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snousleLike country living much? Christopher Kimball, the editor of Cooks Illustrated, sends out regular, mildly earthy "Letter from Vermont" newsletters extolling its virtues.
You know the joke about the redneck neighbor that comes over to invite the newly arrived city slicker to a party? Yeah, he goes there!
I’ll leave you with a Vermont story about a flatlander from New York City. He got sick of the big city grind and bought an old farm way back in a hollow, miles from a paved road. He drove down to get groceries every couple of weeks and had to pick up his mail from the local post office since they don’t deliver way out where he lives.
After six months of being totally alone, there is a knock on the door. He opened it to find a large bearded local standing outside.
“Name’s Floyd, your neighbor from the next hollow. Having a party Saturday; thought you’d like to come.”
This sounded pretty good so the flatlander readily agrees to the invitation.
“Gotta warn you, though: There might be some drinkin.”
The flatlander allows as that would be OK.
“More ’n likely that there’ll be some fighting, too.”
Even that sounded tolerable after six months of living like a hermit.
“I’ve even seen some kissin’ at these parties.”
That sounded just fine since the flatlander hadn’t spent more than a few minutes with a woman since he moved up to Vermont.
Just as Floyd was leaving, the flatlander looks up and asks, “Well, what should I wear to this party?”
Floyd turned back around and said, “Whatever you want . . . just going to be the two of us!”
You know the joke about the redneck neighbor that comes over to invite the newly arrived city slicker to a party? Yeah, he goes there!
I’ll leave you with a Vermont story about a flatlander from New York City. He got sick of the big city grind and bought an old farm way back in a hollow, miles from a paved road. He drove down to get groceries every couple of weeks and had to pick up his mail from the local post office since they don’t deliver way out where he lives.
After six months of being totally alone, there is a knock on the door. He opened it to find a large bearded local standing outside.
“Name’s Floyd, your neighbor from the next hollow. Having a party Saturday; thought you’d like to come.”
This sounded pretty good so the flatlander readily agrees to the invitation.
“Gotta warn you, though: There might be some drinkin.”
The flatlander allows as that would be OK.
“More ’n likely that there’ll be some fighting, too.”
Even that sounded tolerable after six months of living like a hermit.
“I’ve even seen some kissin’ at these parties.”
That sounded just fine since the flatlander hadn’t spent more than a few minutes with a woman since he moved up to Vermont.
Just as Floyd was leaving, the flatlander looks up and asks, “Well, what should I wear to this party?”
Floyd turned back around and said, “Whatever you want . . . just going to be the two of us!”
