In fact, I’m afraid to try to put on a pair of pants, preferring the comfort afforded by elastic-waistband gym shorts.

We had a full house yesterday, with all of the family minus one brother who, being in the food service industry, was busy making other people happy. From my viewpoint, it was a total disaster, food-wise:
- The dressing got double-salted, once by me and once by my mom. It still got eaten, but I was unhappy.
- I forgot to put out the bacon-green bean bundles that I spent a solid 90 minutes working on. My kid took them home, though.
- We’d planned to eat at 2:00, and I think we finally sat down at 3:00 — very poor kitchen control. I still don’t know what went wrong.
- Way, way, way too much food: over-cooking gone berserk; too many appetizers that filled everybody up.
- The mashed potatoes were too spicy (I suspect The Duchess snuck in and added a fistful of cayenne to keep everyone out of them, so there would be plenty left over.)
- I forgot to put a pan under the strainer, and just poured the damn giblet/turkey neck stock down the drain. Also failed to have corn starch in the pantry. Totally ruined the gravy.
- Lone bright spot: the turkey I roasted turned out really, really well. I don’t know why, but I think it’s the brining. Da Boid was in the brine for about 16 hours. I also use a roasting trick I picked up from the web somewhere: cook it for the first 30 minutes at 500° to get a good brown on the skin, then at 350° for the rest, with a foil tent over it. I reckon that first 30 minutes is like searing a roast — keeps the juice from steaming out through the skin. I put a stick of butter in the cavity, too — I suspect all it does is leak out, but you never know. Bottom line, it came out nice and juicy and tasty.

Right now, the Duchess and the Young Prince are sending the microwave into overtime, re-heating turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, crab dip, rolls, etc. It’s like a second feast, except one you get to eat in bed from little bowls while watching Tivo. Oh, lordy — the dishes yet to do. All the gunky ones are still in the sink. At least I got the trash emptied and out to the curb…wonder if the trash guys have the day off.

I am SO definitely down with this:

Won’t even allow them in the house — one of the few advantages of being the cook.

I almost completely ruined Thanksgiving. For three years, I’ve served a fried turkey along with the regular roasted one. Turns out that’s the one everybody is lusting after, too. Now, there is no way I’d ever try to do a fried turkey myself. Far too messy and expensive. So I leave it to the professionals at the Grill Doctor. For some reason, I completely spaced out on getting da boid in the queue for today, and didn’t realize it until 12 freakin’ 30. They have 14 more turkeys to fry, and if you figure 45 minutes for each one, that’s 10 hours of turkey frying. With two friers going, that puts them right at closing time and no room for any more. But, I’m a fortunate man. Since I’m a regular cusomer (or because they took pity on this knothead), they relented and promised me they would get ‘er done. So, for today, the biggest thing I’m thankful for is the excellent customer service from the gentlemen and lady at the Grill Doctor in Spring Creek Village, at Coit and Belt Line! Somebody’s gonna get a big tip from The Fat Guy.

And may I add that, if you’re a red-blooded Red State male who enjoys fixing up dead animals, the Grill Doctor is THE place to go. They’ve got grills and smokers and accessories and rubs and injections and stuff that you’ve never imagined. That includes the widest selection of cast iron cookware you’ve ever seen. Heaven to a faux cowboy like me. Oh, here’s what we’re using for the turkey injection:

Cajun Garlic Butter
Get Back, Jack! Ay-eeeee!

First Hooters Restaurant Opens In Conservative China

Hooters, which has a racy reputation for its combination of cold beer, chicken wings and scantily-clad waitresses, has opened a branch in Shanghai.

The company calls its image “delightfully tacky, yet unrefined.”

Yea, verily — hear, all, and understand…resistance is futile.

Who would want to resist cold beer and hot wings?

I personally need about a 30° drop in the temps before I can cook something like chicken and sausage gumbo and really ENJOY it by eating 5 bowls. Maybe you’re different. If so, check out Miss Janis’ featured recipe. If not, well, check it out to save it. Lyman is going to add his 2¢ so keep checking back, and you’ll have two excellent recipes.

I will note that it’s hard finding good andouille just about anywhere that’s not Louisiana, but I have found some in the markets around town under the Tony Chachare brand. I smoked some, which you’re not really supposed to do with andouille, and it was just fine.

