I am just going to say it, pickles are delicious.
For some reason that sounds disturbing, but that's the way it is.
Yesterday for lunch, I spied fried pickles on the menu.
As I attended school in the south where they fry everything but babies, I am no stranger to fried pickles. My friend DB however, is fried pickle niave. So I suggested we order some. I did not intend for him to order them as his main course, but he did.
The waitress gave him the stink eye based on hearing his order and with good reason. After reducing the five pound pile down to roughly three and a half, DB looked like he had been punched in the bread basket by Tank Abbott.
How far would you go for the love of a pickle?
That's pretty far, but here is the ultimate test. Afterwards we stopped by a snowball stand with more flavors you can shake a stick at. Way down low on the list of delights such as strawberry creme, mango and lime, was a real shocker.
Dill muthafunkin pickle snowballs.
Man, I am having a serious crisis as to whether or not I can leave this city without trying one.