Would You Eat A Garbage Plate?

Cels and I left wine country with 4 days and over a thousand miles ahead of us before greeting my parents at the Duluth airport. Our only planned stop on the way was to visit some old friends outside of Rochester (only about an hours drive). As we rolled into Pittsford I looked over and saw Cels gawking at the town. She said “I never pictured anything like this in New York.” Its like Medford, or Mayberry. I half expected sheriff Andy to walk out of one of the American flag laden houses to wave at me.

We didn’t plan on much time but we ended up spending two full days in and around Rochester. We went to an amateur soccer game, caught up with old friends, and tasted some of the local fare at the Lilac Festival. Now I know what you are thinking, we didn’t know Rochester really had any “local fare” either. But strolling through the festival we noticed a line of at least 50 people at one stand. We inquired a few line patrons what the fuss was all about and all we really learned was that the only thing served at the front of the lines were called “garbage plates.” Seriously. Someone had the terrible job of marketing a food called a garbage plate! But we were in. And 30 minutes later we had our very own garbage plate. Picture if you can a twelve inch plate divided in thirds between baked beans, macaroni salad, and those cubed French fries. Then on top of that was placed your choice of meats (we chose 2 cheeseburger patties, a crowd favorite). Next came a “special sauce” that was half meat sauce half bbq sauce, and then finally smothered in buffalo sauce. HOLY CRAP! I am sure for some it was heart burn on a plate but it was FANTASTIC! I am salivating right now recalling my garbage plate.

I am sure Mrs. Beth would be disappointed if I didn’t recall for all of you the Glee marathon I labored through. But I am happy to report that even in the face of such adversity, I survived.