Mmmmm, burger talk. Apparently, the hamburger is 100 years old this year.

The good Lord is the only one who knows the number of cheeseburgers I’ve eaten in my life, and I think there’s no question that I will continue to wolf them down at the rate of four or five a week. I’ve made my peace with Dr. Atkins on this subject, too. About half the time, I’ll take the big top bun off and eat it with a knife and fork. Sometimes, though, I just can’t resist them the way God meant for them to be, and off I go.

My current favorite burger list:
- The Burger House: double-double, old-fashinoned (mustard, onion, pickles) and their famous seasoning. Utilizes the thin patty. I probably should force them into the triple-triple territory.
- TNT Sports Page Cajun Burger: your standard cheeseburger, but with a healthy dose of cajun spices (I suspect Tony Chacaret’s), a thick slice of provolone, and a piece of Canadian bacon (or back bacon, if you prefer). Thick-ish patty — go for the double.
- Debbie’s in Glen Rose: a ten-napkin burger, utilizing the thin patty. Great because they’re too hot to eat when they’re served; you’ll burn your tongue. Great use of the fresh, white onion, too.
- Purdy’s: soon to drop off the list — some Chinese folks bought the place, remodeled the interior, put in a damn teevee, but worst of all, they’re skimping on the patties and serving hard old buns. Plus, the melted cheese for your french fries now comes out of a pump, like a common 7-11. I fear it’s a sad end to what has been a long-time favorite great burger joint. They get one more shot from me. Thick patty place.

The Fast-Food Burger List:
- The Whataburger, triple-triple, no lettuce, no tomato, with jalapenos
- The Sonic: Super-Sonic jalapeno burger, tater tots with chili and cheese
- McDonald’s $1 double cheeseburger: excellent driving food, and a hell of a deal at eight bits (three at a time, of course.)
- DQ Belt-Buster, with jalapenos: always a classic
- Jack-in-the-Box: that really basic Ultimate Cheeseburger, except you have to tell them No Damn Mayo, Mustard, and throw some pickles and onions on there. I never understood the idea of selling a burger with mayo on it as the starting point. Gag.
- Wendy’s Classic Triple: only in times of deep stress, since they don’t toast their buns, but instead steam them to a soggy mess. That’s if they don’t just pull them out of the plastic bag and throw your dinner on it, untreated.
- Burger King: shut your mouth; not in a million years — I’d rather scrape mold off something in the refrigerator and nuke it, or go to bed hungry. I’ve never gotten the correct order from these idiots — I ask for a double Mustard Whopper, and I end up with fish sticks or a caramel sundae or both in one dish. Their fries and onion rings are stamped out somewhere in Soviet Russia, too. Horrid, just horrid.

Honorable Mention Burgers:
- The In-n-Out: one day, they’ll bring it to Texas, the home of the beef, and there will be a massive ground war here. They’re that good.
- Here’Tis: my granddad’s hamburger joint. Put my uncle through doctor college, kept another one in a job till he went into condiments, was my first job ever in my life (talk about cheap labor.) If I had a lick of sense, I would have asked him to keep one of them open long enough for me to take it over.
- A little shack outside of Manhattan Beach, in Playa Del Rey, CA that served a devilish cheeseburger with a split hot-link on top. You need a beach towel to eat it, but it’s heavenly. I drove two hours to get one of these last I was in the general vicinity…wish I could remember the name…it was awesome. I could drive there right now, if it hasn’t been shut down by the health nazis.
NAME UPDATE: I wasn’t too far off. It’s The Shack…duh. And the burger is the world-renowned ShackBurger. Muchos gracias to Functional Ambivalent for telling me what I forgot. He’s got picture links, too. Mmmmm. BTW, I could have been one of those mustachioed, shirt-n-tied dudes in one of the pictures quite easily. We used to hike over from American Medical to dine on the Shackburger. I think it’s the first place I ever tucked a napkin into my collar to eat something.

Oh, and Jimmy Buffett: Cheeseburger in Paradise, of course. Only song I know of that can make my mouth water. He’s goofy with that Heinz 57 stuff, but that ain’t the point.

Texans and Cajuns love spicy food, probably more than is good for them, the linings of their stomach, and their loved ones. So, imagine my fondness for this post at Tim Blair’s about hot sauces.

