Pitching Is Not Just For Writers' Conferences

If you checked in here for a post on pitching your book to a literary agent, you'll be sorely vexed. As opposed to happily vexed. Nothing here is about that, but TOMORROW it will be!

Today we look at travel photos from Val's weekend trip. Not so much a weekend trip as a Sunday drive. Not so much travel photos as documentation of Thevictorian family meals at Lambert's, the Throwed Roll Restaurant in Sikeston. That's what they call themselves: Home of the Throwed Rolls. So you see, pitching is for ROLLS, too! Though we were more concerned with the catching.

Sunday, we piled into The Pony's Nissan Rogue and headed toward Cape Girardeau. Not to do anything fun like hit the casino. Nope. Never been to that one. We were making a dry run to see how far away the All Write Now conference would be in Pony-minutes. Last year Hick drove, and dropped us off so he could peruse flea markets and thrift stores while we got our award-winnin' on. I didn't forget to mention that last year, did I? That I won 1ST PLACE in nonfiction, and The Pony (only 17 years old then) won 3RD PLACE in fiction? What? You already heard about that? Oh, well. I just can't hear it enough.

The plan also included a trip to Lambert's, which was just another 30 miles or so farther south. Nobody has thrown rolls at us in quite some time. I know I've only been there twice, and The Pony remembers once. I asked The Pony what he would be having for lunch, and he said, "Rolls."

"Obviously. How many rolls do you think you can eat?"

"All of them!" The Pony really, really likes rolls. In fact, he was the first Thevictorian to nab one. We waited what seemed like forever without anybody tossing us a roll. A cart went around, but we might as well have been sitting inside Old Mother Hubbard's cupboard, seeing as how we had none. When another cart appeared about 15 minutes after we had arrived, The Pony, not one to draw attention to himself, stood up and clapped his hands.

The Pony is not noted for his athleticism. A perfect score of 36 on his ACT, but not an athlete is he. The roll was fired from the opposite corner of the dining room. The Pony watched it all the way, right into his eager mitts. HE CAUGHT IT! Most of it. Not through any fault of his own. He nabbed two lobes of that yeasty roll, but the third lobe continued in motion, a good disciple of Newton's First Law of Motion. ROLL DOWN!

Don't you worry about that 1/3 of a roll. A man came by about 30 minutes later, and swept it up in a dustpan/trapper thingy. I'm surprised Hick wasn't tempted to pick it up and eat it. He went roll-less until another cart came by. But he DID catch one for me. I only ate the crusty part, because I've been cutting back, you know. I let Hick and The Pony divide the rest. But here it is:

You can see the magnitude of this behemoth. It casts a shadow as substantial as that of the soda cup. I must admit that I had already partaken of some crusty baking-pan overflow before I thought to have The Pony snap a picture.

The Pony had half a Lambert's Burger. He had planned on a steak, but they were 16 ounces, and he's not that big a carnivore. He ordered a whole burger, but could only eat half. I guess those rolls filled him up.

Hick had the fried chicken, white meat only. It seems he's eaten part of it already.

That's a mutilated roll, not some crazy polar-bear-skin rug laid out in front of him along with some fried okra. Hick had baby carrots and candied yams as his sides.

I had the charbroiled chicken breast (bone-in), with baby carrots and SLAW. You know I can't resist slaw. Oh, and a 34 oz Diet Coke was my beverage. Of course I had been looking forward to the pass-arounds. That's food in a bucket that the dining room staff in overalls carry around and slop onto your plate if you ask. Yep. I went to the website the day before (because we all need a diversion when we're trying to craft our pitch for the writers' conference coming up within the week) and perused the pass-arounds. I had my heart set on some fried taters and black-eyed peas.

Of course nobody came around to our corner of the dining room with THOSE buckets. Or ANY buckets. We were almost done with our meals when Hick finally got the waitress's attention and told her we wanted some fried taters. Of course I had to speak for myself to get the black-eyed peas, because Hick didn't want them.

I think the servers were a bit disgruntled when they came our way. Because they had been called out for not appearing. The black-eyed pea guy was nice enough, but the black-eyed peas tasted like they were right out of the can, except for a rubbery piece of bacon on top, which I gave to Hick after seeing its texture. None of its flavor entered the black-eyed peas. I swear I make better ones at home, still from a can. The Pony agreed, though he didn't taste these on my plate, and in fact has only eaten three black-eyed peas in his whole life, because I commanded him to do it and shoved a spoon in his face on New Year's Day.

The fried taters were pretty good, but Hick was not pleased. He actually lured the tater-slopper over to our table twice. Both times, he said, "Yes, I'd like some fried potatoes. The crispier, the better." Both times, that gal gave him the soggiest, most translucent spuds in her bucket. I know there were good crispy ones in there, because when she put some on my plated, I had four or five crunchy crispy slices. Yes, I gave three of them to Hick. I'm a giver like that. Only the best for my loving husband!

The chicken and the baby carrots were the best part of the meal, followed by the slaw, and then my roll crispin's. Seems like the food was better last time I was there...oh...about 8 years ago. We arrived 25 minutes after they opened, and didn't have to wait, although we got one of the few tables left in either dining room.

I don't think I would stand in line for this.