About ghost3112

Family first. Enjoy laughing with friends as much as somber quiet moments with Clair de lune and red wine. Love the arts and humor of all sorts but will beat you up if I have to. Eating is a favorite hobby but cooking is the art that holds my passion. Photographer, semi-activist, love-machine, and advisor. I sell jets for a living.

Conclusion: Fuzzy’s Taco Shop; One Ounce Away

The pricing of the menu would be fair provided the main ingredients were more abundant in each dish.  Overall, Fuzzy’s food was good, but not something I would go out of my way to recommend.  Maybe one day I will return with sunglasses in hand and try the jumbo burrito, but for now, and for my dollar’s sake; Fuzzy’s Taco Shop was one ounce away from being a great place to eat.  Enjoy your dessert.

My summary was part analyses and part judgment.  I make reference to prior statements in the essay to solidify my opinions of the experience.

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Schnucks Markets: Not all created equal

One might think that shopping at any one of the many Schnucks in the area would be a consistent shopping experience based on appearance, service, selection, and hours, but unfortunately, not all Schnucks markets are created equal.

I am a regular at the local Schnucks market in my Affton, Missouri neighborhood, but recently, I got out of my grocery comfort zone and set out westward to the Schnucks market in Chesterfield, then headed east to the Schnucks market in South St. Louis city on Grand Avenue.  The contrast was eye-opening and although I was expecting some differences in perhaps the aesthetics, what I found ran a little deeper.

As I entered the Chesterfield location, I was quickly reminded of the affluence known to exist in the west county region of the St. Louis metropolitan area.  My 2004 Jeep Liberty was snuggled between a Lexus sedan with a slick black paint scheme and a Mercedes S-Class with a Stanford window sticker.  Luckily, I just had the jeep cleaned, so although not as posh as my parking lot neighbors, I was able to fit in without too much notice. 

Red Fish, Bad Fish, Good Fish

It’s Sunday morning in Hilton Head and I am a bit hungover. A crisp and bright morning with an ocean breeze flowing through a regal and well-aged cypress that provides some shelter of shade from the eastern sun. She allows just enough light through to splash and speckle my balcony and shadows of leaves dance on occasion with the breeze. Oddly, there is fragrant sassafras in the air. The sheets are crisp and cool on my unclad body. I stretch. I am finally enticed, over and over again, to breathe deep and clear my lungs of the harsh summer air brought from home.