Not to mention the link to Blair’s Death Hot Sauces. They all come with a flaming skull keychain. I think I’ll definitely get the Megadeath version, and the Jalapeno/Tequila version.

Whoo, doggies! All hail the greatness of Slovacek Jalapeno Sausage! I bought a ten-pack of these a while back, and decided to pecan-smoke them today. Three hours in the smoker at 200-250°. My scalp is sweating and sausage NEVER does that. It’s a great loose grind, too, that starts falling out of the casing as soon as you slice it, so there’s basically no filler at all. A dab of Stubbs BBQ sauce, and Heaven! I’m in Heaven!

Highly recommended…5 out of 5 Shiners…get it at Sam’s.

Have I ever mentioned how much I love Stubb’s? Best in the business. “Ladies and gentlemen…I’m a cook.”

BREAKFAST IN TROON UPDATE: They taste pretty good diced up and added to scrambled eggs, too. You probably could have guessed that.

I recommend you skip the big WAAAAH! post below. By way of retribution for unloading my wheelbarrow of crap onto your poor, tired shoulders, I’m gonna give you an insider scoop:

The Cleburne Popeye’s is selling a 10-piece box of fried yardbird (all dark, get the “spicy”) for the grand total of six dollars and ninety-nine cents. You read that right: $6.99. That, my friends, is three dang meals, plus dessert for one of them. Biscuits are extra, but who needs biscuits? I got some cheap Mexican cornbread mix for 49¢ at the Wal-Mart. Add some japalenos, and it’s a durn wedding banquet!

And this is what you get. If you can’t be bothered to click the link (and who can blame you?), the recipe contains a) tomatoes and b) kidney beans FROM A CAN. In it’s defense, it has a mouth-watering recipe for pickles, but that does not remove the tomato/bean stain, not by a far piece.

For some reason, he also believes that frozen custard is the same as ice cream. He matter-of-factly states that it is better than Blue Bell, which, you know, what can you say? He’s never tasted Blue Bell, not that has been admitted to as yet. That’s fine and all — digustibus non disputandum is my credo, and I loves me some frozen custard.

Had he left it at that, I would not feel moved to bother talking about it. However, he seems dead set on explaining to Texans what Texas is. Even that’s OK, since, after all…Iowan. But you put all three together, throw in a pinch of Wisconsin braggadacio and outright arrogance ((!) or (?)), and then by gawd have the gall to call stinkin’ Culvers a great* hamburger, and I have to laugh and point. Someone buy that boy a bus ticket and point him south…he needs to get around a little more.

Found it at Bryan’s joint…

* Culver’s is in the Good Burger class. Greasy, thin patty, griddle-toasted bun, coarse-cut onions (white), but nothing special. No jalapenos on the menu that I could find. Had to scan 15 different variations of the hamburger to find the one that was made with mustard, not mayo or Thousand Island or hellish Kraft BBQ sauce. The DQ down the road can (and does) whip these out that good when they’re blind-drunk and half-asleep. All in all, for a fast food hamburger, give me the Whataburger Bacon Double CB w/ japs (Ex O, -L, -T). And a glass of tea. Although I can substitute a Sonic in a pinch with no kicking, and enjoy the tater tots (the small tater tots, you see.)

I think that was a line from an ancient Justin WIlson or Dave Gardner comedy routine*, but I digress.

A Real Cajun gumbo recipe from a Real Cajun. Now all I need, Lyman, is the variation for chicken & sausage gumbo. This is because I always have a plethora of half-eaten store-bought roasted chickens in this household — nobody but me and Speck will eat the dark meat, and I’m tired of being the disposal. Maybe if I gussy it up, they’ll eat it unknowingly.

* The Ancient Ones in the reading audience will remember Jim Lowe and WRR’s Library of Laughs.

Buffalo Salutes Man in Chicken Wing Hat

Invented at Buffalo’s Anchor Bar in 1964, the wing has its own festival each Labor Day weekend. After the birthday festivities, the Buffalo Niagara Convention & Visitors Bureau sent Cerza on the road for a four-city tour to promote the festival, and the rest of the region’s assets.

“We’re going to use this great icon to promote Buffalo tourism,” Geiger said, as dozens lined up for free wings in the city’s Niagara Square.
Joining Cerza on the tour is Sonya Thomas, the 100-pound competitive eater who downed 134 wings in 12 minutes at last year’s Buffalo Wing Festival.

