Thursday, January 17, 2013

A lá Recherge du Temps Perdue Chicken


My parents were from Lowell, Massachusetts, and while my father quickly adopted a Southern drawl and took to sipping iced tea while taking us from one Civil War battlefield to the next, my mother would pass the time by not being able to wrap her head around schools closing just because of a measly eight inches of snow on the ground.  My brother and I would explain to her that most kids came from back roads and farms miles out of town that snowplows couldn’t even get close to, an explanation she would wave off as “absolutely ridiculous” which of course is the exact right response from someone who grew up in a large city where every kid lived within two blocks of their school, albeit an inane one from someone who currently was living fifteen miles out of town on one of those very back roads.

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