Indeed not, sir. Perhaps it’s a custom that hasn’t reached Arkansas yet.
My Dad does that, but I’ve never tried it. I like my buttermilk straight.
My granddad did that, too. Dad said he’d be crying and sweating, and chomping them down.
Oddly enough, that’s what we’re having for supper.
My seconds shall call on you in the morning, Sir.
All at once may make one’s head explode, so be careful in combination.
May I nominate the Amato’s Italian Sandwich?
No infernal “grinders”.
No steenking “hoagies”.
Don’t even call it a sub. It’s an Italian, the only real one in existence. It’s gotta have the pepper and the right amount of oil. And the right pickles. Hell, it’s the simplest thing I’ve ever seen that no one else can duplicate.
Keep in mind that New Hampshire only has about 16 miles of coastline so their fishing communities are non-existant. When it comes to seafood in NH, you might as well be in Texas.
And if you dared eat at Yoken’s in Portsmouth (thar’ she blows), popular stop by tour buses full of retired folks, you would wish you were eating seafood in Texas instead.
Ayuh, but Yokens ain’t heah no moah, got bought out by some infernal fromawayer development company and they’ve torn it down and are putting in a friggin’ hotel
i hates fromawayers…
and going back to maple syrup, you haven’t had good maple until you’ve boiled it yourself, we’ve got 4 maple trees on the front lawn that have sap that boils down to grade AA dark amber, MMMMMMM…
HERESY! Manhatten clam (soup/chowder, whatever) is a far better meal than the New England variety. Though I could be a touch biased in being from Jersey ;).
Oh, and anywhere OUTSIDE of Buffalo, they are called Buffalo wings. Only in buffalo are they simply refered to as ‘wings’. Though they are quite Yankee indeed.
And, light strand, I’d counter the Massachusetts pizza with good New Jersey pizza (preferably from the boardwalk). That’s God’s gift to humanity, right there. First thing I do when I visit my folks on the Jersey Shore is get some pizzaria pizza. Nothing better.
Speaking of the boardwalk, I miss funnel cake and zeppolis down in Atlanta as well (though I have had funnel cake a few times, but not nearly often enough :D).
You clearly have been abusing crack cocaine. You do not put tomatos, or, worse, effing carrots in a chowder, for the love of all that is right and good!! That’s…that’s, like, worse than putting catsup on a hot dog! It’s like putting peanut butter on a hot dog!
If the Manhattanites would simply admit that whatever that shit is, it isn’t in any way , shape, or form, even remotely a chowder, all would be forgiven. Call it a “stew”, perhaps, if you must utter a name at all in polite company. As it is, Manhattan “clam chowder” is an affront. It’s a gigantic brown smear on the name of good chowders everywhere.
Mrs. “Long Island” Plant does not complain of the funnel cakes they sell at the zoo, nor even the…dare I say it…store bought mix at Kroger.
**** hijack alert ****
I knew a dentist who’d boiled his own maple syrup.
Umm… To protect the identity of those mentioned here, I’m going to call him Levi.
Levi was the sort of person who makes those of us who hate racial, political or religious stereotypes cringe. Levi had been my father’s gradschool roommate. My mother first met Levi before she met my father, because they were living in the same building. And, well, Levi came up to her door one evening, and told her:
My mother claims she was so shocked by this behavior she didn’t do any more than nod when he left. For some time, after that she even avoided ‘those weirdos.’ Levi is a good man, loving father, and all that. I don’t want to imply he’s less than that - but his quirks are a bit hard to take at times. 
Levi’s habits continued well into his professional life. He eventually became part owner of a dental health building in eastern Mass, and killed off the whole several year-old tank of tropical fish that one office had, by turning the heat down in said office for the winter holidays. :smack:
One spring my mother saw him stopping at the town office for the town his practice was in, after hours. She was going to stop over and say something, but he seemed a bit furtive. Then she realized that this was after the town offices had closed for the day. Levi went to the back of his car, and got something out of the trunk. Then went to the colonial era cemetary next to the town offices. And did something at the tree, there. Then came back, put something into the back of his car, and carried something else back out of the trunk of his car, and back to… one of the old maple trees in the colonial era cemetary.
Yes, Levi was collecting maple sap from the cemetary. :rolleyes: 
Only Levi.
But, at least it was good New England maple syrup he was making.
major hijack over
New Orleans has (I’m pretty sure it wasn’t affected by the hurricane or the flood) a great pizzaria. Pizza at Mama Rosa’s is like having New York-style and Chicago-style at the same time. Best of both worlds!
No, bouv is right. They’re just called “wings.”
They could toss in a few chunks of fish and call it bouillabaisse.
Anyway, my gripe with Manhattan “clam chowder” is the absence of potatoes. I can put up with the tomato-based red broth but, for me, THERE MUST BE POTATOES IN CHOWDER! (Although, to be fair, a few weeks ago I did have a pretty good Manhattan-style “clam chowder” at a seaside restaurant in Depot Bay, Oregon that didn’t have any potatoes in it. The silver-dollar size pieces of clam in the “chowder” made up for the absence of spuds.)
Two sweeping, possibly unfounded generalizations about regional food preferences:
Southern Californians put avocados in everything.
Upstate New Yorkers put cheese on everything.
Again, though, that’s not the same everywhere. True, they might be just called “wings” in areas other than Buffalo, but there are other areas north of the Mason-Dixon that call them “Buffalo Wings”.
Yeah, but if they do call them that, it’s a good sign not to by any wings there. 