A Chicken in Every Fryer

Photo courtesy of Al Coleman

In my previous post, I once again violated my oft-broken, self-imposed rule against embedding political commentary in posts on my silly fast food blog. My excuse for breaching my personal code of conduct is that where I come from, the fried chicken industry is inseparable from politics. After all, it was by successfully leading the investment group in the purchase of Kentucky Fried Chicken from Col. Harland Sanders, and turning the operation into a modern, successful fast food concept, that Lexington-area lawyer turned businessman John Y. Brown Jr. was able to parlay his success and name recognition within the Bluegrass State into a successful run for governor in 1979. Furthermore, it is my belief that the fast food fried chicken industry once played a not insignificant part in determining the outcome of a presidential election.

An artist rendering of a Minnie Pearls location (Photo courtesy of Al Coleman)

A Minnie Pearl's in glorious living gray scale

Around the same time that John Y. Brown Jr. was active in the fried chicken and political spheres, Tennessee had its own chicken-hawking Democratic candidate for governor. He was even named John, but if John Y. Brown of Kentucky was the Mozart of fried chicken and Democratic state politics, his Tennessee counterpart, Nashville lawyer and businessman John Jay Hooker, was surely Salieri. Fresh from failing to win his party’s nomination for governor in 1966, Hooker noted Brown’s success and set out to become his competitor, sourcing a fried chicken recipe and a similarly folksy and rural spokesperson, namely Grand Ole Opry and Hee-Haw fixture Sarah Ophelia Colley Cannon, better known by her decidedly more Opry-friendly stage name, Minnie Pearl. Questionable accounting practices and general mismanagement brought about the venture’s demise when it had around 50 locations open, and while he was never convicted of any wrongdoing associated with the Minnie Pearl’s Chicken brand, Hooker was the subject of an SEC investigation into the practices of the failed business. Hooker believed that the investigation was launched by the Nixon administration in an attempt to damage his reputation as a politician. However, in the wake of the Minnie Pearl’s Chicken debacle, Hooker did manage to win the 1970 gubernatorial primary, but would ultimately fail to win in the general election. Back in Kentucky, John Y. Brown, presumably, was inspired by this loss and felt the need to show up his Tennessee rival in a second field when he successfully ran for governor of Kentucky a few years later.

This is a former Minnie Pearl's. It's since been demolished, but it stood for decades in Lexington, KY, John Y. Brown's hometown. 

The Milford, Ohio Minnie Pearl's was a veterinarian's office when I stumbled upon it a couple of years ago. 

Fast forward a couple of decades, and you’ll find Al Gore running for president against George W. Bush in 2000. Prior to serving as Bill Clinton’s vice president for eight years, you may recall that Gore represented Tennessee in both houses of Congress, as did his father before him. Those of us who are old enough and American enough remember that the outcome of that election came down to a handful of ballots in South Florida and a controversial Supreme Court decision that ultimately led to the election of President George W. Bush, but the vote count in Florida wouldn’t have mattered had Al Gore managed to win his home state of Tennessee. A victory in the Volunteer State would have secured Gore enough electoral votes to put him in the White House, but despite the fact that Bill Clinton won the state in both 1992 and 1996 with Gore as a running mate, Gore himself managed to lose there by less than 4% in 2000, the last time to date that a presidential vote count in Tennessee has had a vote margin in the single digits. The year 2000 was in the middle of the beginning of the Republican chokehold in the American South that has only recently begun to show signs of loosening. Tennessee and its neighbors were swinging away from Democrats like Al Gore, but I suspect that swing might have been hastened had the image of the Democratic Party in Tennessee not been tarnished by John Jay Hooker’s failed chicken business. Had Hooker been a more scrupulous and competent purveyor of greasy poultry pieces, he may have had a successful run for governor in 1970, and if his hypothetical competence in running a chicken business translated to running a state government, he may have preserved his party’s image in Tennessee just long enough for his fellow Democrat, Al Gore, to pull out a win there in 2000 and ultimately become the 43rd president. 

