NJ BBQ

April 29, 2013

NJ BBQ

This weekend I spanned NJ from the NJ Housewives to the NJ Hillbillies. It is hard to imagine that just this weekend I ate food of the Brownstone. For those not attuned to American Trash TV, the Brownstone is the restaurant owned by "celebrities" of the Real Housewives of NJ. For the record, the food was disgusting. The eggs were green and fruit was old. Gross.

I also rubbed shoulders with Teresa Guidice in a Zara store, she was hustling about me with her arms full of flashy studded clothes and her clan of kids loudly behind.

Teresa is WAY taller than her husband, Joe. I guess I am privileged to know that they live in my neck of the woods.

Then, it seems as if NJ is two different worlds, I hiked one of the nicest wooded trails and hit a BBQ in the country. It was real country: back woods unpaved roads, chickens, sheep, hay rides, cowboys and septic tanks. No, septic tanks are not some American army tank sent into Middle Eastern wars. Though I am sure they would be more cost efficient. Septic tanks are poop tanks. You see, in rural USA, it is HARD to believe but they still don't have running water. The people have wells for their water and septic tanks to hold their pee pee and...you get the point.

May I introduce you to the septic tank.

Then you need to get your septic tank pumped out by a vacuum a few times a year.

Oh yes, a Hello Kitty Septic tank. I'm sure the designer is Italian and having a good laugh over the fact that Romans had plumbing and bidets back 2,013 years ago and not only have American's not grasped the concept of bidets but they don't even have proper toilets.

In this woodsy areas of NJ retired people love to talk about pensions, Obama and the best type of septic tanks to invest in...thrilling. I could go on but won't.

I should just stop to shutter at the thought that in a matter of days I jumped from St. Peter's Basilica to NJ Housewives and septic tanks.

Before I dive off a cliff let me remind myself that this particular blog focuses on the lovely of my weekend in NJ and how I was supposed to see the silver lining of the dark, heavy, menacing cloud. Or that might have actually been a real cloud since weather is still cold and there are several nuclear plants here. Onward.

So, we went for a very nice hike in Hucklebarney State Park. The temperature was near perfect 70 degrees and sunny. Parents, kids, lovers, old friends and college groups all decided to head out into the great outdoors and do some hiking and fishing. I had a blast.

Downed trees from Hurricane Sandy

Walking down to the river

Dad fishing with his family

I remember my first and only fishing expedition with my dad. He promised to take us fishing, bought an awesome tackle box with fake worms. I was 5 and ecstatic to go. For weeks leading up to our big (canoe) fishing trip I said "I want to go FISHing. I want to go FISHing. I want to go FISHing." Finally FISHing day came. I wore my big brothers old jeans, his old flannel shirt and hair in two wild little pig tails. We drove out in excitement chatting about the big fish we would wrestle and bring home. Then we got there and sat forever in the scary canoe. It was boring. We sat for hours in the heat. Then, as I was bored I got a little tug on my little line and squealed with delight! My dad pulled up my tiny fish and said, "Let's let him go. You don't want the fish to die do you?" And as my mouth dropped open in horror he plopped the fish back into the water and it swam away. YES I wanted that fish to die! That is why I went fishing.

We never went fishing again. My mom tried to make it up to me by buying lots of fish sticks and doing my hair in Fishy tails...whatever. It didn't work.

I hope he got a fish

This little guy was fishing like a professional!

We hiked a good 3 miles up up up hill then down down down hill. I was totally sore and exhausted when we got home. It was good that we hiked so much because the next day was the All'Merican BBQ.

Winter is 8 months in NJ. In Sweden it is the same and on April 30th they celebrate the end of winter with Walpurgisnacht. It is a drunken festival with roasted meat, bonfires and dancing. Here in NJ we celebrated with beer, roasted meat, guacamole and hay rides. So I think it won't be too many more years before they start official Walpurgisnacht parties in NJ. Take a look at the pretty farm we partied at:

Stack of firewood

The kitchen

Turkeys for Thanksgiving

The rooster of the chickens

baby quail

baby turkey

A kindred spirit. Her name is Anne. She needs a haircut and would make 2 fine sweater with her fluff.

this is what happens when the chickens know how to open the door

Frenzy

Sleds to play in the snow

I feel like this should belong in the MET

Antipasto grilling up

There she is. Lamb, beef, pork and chicken all on the grill.

An assortment of meat

Somehow I didn't think to take a picture of the rest of the plates of meat we ate. It went something like this: Meat, salad, meat, meat, hot dog, salad and meat. Our picnic table also got smaller and smaller as people pulled up chairs. I found this funny since there were 7 or 8 tables and everyone went to the older peoples side or the younger side. I am slightly relieved that I still get to be on the younger side although my progress from the little-kids table to the young-people table to young-single-girl table to young-married peoples table is going a little too fast for my liking. Before you know it I will be in the soft-food and Depends table sucking creamed spinach and apple pie through a straw.