Back when I was young and virile they invited me because of all the dope I smoked I was in tune with the fish, I knew what they ate and where they slept at night …

Now that I’m simply another aged burden on society, I’m thinking that with this new slimmer physique, how I’m liable to scamper over those steep railroad embankments like a damn Gazelle, and how them as is with me will be sweaty, panting, and begging me to hold up.

Then I heard them self-same pals at work mention, “Him? Yea, I’m, going with Fatty, mostly because the SOB cooks better than my wife – and is the only source of Grizzly hackle between here’n Nevada.”

I think the term is “crestfallen” … but it might be “dashed” instead …

Now that I know my real value I’ll be serving Livermush and Collard Greens to the next group of rowdies, and you can kiss my %&# for a replacement Yellow Humpy – or anything else for that matter.

The real trick is simple and hearty food designed to warm a fellow from the sudden chill of elevation and the beginnings of Fall. Layers of Polenta and Pepper Jack, draped in a flavorful bath of spaghetti sauce infused with Basil and Bay leaves …

I’d describe the result as a “slashing rise” – there’s no timidity in the take.

East and West Forks of the Carson. Be there. Today.