Yes, you read that right.

On our last day down in Alabama we were busy packing, all helter-skelter, who cares as long as it’s in a bag and makes it to the Jeep. This shit will all get sorted out when we get home. Clothes will be one big mass of wrinkles and everything’s gonna get washed anyway.

I went to the fridge to see what needed to be tossed, put in the cooler and what we had left to eat. Slim pickings missy. A couple of tablespoons of Heinz, 8 ounces left in the French’s 10 ounce bright yellow plastic bottle. A couple of leftover roasted red skins from a tasty pork chop supper a couple nights before, 1/4 of a jalapeño, (seeds removed) 3 ounces of Land O Lakes butter, sans Indian Maiden (now that’s just plain wrong), a half bottle of shrimp cocktail sauce, 3 lemon slices, a baker’s dozen of hamburger dills swimming in tart brine, and enough orange juice to swallow my pills in the morning. Not looking good.

Decided we would go out to eat one last time, but not seafood. (This was mistake number 1. I shoulda just taken one for the team). I would have been happy with a couple of Krispy Kreme doughnuts but the Hubs thought we should partake of a something substantial, since we’ll be fasting until we got on the road the next morning. (We’d be going right past Krispy Kreme in the morning, he’d have to kill me not to stop). Actually there’s this place right across the road from Krispy Kreme. A famous institution in these parts. Dark building resembling a Cracker Barrel. Over the last 2 months we’d driven in the parking lot TWICE but it’s been so packed, people standing in line out the door so we opted for shrimp elsewhere.

Ok, no matter what, we’ll wait it out and see what all the fuss is about. The place is charming in a down home, southern kind of way. The bathrooms are found under the neon “Outhouse” sign. Wooden plank floors, the large entry has a wall of framed pictures in memory/tribute to the owner’s family who have all ‘throwed their last roll,’ The wait proves to be about 40 minutes until we’re seated. Waitstaff all wear red suspenders and jeans, ye-ha.

We both order diet Coke’s which are served in insulated handled cups the size of Hubs’ head. While we peruse the menu, a thin gentleman pushing a 4 wheeled kitchen cart walks past, yelling, “hot rolls, get your hot rolls.” He didn’t exactly ‘throwed them,’ but he didn’t hand them to us either. You’re gonna have to catch it or it’s landing on the floor. It’s their signature catch phrase and ‘throwed rolls’ is big part of their history. Huge, golden brown, all yeasty smelling, they looks simply scrumptious. I set the hot monstrosity on a paper towel, get my knife out and look for the butter. No such item. (Mistake number 2. Deal breaker. There is no forgiveness for this atrocity. How can you serve homemade supper rolls and not offer real butter? There is no logical explanation, has to be cost alone. Bunch of hooey. I tried but couldn’t finish it.) Topping this incredible roll with a lame imitation of Land O Lakes real butter, assuring this consumer of a real ‘buttery taste spread.’ If only I had thought to take along my 3 ounces of real butter from my nearly empty fridge!

Because I am a brave girl, always willing to try new things (haha, even writing this makes me laugh), I say, “yes, thank you,” when the next roving server of ‘all the free sides you can eat,’ stops by our table offering fried okra. They’re half the size of a tater tot and she spoons a dozen on a paper towel in front of me. Each leaves their own grease spot. They’re pretty good.

Hubs orders the fried chicken dinner, I order a favorite and one of my weaknesses, chicken pot pie with cole slaw and chunky apple sauce. Another server of the masses walks by offering apple butter and molasses (to mask the butter less taste on the rolls). Our food comes in just a few minutes. Both plates look great. A spoon has been stuck in my pot pie to let some steam escape. Hubs digs into his crispy chicken after he peppers his slaw for 3 minutes. I stir the pie a bit to let the gravy thicken up. The black eyed peas server (I gotta feeling-woo-hoo, that tonight’s gonna be a good night. Not hardly) offers a couple scoops to accompany our entree. Never had them before either, but I liked them. Kinda like smokey pork and beans.

The chunky applesauce is good, so is the slaw. After 3 bites of pot pie I’m wondering when I’m gonna find that first big bite of chicken. It is a chicken pot pie, where’s the chicken? I add salt and pepper for taste (not something I normally do) and keep plugging my way through gravy, soft carrots and peas up the wazoo, searchin for that tender bite of white meat. I’m now avoiding the crust because it’s soggy and still searching for a speck of chicken. I give up, finish the rest of my applesauce and push my plate away. Then server # 47 sashays up and asked if I wanted tomatoes and noodles. (Is that a thing)? The ‘roll man’ has been past a half dozen times, and I reach the forgone conclusion, the rolls were the best part of the meal-IF ONLY THERE WAS REAL BUTTER. Not that my opinion matters, but Lambert’s servings are substantial but taste/flavor/appeal is sorely lacking. Definitely quantity over quality. Would not recommend.

Forty bucks and I ate like a picky toddler. My saving grace was the knowledge that snuggled deep in the condo’s freezer was a whopping helping of Cherry Nut Ice Cream. Now that would break my heart if one teaspoon got ‘throwed out’…