DISPATCH FROM CALIFORNIA, MARYLAND

@JasonBotelho recently discovered I'd never been to a Cracker Barrel. So, on Saturday, we drove with his gf Amanda out to a Cracker Barrel in California, Maryland. There are far closer CBs to DC, but none would have served the irony (drowned in white gravy) that this California girl desired.
  1. California, Maryland is 1.5 hours out of DC. It is next to Hollywood, Maryland, a small unincorporated community on the Patuxent River
  2. We found the Hollywood sign. Had to take a pic in front. I know, how cliché!
  3. We arrived at Heaven.
  4. I knew you had to walk through a general store to get to the restaurant but I guess I didn't put it together that the owners of an establishment called Cracker Barrel MIGHT be extremely conservative. The Donald Rumsfield audiobooks and "Don't Tread On Me" mugs made it pretty clear though.
  5. The store had lots of Yankee candles and gifts for first communions and this very questionable sign.
    I may have *accidentally* broken an apple-shaped wall clock (BIBLICAL) with my purse. I offered to pay for it but the very very sweet saleswoman said that, when people break things, they never charge them. Knowing this, it took every reserve of my self-control not to shatter all the "Don't Tread on Me" mugs
  6. I say this like, all the time!
  7. When we sat down, I jokingly asked Jason and Amanda "What's good here?" The waitress heard me, detected no sarcasm, and said, "the shrimp."
    This is a pic of our food
  8. We sat in rocking chairs outside Cracker Barrel for an hour, slowly beginning the digestive process like my grandfather waiting for a storm. Then we went to a tiki bar on Solomon's Island that was unlike anything I've ever experienced.
    I sat in a bright blue chair and watched tattooed men play a very sexual game of cornhole while a one-man band played "Blurred Lines." Women next to us talked about their bail money. This was less than 2 hours out of DC!
  9. The wall of the bar had this Bogie quote.
  10. Then we drove home through a lightning shower, weighed down by soup bowls of white gravy and the memories of ruddy faced men smoking cigars with their teen boys and shaking their asses to tease their cornhole competitors. I took a Silkwood shower and began to feel clean again.