The wing tour includes stops in Pittsburgh and Erie, Pa., and Cleveland and Columbus, Ohio.

[glub, glub] Buffalo does have the greatest wings in the world, no question, hands down. I can remember the end to a drunken night of revelrie in that fair city that involved a late-night drive-thru…and a complete roll of Ultra Tums the next day. I guarantee you, the maid HAD to have been looking under the bed for the dead body.

Guess where I’m going for lunch tomorrow? I did not know they had a Cuban sandwich on the menu. Sorry, Dr. Atkins — that 50 wing tailgate bucket has my name on it, too.

If I can see through the tears to type this, I’m gonna give you a superb Atkins friendly carb-free lunch recipe:

- 1 lb. chopped brisket
- sauce to taste
- dill chips
- sliced/diced red or white onion
- 5 or 10 whole pickled jalapenos

Dump the chopped in a nice big bowl. Spoon in the sauce you want (not too much — sugar, you know). Throw in the pickles and onions. Here’s the secret part: take the jalapenos (at least three or four). Bite the tip off. Squeeze the jalapeno juice all over the chopped beef. Repeat, for as many japs as you want. Mix it all up. Eat a bite of chopped, take a bite of the jalapeno, take a sip of tea. Repeat until a) the bowl’s empty, b) you’re full, or c) the sweat rolling down from your forehead blinds you.

¡¡¡Muy delicioso!!!!

Clearly, this only works if you’re in a place that understands the greatness of King Brisket, and has a fixins bar where you can get all the japs you want. That’s probably pretty much only Texas, but I’ve heard rumors that other outposts have discovered the jalapeno, too.

I guess you could go ahead and mix in a nice iceburg lettuce salad with bleu cheese and crispy bacon crumbles (mmmmm…bacon) if you want, but I personally think the pickles, onions and japs are plenty of veggies for one meal. Oh, and brush your teeth and use some Listerine after this lunch — your breath will be able to peel paint, son.

So, yeah — I’m trying to lose some weight. I feel like a hog from sitting around talking on the phone, emailing, playing online poker, typing into this stupid interweb diary thing. No, I don’t think it’s because I drink too much beer. I’d drink less (beer, that is), but my birthday present of a gallon of Maker’s Mark has disappeared, HONEY!

I can’t resist pointing out the two awesome meals that stand out from the other awesome eating down in that New Orleans. Let me reprise them here in pixels so that you might salivate and possibly profit gastronomically from my recommendations. For I do recommend each of them very highly. Both of these joints suffer from no pretensions such as linen tablecloths or fabulous wall hangings or jaded inattentive model-actor-whatever waitstaff. They were both chock full of families of Cajuns enjoying their dinner. Service lacked only at one, but they were packed, so I give them a slight pass.

Friday night was Liuzza’s. The front room is a bar, and the side room is the restaurant. Both areas were packed. One teevee in the bar had an LSU baseball game on, and the other had the Yankees-BoSox on. Behind the bar was a statuesque blonde that everyone in the party immediately fell in love with. Needless to say, the bar was packed with drooling admirers, so we abandoned the bar for a table and cursed the bad luck of not being born in the neighborhood. We didn’t get too deep into the appetizers, but we did sample the onion rings and the fried pickles. By a unanimous vote, the fried pickles were voted Tops. They were your basic dill chips with a corn-meal breading and deep-fried. The seasoning was awesome, and they just exploded in your mouth. The onion rings were excellent, too. I’m a big onion ring fan, and these were top shelf. Based on the recommendations picked up from Chowhound.com, half the party ordered the fried chicken. The Senator got liver & onions with gravy. Federico the Frenchman had some foofy eggplant dish. Me, I went for the special — smothered pork chop. One side benefit was the best creamy cole slaw I’ve ever eaten. As a general rule, I hate cole slaw, but this stuff was just so damn good, I gobbled it all up. But the real star of the show was the pork chop. Very lightly breaded and fried, it was topped with a sauce/gravy that I can’t even describe. It was full of all kinds of stuff like onions and garlic and mushrooms with a nice light roux base, but my words can’t do it justice. The fact that said pork chop was big as a hubcap was nice, too. I can’t remember what the side was — dirty rice or something that went well with the quart of gravy/sauce that came with it. That was it for me, too. No dessert. By all reports, the fried chicken was superb. A nice helmet of crust from the breading and frying, with just an eensy bit of cornmeal in it for added crunch. It was spiced up a little bit, too. Complimenting the meal throughout was what is definitely a cooooold beer, served in Schooners. I went for the Abita Amber (the real beginning of a nice, weekend long relationship.)

