Lunch with Swift

Roaming southern New Hampshire's Monadnock Region and beyond — visiting unique places and tasting the local flavor..

Fried ??

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It was raining hard in front of Little Roy’s convenience store.     I was still a wet from my walk with Gary out on Coyote Canyon above the Connecticut River to look at a difficult timber sale.    We had had an early meeting planned but had hung around together and dawdled because we heard that cars were off the hill on Chesterfield hill.   That was the way we were  going.

The weekend had been extremely cold.   Today was about 70 degrees warmer and rainy.  It was turning some of the best powder skiing conditions to crap.  But even though it was too warm for snow.  The rain, as it hit the super cold roads, was freezing.

Coyote canyon is a beautiful lane lined with thick hemlock and pine.  It is steep above and below the road.  It cuts across the slope.  When the roads are good its a sweet country drive but with sheer ice it is a scary and treacherous path.  One wheel of the berm and its way down, down, and crash.

But that was all behind me, we had made it out of there in the coyote Canyon on our morning jaunt to look at the woods.     Back in the  home town,  I was feeling hungry so I pulled in to get some lunch.

I got the Roy’s cheeseburger and what I thought were french fries.  I rushed out to the car in that bent over way people run for cover in the cold rain when its pouring.    There was the crack of thunder.     I got in my truck and peeled back the aluminum foil.     Cheeseburger was great.   As good as I could hope.  My company was the radio and the sound raindrops pelting the truck.  I saved the fries for last.

I took a bite.  Not what I expected.   The outside gave way and was a decent fried battered skin but it pulled off a bit too easily.   The inside was a total surprise.  It was a warm gushy dill pickle 1/4 and there were 4 big quarters to eat.    Such was the day,  I embraced the rain and the pickles.   But if it was a sunny day or I was a little bit fussy.  I am not so sure.   I might get used to ’em if I knew what to expect.

Sometimes you just have to be glad you get to hear the rain pelting the truck when you get back from a trip on the icy roads.

 

 

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