On the road– the hub was hungry so we had to stop. Where else do you go but DQ? I find the place only fit for the grungiest of hangovers, but whatever– I wasn’t eating…
I was stricken from the moment I went in by the decor– this was over the top even for Dairy Queen. Maybe I don’t get out enough but I’ve never seen this kind of communal flower fountain dining anywhere else.
I was, am– in awe!
Check out the chick– I don’t think she can believe it either.
On to food– belch!
Is this stuff ok? I mean really… I’m not going to lie, I had a bite– it was good. What kind of low calibre taste buds I have are more than apparent now– I’m, I’m — hell– I’m vato (with manners).
What kind of facilities are in a fine dining establishment like this you ask—->
Here you go– here’s the proper. Yes proper.
So from this I go to the fine, the holy, the temple of foods, whole foods. It’s almost too dirty to have in the same post, like going from a sleazy club to a restaurant with a sommelier. It doesn’t jive– but hey, I won’t complain.
Gelato- enough said.
Avocado gelato– illegal?
No, stop! I beg you!
And! The beer cooler. The shame of not taking it all was so great, I’m hardly forming words still.
And if all else fails — you get the chicken killer– because you are a chicken, you are not worthy and you must be slaughtered in THIS way!