Captain Scott also stopped the boat to show us an osprey nest. An osprey is big, and it goes for square footage when constructing, and they live here in SC too, so that one wasn't hard for me to find.
So the boat chugs to the dock and off we go into DTD. Torn between the growling in our bellies and the smell of hard plastic, we have a decision to make....well, I don't, for the smell of hard plastic doesn't do much for me anymore, but Little Bites 1 and 2 are
Lego fixated. In fact, I am too embarassed to tell you just how many bricks are in our playroom. Suffice it to say:MANY. But, bellies won out, and our royal sandwiches awaited.
We've eaten at Earl of Sandwich before. The location is good, the food is yummy, the price is right, and unlike some posts I've read recently, we've had no issues with rude or nasty people. And seeing as how our dining plan didn't kick in until the next day, we were going for the good food on the cheap plan. Littles Bites did what Little Bites do. They ate pizza on a sandwich. I think the daring one had PB&J. I was beginning to worry that our Little Bites were going to stick to the standards far too much while on vacation. Isn't a vacation a time for trying new things? For experiencing things out of the ordinary? PB&J is a staple. Not out of our ordinary at all. I forsaw a lecture in our near future.
I, on the other hand, was going out on a limb. I was going to have the much raved about here on the DIS All American. Roast turkey, cranberries, lettuce and tomato with buttermilk ranch dressing, all toasted on a scrumptious bun. I was ready. I was eager. I was anticipating. I like Thanksgiving and this was going to be Thanksgiving in September shoved on a roll. AAaaahhhh.
I was delusional.
I don't like my food to touch, especially on Thanksgiving. There is something unsettling about my corn in my mashed potatoes. I discourage the encroachment of my cranberries into my turkey zone. As a kid, my mom had dishes that had separate compartments. Not like the Dixie people do now. These were real plates. They even had little sections for salt and pepper as if you were making thumbprint cookies but put your thumb on the plate instead. These plates were, perhaps, the ugliest things on the face of the earth, but I loved them. They kept food in it's proper zone. Nothing touched. Nothing leaked, spilled or blended. It all stayed put. They were fabulous.
My All American was the anti-fabulous plate.
It was my turkey, cranberry sauce, salad with dressing and a dinner roll in one. I'm sure some people are okay with that. I, unfortunately, am not. I ate it. I was, after all, about to lecture my little bites about trying new things, boldly going where we have yet to go, and all that. I had to save face. I had to get over my countless issues. I wanted to pick it apart and eat it a thing at a time. But mind over matter got me through.
That and the smell of hard plastic.