Now that I've mostly unpacked, I can return to a more normal existence, which includes my blog. I'm quite certain I'll have much to write about in the coming months. I'll begin with Kansas, itself.
Ah, Kansas. I've lived here for two months now and while I admit to not experiencing everything KC has to offer, at the moment, my assessment is that Kansas sucks. Large hairy donkey dicks, if you'd like additional descriptors.
Before relocating here for a job, I'd heard so many great things about KC. Those I spoke with made it sound modern, vibrant, and interesting. Great, I thought, sort of like Richmond, but in a cornfield. Except it's not, not even close. I'm speaking of the vibrant stuff; the cornfield aspect is accurate.
Before I go any further, I want to make it crystal clear that the people here are great. They're kind, and welcoming, and you'll never read a single unkind word about them from me.
With that out of the way, let's address the stereotype of the Midwest being a bit slower. Yeah, it's not a stereotype. It's true to the point where one's mind is just blown, sometimes. For example, a few weeks ago, I returned from a business trip and didn't hit my home in the KC burbs until around 11 p.m. Because I'd been traveling, my fridge was empty, so I trolled through the area, figuring I'd make due with some drive through. Except, I done figured wrong; fucking nothing was open. No drive through's, grocery stores, nada. Now, one of the value propositions of a chain, such as McDonalds or Wendy's, is consistency. A quarter pounder with cheese is the same all over the world, for the most part, so you don't have to worry about whether 'this place sucks' (we'll pretend Mickey D's doesn't suck, for the moment). One of those 'consistencies' is drive through hours; they all advertise being open late. Not in Kansas, apparently. Same deal with pharmacies. You want a script after 6 p.m. on the weekend? Yeah, good luck with that. Just this week, I discovered the dry cleaner I use closes whenever the hell they want to. Could be 6:00, 6:30, 6:43...whenever.
At least the food should be good here, right? It's the heartland, after all. It may sound odd, but the two benchmarks I use as food indicators of excellence are meat, specifically ribeye steak, and donuts. Having grown up in close proximity to those gods of dessert, the Pennsylvania Dutch, I find a good donut to be a mark of excellence. Needless to say, upon my arrival, I inquired about both items.
I was told, by numerous sources, that if I wanted great meat, to go to McGonigles. So, with great anticipation, I visited the establishment last weekend. I walked in and will admit they had a lot of meat. Upon closer examination though, it really wasn't any more than other butcher shops I've frequented. This place just kept everything in the case, versus holding some in the deep chill. A friendly individual asked how he could be of assistance and I asked about the various ribeye options. He responded they had one type of ribeye (their website said they carried pasture raised in addition to the standard grain fed; it lies). Strike one for not at least having pasture raised. I then inquired whether they carried prime beef. He informed me that everything in the case was graded 'choice or higher'. To that, I responded 'you massive pile of idiocy! The only thing higher than choice is prime, dip shit! Therefore, if you have no prime, you really only have choice.' Okay, I may not have said that aloud but I so wanted to. In the end, I took two ribeyes home, and they were fairly good. I've got a few more shops to scope out, but I admit to not being optimistic at finding prime or pasture raised meat. Damn, I miss Richmond.
My experience was similar on the donut front. I'd been told LaMar's donuts were the absolute bomb. And seeing a line 30 feet deep on my first visit certainly seemed to lend some credence to that assertion. Needless to say, I elected to stop by another time, when I didn't have to stand in that godawful line. Upon collecting my box of supposed yumminess, I raced home, excited eagerly anticipating a lovely donut experience. Long story short, most every grocery store donut I've had puts LaMar's to shame (except for the ones here, which are inedible). In all fairness, good donuts weren't plentiful in Richmond, which had been taken over by 'gourmet' donuts, which aren't sickeningly sweet. That's the point of donuts, you boobs!!! But I digress...
Right now, some readers may be thinking me quite the snob. However, I don't view it that way. A snob looks down upon people and things he or she considers inferior, which I'm not doing at all. For example, if you are manning the meat counter at what promotes itself to be an amazing butcher shop (and this place thinks rather highly of itself), you should really know what you're talking about. At the very least, know as much as me, your customer. You should possess the knowledge that only three grades of meat are recognized in the US; select, choice, and prime. I could call up every butcher shop I've frequented in the past, and they'd rattle that info off and call me an idiot for asking. It's not being a snob if you're simply expecting an establishment to live up to its own hype.
Back to dissing the state. One of the oddest differences between here and, well, every other place I've been, is bottle caps. Here, they feel like they've been tightened to withstand the apocalypse. Seriously, I'm not a weak guy, by any stretch of the imagination. I lift weights and have a solid set of arms and shoulders. But I've about had a few hernias, opening a few bottles. Seriously, I've had to break out the channel locks a few times!
And lest you think I've missed one of the most important aspects of the area, yes, it's fucking flat out here. It's flat and the wind seems to blow constantly and with great ferocity. Not to mention, it's fucking cold. It's the first week of November and it's already below freezing at night and not so hot during the daytime. It's still consistently in the 70's back in RVA.
So, welcome to Kansas, asshole. You'll be here for awhile.
