Wright’s Chicken Farm – Burrillville RI

We decided to eat dinner at Wright’s Chicken Farm after our adventures in the Douglas State Forest. It was not terribly far from where I used to live so I was once again surprised to learn about something I have never heard of – although maybe I shouldn’t be. By the time I moved into the area my narcissistic ex had gotten what he needed out of me and had long forgone the love-bombing process, instead coyly making sure I was isolated and car-free at home while he ignored me to pursue other romantic prospects behind my back. This included date nights and going out to eat so yeah… how was I to know there was a great chicken shack down the road?

I had been to Wright’s Dairy Farm already (they have AMAZING buttercream frosted cakes there.) Wright’s Chicken Farm however is in a different location and it is a large venue hall and restaurant that only serves one dinner so it’s great for anyone who has trouble picking something off a menu. Dinner consisted of baked chicken (both white and dark meat), pasta with tomato sauce, french fries, salad, and buns. All served family style so you could pick and chose whatever you pleased.

The ambiance of this place was… weird. I thought it looked like a hole in the wall casino, the kind you’d find out in the sticks somewhere. My companions thought it looked like the visitors/community room in a nursing home. Eventually we all agreed it had big bingo hall energy. The vast majority of the other people here were old, 100% of them were white, and they all looked respectable. Even I was a little uneasy – and I’m whiter than Wonder Bread! But not terribly respectable. Adding to the weird vibe it had a big gift shop attached with the most random of things in it – including but not limited to tacky glitter covered Christmas ornaments. They know their target audience. That being said they also had fudge and truffles in all flavors and that made up for a little bit of the oddness. As did our bombastic waiter whose rough NYC/Jersey Shore accent was woefully out of place and whose energy was just as loud. Made my brain itch a bit.

Anyway. The place was simple and cheap and had good food so I am not complaining in any way. I particularly liked the dark meat and french fries which I ate far too many of. They offered ice cream after this but YIKES who has room for ice cream after an all-you-can-eat styled meal?! Afterwards I hung out in the parking lot a little bit talking while waiting for the others. We noted how quaint the motel across the street looked and the duck pond in between. Eventually a complete stranger, a woman, came up to me and complemented my laugh out of nowhere. Well that’s a new one! But I’ll take it.

All and all it’s a decent enough place to go to if you happen to be in the area and have a craving for baked chicken and a family style meal.

*Image taken from Wright’s Farm website (sorry, I didn’t bring my camera in with me.)

October 18, 2021 0

New Orleans

Good old New Orleans, how could I forget America’s home to Voodoo, ghost tours, beloved vampire writers, and Mardi Gras? I decided to start my little journey by heading towards the famous French Quarters, a magical place where diaper-wearing horses pull carts around the streets. No no, I ended up parking comfortably near the French Quarter for $14 and I walked around. I was in search of a skirt… you know one of those airy ankle-length ones that they apparently don’t sell in the South… and to be quite frank they don’t sell skirts period down here. Whhhy?! It’s so frickin’ hot you’d think everyone would be wearing them! I would settle for an ankle length sundress of course but all the ones here went to your knees and were made of hot materials. It made no sense. I weaved in out of Voodoo shops as a reward for sticking it out and trying to find a skirt, a abysmal activity if there ever were one. Skulls abounded.

I stopped wherever it looked interesting, or just air conditioned in the case of the Magaritaville, apparently a whole parrothead-inspired margarita-flinging bar. I only stayed in its stoop for a few minutes so I could go on. In the meantime mules and horses clacked by with their tourist carriages telling of pirates and voodoo priestesses. I passed by the Voodoo priestesses’ bar and her little voodoo shop. I may have gone in there if a bunch of locals weren’t in the stoop debating something.

After I walked around the main part of the French Quarters I meandered up to Bourbon Street for shits and giggles, figured it’d be interesting people watching if nothing else. That was interesting to say the least! The first thing I stumbled upon was a seedy cabaret with a barker out front. I looked him dead in the eye to see if he’d still make his pitch and laughed when at first hesitated but then actually did! I walked by, obviously. I had no idea the States even had cabarets. Seems such an odd thing to me, bet you they probably named it such to make it sound more interesting than it actually was. In any event I walked past a lot of little strip joints and whatnot, a great deal of them with cutesy little names like The Cat’s Meow. I passed by pubs, bars, and other liquor friendly little nooks, some reading, “two drink minimum,” which seemed more than a tad bit odd. Apparently there was no room for responsible drivers here.

It was a scalding hot day and I had to take time out to lather myself up with sun screen in a public courtyard. I was melting. I ended up back in the French Market scouring the area for a cold non-alcoholic drink when in the spirit of trying new things I also bought a praline. Good thing I only bought one… it was really rather sweet, to a fault. Will not be trying that again.

I had a lot of fun just wandering around. The streets weren’t that busy, the people were friendly, and there was a lemon piper playing classic jazz on sax down at the piers. Every time a dollar was donated this hilarious musician would holler, “Thanks big guy! Have a great day!” before going right back to the same note he left off on. I didn’t come by anyone with a thick New Orleans accent either, which was fortunate as that’s probably the only US accent even I can’t translate.

If you are enjoying Catching Marbles please consider adding a dollar or two to my limited gas money fund so I can continue going on adventures and sharing them with you! Thank you!

May 25, 2011 0

Getting Out of Florida

Waking up in Key Largo I decided I should spend the day trying to get out of the state of Florida. I drove all day past palm trees, past glitz, past swamps. I saw short fat palm trees, casinos, tall thin palm trees, tourist beaches, coconut palm trees, tourists traps, palm tree nurseries, and in the end I was happy to drive out of there. Shortly before I reached the border I drove through this little town advertising a new store, opened only a few days, it was like a farmer’s market type deal. I had to stop though because over the front of it was a large sign reading, “hot boiled peanuts.”

What are hot boiled peanuts? Apparently they’re exactly that. I had to try some as that sounded ghastly terrible.

There was one middle aged woman sitting there looking a bit put off, perhaps due to a lack of customers or perhaps due to the intense heat and lack of air conditioning ability in a building with no walls.

“So what is this I hear about boiled peanuts?” I said, “I’m from NH, I wanted to try them…”

“Well they’re warm and salted. Here, I don’t want you to buy anything you don’t like.” She handed me two nuts. The shells were soggy, moist, and warm. I slipped out the little meaty nut part and took an adventurous bite. It was like a tiny glob of mashed potatoes in a shell, with the hint of peanut taste. Maybe this was because aside from the meal I ate at Keren’s I was missing hot food, maybe it was because I was desperate for something different besides the PB&J’s I was sustaining myself with but either way, the boiled peanuts were amazing.

“Oh I really like them!” I exclaimed. A surprised, “Really?!” came from the woman selling it to me. I bought a big saggy wet and warm bag of them. Delicious.

“Usually I can guess people’s reactions…” The woman said. I laughed. I bought a cup of the things. She explained they’re usually eaten with soft drinks and are made from raw immature peanuts, unlike the fully grown roasted ones I was used to. I sat in the car picking at them for quite awhile until the large foam cup was nearly empty. This was my second southern food and my second success. Good thing I wasn’t about to try any chitterlings.

If you are enjoying Catching Marbles please consider adding a dollar or two to my limited gas money fund so I can continue going on adventures and sharing them with you! Thank you!

May 23, 2011 0