Saturday night we headed back to the same neighborhood to Mandina’s. Again, it was a no-pretense joint. Again, it was full of Cajun families enjoying dinner. They had several rooms, and we got a table in the front room. This time, Mr. F let us know that the trout was the thing at Mandina’s. I’m no trout guy, so I skipped this. Three others took his recommendation, though, and by all accounts, it is rightfully lauded. I have to mention the starter, though — turtle soup. This was, I think, my first encounter with turtle soup. It was very good, an interesting earthy taste, and juiced up with a shot of sherry in it. Sadly, all I could think about the little green turtles they used to sell at the five-and-dime, so the experience was marred. Maybe that’s why I never tried turtle soup before. But let me tell about my entree — it was a stuffed, breaded, fried soft-shell crab, covered in crawfish etouffee. Oh, good Lord, such a meal. The crab was humongous, the breading was spicy, and the etouffee was spicy. Filling beyond belief, and pleasing to the palate. Unreal. I should also mention the Italian salads that we were served — iceberg, some purple cabbage, black olives, green olives, pickled asparagus, pickled green beans, garlic by the pound, olive oil, vinegar, and topped with an anchovie. Awesome stuff. I was groaning when I pushed back from that table, just like the night before.

I would be an even crappier blogger than I already am if I didn’t point out some other things I ate this last weekend. Very quickly:
- Uglesich’s on Friday afternoon : this was colored by the long wait in the hot sun after walking two miles, but the Shrimp Uggie was damn good. Best, though, was the habanero Ketel One bloody mary that accompanied my first plate of raw oysters. Slurp, slurp. My first Abita Amber of the weekend, too.
- The amazing weightless toasted French bread that every place in the city has. And they cover it in butter, to the point that it leaks out the bottom of the bread and pools in the plate. I basically just picked the plates and licked them, I love garlicky butter so much.
- The plate of oysters at Acme : yeah, that’s kinda touristy, but we were close by with a hunger on Sunday afternoon. Lots of Abita Amber (well, one — by that point, I was pretty burned out.)
- The following sampler dishes from the French Quarter Festival:
– Polynesian Joe’s chicken and sausage jambalaya.
– Tujague’s brisket with mustard/horseradish sauce.
– Polynesian Joe’s gator-on-a-stick.
– Sclafani’s crawdad croquette covered in crawdad & corn bisque.

The shining City-on-the-Hill Greatness of The Lucky Dog, of course. I only had two this trip, but they were as delicious as they always have been. Both times were late in the evening, and they served their purpose: staving off total drunkenness, and filling me up for a trip to the casino.

Clearly, absolutely none of this is Atkins-friendly. It’s not really Fat Guy friendly, either. My blood pressure was shooting through the roof by Sunday, and I was glad to get out alive. Still, I don’t regret a single minute, or a single bite. I regret most the missed bites — Central Market muffalettas being the biggest miss. My lord, I love that city and it’s food. I have come to detest Bourbon St., but the rest of NOLA — well, it’s a spiritual home. I need to get the bride down there with me soon, so she can wheel me from restaurant to Lucky Dog cart to casino to hotel. That will be my plan — a wheelchair and a hot red-head to push me around in it. Is it possible for life to get any better? I think not.

Don’t expect a whole lot out of me this coming weekend (not that anyone should ever expect anything out of me on any weekend — I’m a very bad blogger.) I’m headed to the greatest city on Earth* — New Orleans, LA. One of my oldest friends…hell, 2nd oldest, now that I think about it…is getting married in a couple of weeks, so this is his bachelor party weekend.

Now, New Orleans brings many images to the minds of the Great Unwashed — primarily boobies and beads. It is to my eternal shame that those two thoughts have only entered my brain in a very cursory manner. After all, I’m forty-three years old — I’ve seen boobies from coast to coast and border to border. Not to mention that I have broadband.

