Today is my boyfriend's birthday. He's finally turning 30, which means, for a few short weeks, we're the same age. He's sad about it, but I figure he's already so gray it doesn't matter.

His consolation: a feast at Famous Dave's.

If you don't have Famous Dave's where you are, I feel real bad for you. It's delicious and amazing and surprisingly Minnesotan. When I discovered one here in the Valley, I nearly pooped with delight.

If you need me tonight, I'll be holding my stomach and groaning. From overeating!


  1. Happy Birthday, B.!

  2. I know Famous Dave! Well, no, I don't. But I used to know a bunch of people who worked for the traveling rib cook-off part of Famous Dave's. They had quite the scandal with exploding sauce jars that year. And one of the guy's had a glass eye.

    This was the summer I was *almost* a carnie. I'm thinking about trying it again this summer.