, it fixed it. It’s somewhat remarkable that I didn’t ruin it before finding that, I had it all taken apart to take out any salvageable parts. I never have trouble taking things apart, putting them back together is usually an issue though. So, anyway… Here I am again.

Not an extremely exciting weekend in the NorCal area. We did go out to dinner in big Downtown Placerville on Saturday, which is always a big event. (For us.) We decided on Steamers, which I always like. It was tasty alright, but on the way home we decided we need to branch out a little more. They have a pretty limited menu, so we end up ordering the exact same thing every time. I guess that way you know you’re going to like what you order, but there is more out there to explore. Actually, I’m not sure there is, but we’ll look around.

Sunday, of course, was the Big Game. We made a whole day of it by tuning into the Puppy Bowl at 9:00 in the morning, and proceeded to waste the entire day staring at the tube. (Actually, I did sneak out for a nice bike ride, so the afternoon wasn’t a total waste. It was 75 degrees out, too nice to sit on the couch ALL day.) We grilled some wings, made some queso dip, and tried to get in the Super Bowl spirit, despite having rather limited interest in the game. My team lost, for the record. Sigh.

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What a crappy game. I guess, being a Nor-Cal-ian, I can even go so far as to say crappy games. After the debacle that was the Chiefs/Bengals, I proceeded to watch the semi-home-team 49’ers, only to see it end in a quite similar fashion. Guess I’ll just mow the lawn on Super Bowl Sunday. On the upside, I made a pot of chicken gumbo that came out fairly well. It was definitely the highlight of the day, but that just ain’t saying much unfortunately. Bah.

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I don’t have much to work with this week, outside of some great food and great football. So, the lame update that follows is not really my fault. Or, since I kind of elected to lay on the couch and stare at the TV all weekend, maybe it is my fault. Let’s not play the blame-game here though. Friday night, I can’t think that we really did anything. We even skipped out on our normally scheduled happy hour event, for no particular reason. Just didn’t feel like it. I think we might have tried watching a movie or something, which of course led me to promptly fall asleep on the couch. Saturday evening, we drove all the way down to Folsom for a birthday dinner at a friend’s house. We watched the 49’ers game while enjoying a fantastic meal of short ribs over polenta. Good game, good food… Good evening. Sunday was effectively a full day of football. We were either actively watching the game, or pacing the floor waiting for the game. No food was needed, we were still stuffed from the prior evening. I guess the Chief’s game falls under the “all is well that ends well” category, but I’ll have to keep an extra-close eye on my blood pressure this week.

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Three-day weekend, in the books. I might start one of those online petitions to make every weekend three days. Not sure any of those petitions has ever resulted in a single thing being changed, but maybe mine will be the first. I have to think it would be well received by the majority of the population, especially out here. Just a guess. Anyway, pipe dreams aside, that wasn’t a bad weekend. We’re in a nice stretch of 60-degree weather, which is certainly welcome. I took advantage of it to wash a few of the vehicles, rearrange the storage shed a bit, and I broke out the bicycle for a few rides. I haven’t ridden either of my bicycles since we moved to this house, well over a year ago. And, er, it shows. In order to counteract any possible health benefits of this resumed exercise regime, we also went out to eat on Thursday, in our continuing search for decent fried chicken. We’ve lived out here 8-some-odd years now and haven’t had a plate of fried chicken since. Well, we’ve made it at home a few times, but the mess generally discourages that menu. We have tried several restaurants as part of this arduous culinary quest, but all have fallen (far) short. Probably the most memorable failure was a trip clear down to Sacramento to a place loudly proclaiming, “The Best Fried Chicken in Sacramento.” I cannot lie, I was excited. Expectations were high. Too high, perhaps. I wasn’t sure what to expect, and when we pulled up to the location it was clear it was sort of a fast-food type of place, not a sit-down restaurant. OK, they’ve got a Go Chicken Go kind of thing going on, no problems there. Sign me up for a two piece dark and some gizzards, extra sauce. Only problem was, I couldn’t find the two piece combo meal on the menu, or the gizzards for that matter. No matter how long I stared, all I could find was boneless chicken strips. So, I just kept staring, patiently waiting for the kiddy menu to flip over to the real one. Alas, it was not to be. All they served was chicken strips. The best fried chicken, indeed. I wasn’t expecting to happen upon the west coast equivalent of Strouds, but chicken strips?!?!?! I died a little bit inside that day. Heck, I could have saved a few gallons of gas and just got a McNugget meal up the hill. I’m not even sure how they were, because I left without ordering, quietly sobbing, unable to contain my grief.

Anyway, I never gave up, resolving to search even harder. And search I have, always with similar results. Then, on Thursday we ended up at a rather remote hole-in-the-wall, Sportsmans Hall. I had researched the menu thoroughly, and confidence was high that we might be on to something. Rest assured, I had a few plan B’s selected in case everything went bad. A lengthy, detailed interview of the unlucky waitress who drew our table confirmed that yes, they did indeed serve actual fried chicken! Eureka! I was further encouraged that she gave me a confused stare under questioning, like “what the heck else would it be?” Look lady, you ever been outside this place? It’s a fried-chicken desert out there. I excitedly ordered the chicken plate, laughing hysterically when she jokingly asked, “would you like the mashed potatoes with that?” (Uh, that WAS a joke, right? Seemed to bring on more confused stares. That’s OK.) Then, I waited. And waited, and waited. I took this as yet another positive sign, as no acceptable fried chicken comes out quickly. After a good 30-plus minutes, my patience was rewarded with a fine looking plate of genuine fried chicken! Lots and lots of fried chicken, as a matter of fact. A full half a bird, and a somewhat large bird at that. Success! I anxiously dove into the huge plate, and it tasted as good as it looked. The long quest is over, we’ve found a spot for that occasional fried chicken fix. We’ll be back, I’m sure, probably sooner than later.

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