Blueberry Pancakes and the Cock of the Walk

One of the best places in Key West is Blue Heaven, a funky restaurant with chickens running about and blueberry pancakes to die for. The gift shop wasn't bad either. Someone on one of my "social networks" recommended Blue Heaven. Thank you. Thank you. Didn't look like much from outside, but once we found the garden with the shade and the chickens and the dynamite menu, everything was wonderful. Good bar, too, but we were just there for breakfast.

I gobbled down three big pancakes that must have had a pint of blueberries scattered throughout. Should have a photo of them, too, just like Stephen Shore photographed his breakfast and motel rooms. Damn.

Of course I was tempted to write Blue Heaven into the book, but it really doesn't belong there, so I'll have to blog it. The coffee was all right and the side order of bacon was cooked to my favorite crispness. Generous, too. Don't you just hate a puny side order or bacon?

I'm posting a few photos of the place. I was too enchanted with the curious chickens to photograph them, but they were a big part of the place, hens, young-un and a rooster, of course, who liked to crow. This was a warm up for Mr. Clucky in South Beach.

Key West in the summer is mucho hot, and we enjoyed the shade. It's tolerable with shade and/or a breeze. I am very fond of places at the end of the road and am hoping to get down to the tip of the Baja before I'm gone.

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Paranoids R' Us

So, I must have got out of the habit of posting while I was carooming around South Florida doing research on my novel. Of course getting home to laundry, shopping, mail, bills sucks up another day. Then it's writer's group, physical therapy (too many years at the computer has given me a permanent pain in the neck), MWA, and a weekend of company with some serious cooking and then recovering from that week, and so it goes.

I am all recovered except for one thing. The absolute mind-boggling wimpiness of our society. In a meeting, never mind which one, someone actually asked, "are we going to serve something that unhealthy?" when the unhealthy item was a skinless, boneless, chicken breast with a measly 1/4 ounce of cheese as coating. People, ease up.

The absolute worst was an article in the Globe (I think) about people who only exercise indoors and refuse to go outside because they are afraid of the sun. One woman was quoted as saying she gets all the nature she needs from the Nature Channel.

This obsession with health is not healthy. Actually, it's probably not an obsession with health, it's an obsession with WEASEL WORD ALERT-- "wellness." That word turns my teeth on edge. Wellness. What the hell does it mean? In sickness and in wellness so long as we both shall live? Barf. Urp. Gag. Wellness.

I am a red meat out-in-the-midday-sun kind of person, doing the Duvall Drag at noon with no sunscreen. I did have a nice hat.

So you have yourself an excellent evening and for God's sake, if you want some cheese, eat some cheese. Cheese has calcium and protein. Do not under any circumstances eat processed cheese food. Eat cheese, dammit. I'm very fond of St. Andre and of Cotswold Cheddar. And blue, any shade of blue.

So there.

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