Now, you might think I’m building up to a narrative about a visit to an operating Minnie Pearl’s Chicken, but the last holdout locations of that chain closed for good around the same time Al Gore was running for senate. Instead, I visited the last Yogi Bear’s Honey Fried Chicken, which is in no way related to anything I discussed above, other than the fact that it’s a product of the same era, when the fast food industry in general and the fried chicken business in particular were booming, an era when celebrity-endorsed restaurants were popular and gave us not only Minnie Pearl’s Chicken, but Arthur Treacher’s Fish and Chips, Roy Rogers restaurants, and Geoge Lindsey’s Family Steakhouse. (George Lindsey, of course, played Goober Pyle on the Andy Griffith Show. Goober, you might recall, took over the gas station in Mayberry from his cousin, Gomer when Gomer joined the Marines and a spinoff series documented the hilarity that ensued.)

Yogi Bear himself, paired with a Jackie Gleason catchphrase

While John Jay Hooker was attempting to emulate John Y. Brown Jr’s success in Tennessee, entrepreneur Eugene Broome was attempting to do the same in South Carolina, building a restaurant concept around his own proprietary honey-flavored chicken tenderizer. He initially reached out to Jackie Gleason to lend his name to the fledgling business, but settled for the Hanna-Barbera cartoon character Yogi Bear when Gleason declined. Broome however managed to retain Gleason’s catchphrase, “How sweet it is!” as a slogan, and Yogi Bear’s distinctive style of dress and mannerisms were partially based on Art Carney, Gleason’s co-star on The Honeymooners. (The Hanna-Barbera character, Fred Flintstone was based on Gleason, but Fred was presumably too busy shilling chewable vitamins and breakfast cereals to pick up a fried chicken gig as well.) Broome quickly accepted an offer from Hardee’s to buy the Yogi Bear’s Honey Fried Chicken brand, but slowing economy and mismanagement thwarted Hardee’s success with the Yogi Bear venture like a Jellystone Park ranger catching Yogi and his little buddy, Boo Boo in flagrante delicto with a load of stolen pic-a-nic baskets, and every Yogi Bear’s location but one had closed by 1980. 

That single location, in Hartsville, SC remains open today, and I finally managed to cross it off my to-do list when I stopped by for lunch last month. It was well past the lunch rush when I stopped in, but there was still a decent sized crowd at the counter and in the dining room. After taking a minute to study the generic menu board prominently adorned with a modern Pepsi logo, I ordered a three-piece “Cindy Bear’s Dinner.” Cindy, you might recall, was the southern belle bear who served as an occasional love interest for Yogi in the cartoon series that fails the Bechdel Test miserably. My order number was called before I could fill my cup with Diet Pepsi. Apparently Yogi Bear doesn’t fry to order unlike the last couple of chicken places I’ve visited. I took my nicely printed box of food with no tray under it, and walked the curious floor made up of randomly shaped bits of tile, past various Yogi Bear posters and other bits of Yogi memorabilia to a booth in the narrow dining room off to one side of the counter. 

Cool floor!

A non-chicken related Yogi Bear poster

I found the box stuffed with two mass-produced bread rolls, two disposable bowls containing my chosen sides, mac and cheese and coleslaw, and not quite three pieces of chicken. For the ten bucks and change I paid for the meal with sides and a drink, I also received a leg, thigh, and half a chicken breast, though in general, I suppose that’s preferable to a three piece meal made up of a leg, whole breast and wing, at least if you, like me, are a person of good taste who prefers dark meat. Despite coming from a warming tray or from under a heat lamp, the leg and thigh tasted fresh. The breading had a nice crispy snap when you bit into it, but surprisingly, I failed to notice any discernible honey flavor. Maybe Eugene Broome’s original recipe has been lost to time, or it never had an overwhelming honey flavor to begin with. In any event, the first two pieces of chicken were pleasantly juicy and flavorful without being greasy. The mac and cheese was functionally identical to the generally acceptable mac and cheese you can find at any KFC, and coleslaw was representative of what I later learned is a regional anomaly. Carolina coleslaw is chopped fine to the point that it looks pre-chewed. It somehow manages to be dryer than plain cabbage, and it has an overwhelming flavor of sage. It’s probably an acquired taste, but it’s a taste I wasn’t in town long enough to acquire. Any objection I had to the coleslaw, however, was quickly drowned out by the chicken breast half, which, while it had the same pleasantly crispy breading, was the single driest piece of poultry I had ever tasted. I realize I’ve previously outed myself as having a bias against white meat, but even among chicken breasts, hell, even among microwaved leftover Thanksgiving turkey this chicken breast half seemed especially dry as it absorbed all the moisture in the mouth as I struggled to chew and swallow it. 

