Prior to today, I wasn’t sure what I was going to write about this week. My busy schedule paired with being sick has kept me from brainstorming any ideas for articles. This problem solved itself when I saw my breakfast.
Knowing that I was in for another busy day, my mother was sweet enough to get me a Tudors biscuit. As a matter of fact, it was an order of biscuits and gravy with a hash brown. While I was all sorts of grateful she was kind enough to do this, I was quickly reminded of my complete and utter hatred of Tudor’s Biscuit World.
Tudor’s is a staple in West Virginia, Kentucky, and Ohio. I have absolutely no earthly idea why. The line at Tudor’s in the mornings has been known to literally prevent the flow of traffic at my local location. It is mind-boggling why this happens. The is virtually always a 10+ minute long wait. Once you finally get to the menu to place your order, you can’t understand a word that the person speaking through the speaker says. Once you finally get to the window, you’re handed your food by a drive-thru worker who, in my personal experience, generally isn’t very nice. The disappointment only continues when you get home and prepare to eat the food. To my constant horror, my biscuits are literally ALWAYS burnt. I genuinely can not remember the last time I went to Tudor’s and they didn’t burn my biscuit. How difficult is it for a restaurant specializing in biscuits to properly prepare a biscuit? Literally the only redeeming qualities I can name about Tudor’s is that they have a rather good gravy which generally can make their burnt monstrosity of a biscuit palatable (depending on how burnt it is), and they also have very good coffee. I would be amiss if I weren’t to mention these two things as a sort of counter to my rant.
When I moved to this area approximately 12 years ago, I experienced Tudor’s for the first time. Given the hype, I was exciting. I left bitterly disappointed then. I leave there bitterly disappointed to this day. In my opinion, Tudor’s is hands down the most overrated eating establishment I have ever experienced.
Thanks for reading and please don’t flame me too hard for my hot take on Tudor’s. Be sure to check out the other great content from the guys at Mid-American Culture. I hope to be finished with Far Cry 5 next week to give a full review!
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In honor of her recent 10th birthday, I decided to share the definitive top 10 Beulahs. Enjoy.
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Hello everyone and good morning. The birthday of my favorite poet, Robert Frost was celebrated this past, last week of March so I thought we’d take a look at one of his poems, The Mending Wall.
It was one of Frost’s earlier poems published in 1914. It’s about two farmers and their annual spring meet up to repair the stone wall the separates their respective properties. The narrator is unsure if a wall is really needed feeling that it keeps people apart. The neighbor quotes the ideology of his father that “good fences make good neighbors.” Here’s the poem and happy Easter weekend to you all.
The Mending Wall
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, 'Good fences make good neighbors