Low season is the new high season, as a wave of former stay-homers are crashing down on beaches, camp sites, hotels, and restaurants.
I’m instantly handed sausage, fried soft-shell crab, and a deep-fried Twinkie—which probably shouldn't have shared fryer oil with the crab.
No one can really explain the inorexable march of tiny sugar carrots across the pastry case.
The chilly rivers and blue lakes of the seafood-centric Pacific Northwest are brimming with crawfish that can grow as big as lobsters. So why aren't we seeing them on menus?