The barbecue isn't anything too special (just a regular ol' sloppy joe to everyone else in the world), but I can't get it in New York. And that makes me want it even more.
The longer I live here, the more I find myself dreaming about restaurants that just don't exist in Brooklyn or Manhattan. At the top of the list:
- Skyline Chili (I've tried explaining the appeal, but no one here understands.)
- Texas Roadhouse (Paul and I were excited to spot one on last summer's road trip to Portland, Maine, and made special plans to eat supper there on the way home. I hate the steak, but I could eat those rolls every day of the year.)
- Pizza Hut buffet (Breadsticks. Just breadsticks.)
Even though I sometimes do crave nothing more than a Whopper Junior or a McFlurry, I rarely partake. I truly make an effort to try new and different foods that were difficult to find in Ohio, with mostly terrific results. I'm now in love with Afghan, Thai and Scandinavian food (try finding that at a fast food joint!).
But sometimes the urge is too much. Not long ago Paul and I made a special trip to the Lower East Side ... for Chipotle.