No, there are two things that I am looking forward to in NOLA. First is the food. I am, after all, The Fat Guy. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, fires me up like eating my way through the French Quarter. None of the Emeril Lagasse bull-crap, either. I’ve eaten there, and for my money, they’re overpriced and way too crowded. The food’s good, don’t misunderstand…just not worth the ass-whipping that goes with it. No, for the good stuff, I try to find the little joints that might not be as well known, but offer superiour service and excellent food. I’ve not had a bad meal in the Quarter yet, and I expect that trend to continue. I can guarantee you, too, that there are two things that will be eaten:

- The Lucky Dog: sold in steam carts, generally on Bourbon St. but all over the Quarter, generally all night long. First up is the basic Lucky Dog with mustard, relish, and onions. That’s always my first one. Then at some point I will devour one with a little bit of chili on it. Sooner or later, I will make an absolute spectacle by going BTTW with the mustard, onion, relish, chili and cheese dog. People stop, point and laugh but I care not, for they do not know.

- The Central Grocery Muffaletta: what can you say? This is the home of the muffaletta. Most importantly, this is the home of the great olive dressing that they slather all over the damn thing. One whole muffaletta can feed a family of four, but I make this as a great lunch. If, through some weird confluence of events, there is some remaining samwich, it makes a great late-night hotel room snack if there is no Lucky Dog close at hand. The muffaletta is good for at least three days, even unrefrigerated. I’ve been known to bring one back to Dallas with me. I also grab a jar of the olive dressing to bring home, and I basically just eat it with a spoon since I can’t cook the muffaletta bread. It’s OK on an Italian roll, but it’s not the same.

Now there is still gumbo, etoufee, boiled mudbugs, gravy-slathered french fries with shredded cheese, blackened just-about-anything-in-the-world…ahhhhhh. The Cajun is the smartest cook in the world, because they’ll cook just about anything and make it taste good.

The other thing I’ve been thinking about is the poker room at Harrah’s. Now, as I’ve mentioned before, my pards aren’t exactly gamblers. One man, hereafter referred to as Mr. F, will be along who enjoys games of chance, but I don’t think there are any others. Mr. F and I, it is safe to say, will spend a few hours in the comfy, dark, oxygenated environs of Mr. Harrah’s establishment. I’m not sure I’ll be able to talk Mr. F into a game of the Hold-Em, but I know for an absolute fact that Mr. F will be happy to coach me through the intricacies of the Craps table. Mr. F is what they call a Whale. Mr. F gets comped rooms and rounds of golf and free 32 oz. lobster tail dinners at the Desert Inn out there in Las Vegas. I plan to stick close to Mr. F when possible. Harrah’s spreads 2/4 up to 6/12 limit, and they have some $100 1/2 NL tables. The Grand Question for TFG is — can I get to any of those tables while in a frame of mind for playing half-assedly decent poker, or will I stumble in drunk and go rip-roarin’, chaps-wearin’, Stetson-sportin’ Texan on them and lose the house and the kids? Perhaps I should leave the Stetson at home?

Believe it or not, a Friday trip to the National D-Day Museum is on the schedule. Practically everybody on this trip is a big-brained college graduate (minus your’s truly) and a big fan of American history. So that should be something interesting and almost certainly awe-inspiring. I’ve read at least five books about D-Day and it still gives me shivers and goose-bumps. Everything from the war effort back here on the homefront to the planning of the invasion to the individual tales of storming and taking the beaches of Normandy — every bit of it is fascinating. Still, I’m worried about it cutting into my eating and gambling time.

This is also the weekend before the world-famous New Orleans JazzFest. I’m betting that there will be more than a few good bands hanging out, so maybe I can hear some whoopin’ Texans tearing it up. But, really, as long as I can hear some authentic Loooooozianna zydeco at some point, I’ll probably be pretty happy from a musical standpoint. I don’t expect that, since NOLA trots out that damn Dixieland jazz crap for the tourists, but it’ll be extra-nice if it happens…the cherry on top of my crawdad & gravy sundae.

So there ya go. I love you all, and maybe I’ll post boobie pix over the weekend. More likely, I’ll go get a snap with Ignatius Reilly’s statue (while holding a Guinness), and then mortgage my ranch for some gamblin’.

* New Orleans is a lot like Las Vegas — fun for a couple of days, then you’re ready to get the hell out and back to Real Life. But for those few days, there’s no place you’d rather be.