These custom printed boxes must cost them a ton. The effort is appreciated. 

It's hardly a 1960s cartoon wonderland. 

They use every bit of available space. 

My go-to fried chicken side dishes. Carolina slaw is weird. 

Pie and soft serve; I'm not sure if this was a standard Yogi Bear's menu item or a later addition.

I returned to the counter to order a fried apple pie topped with soft serve to take my mind off of the driest chicken in the south. It was a little short on filling, but even plain fried dough topped with soft serve is a perfectly acceptable dessert. I must admit feeling vague disappointment when I left, not because of any major deficiency in the food or service, but I had high hopes of an immersive 1960s Hanna-Barbera themed experience, but aside from a neat vintage sign outside and a retro box full of chicken, there wasn’t much retro cartoon fun to be had. In a time before nuggets and tendies were widely available, it must have been tough to be a restaurant with a popular cartoon character for a mascot that only served bone-in chicken. Before the kids meal was invented by Burger Chef and perfected by McDonald’s, Yogi Bear’s Honey Fried Chicken only managed to have half the formula. Yogi was probably great at appealing to kids, who in turn, appealed to their parents and guardians to take them to Yogi Bear’s to eat, but the lack of kid-friendly food likely ensured there wouldn’t be much repeat business from families. Had Eugene Broome and/or the Hardee’s executives who wound up running the Yogi Bear’s brand had the foresight to beat McDonald’s to the nugget market, their story might have been different, but instead, like an entirely theoretical Johnny Cash, Yogi Bear tried to walk the nonexistent line between being a chicken restaurant for adults and a cartoon restaurant for kids, and fell into the a ring of fire and mixed metaphors where a waiting John Jay Hooker and Minnie Pearl bade them an enthusiastic “How-deee!” along with countless other failed fast food and political footnotes. In that way, I suspect the last Yogi Bear’s Honey Fried Chicken is what the brand always was, underwhelming, but the fact that it’s authentically underwhelming makes it a must stop for any fast food history buff willing to take a brief detour off I-95, whether they’re travelling from Grinder’s Switch to Jellystone Park or taking a tour of Southern governor’s mansions. Despite historic and current imperfections, it’s safe to say that Yogi is at least better at running a fried chicken joint than the average bear.

More information on Minnie Pearl's Chicken Here

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M.F. Glitzy's

For over three years now, I’ve been able to boast that I’ve been to every operating G.D. Ritzy’s location. It’s an esoteric flex, but as a lifelong Ritzy’s fan it’s something I’m proud of. It was the disappearance of my beloved G.D. Ritzy’s from the Lexington, Kentucky market in the early ‘90s that I imprinted on as a kindergartner that sparked a lifelong interest in tracking down surviving locations of not quite defunct restaurant chains, so it’s safe to say that without G.D. Ritzy’s, this blog may well not exist. It felt like an exciting kickoff to my then-new blog in the spring of 2018 when a road trip led me to all six surviving G.D. Ritzy’s locations. When the chain’s founder, Graydon D. Webb and his family opened a seventh location in their native Columbus, Ohio, I was there within a week of their opening so I could continue to brag about having visited all operating locations of my favorite restaurant chain. A little while later, I had the G.D. Ritzy’s logo tattooed on my right arm in commemoration of my trip and in tribute to my favorite restaurant. While I’m not certain I’m G.D. Ritzy’s number one fan, I think it’s safe to say I’m at least in the top five. 

Yes, I am wearing a Hills tshirt, and yes, that is my real face. 

As with all the places I visit, I take pride in my expertise regarding how each surviving G.D. Ritzy’s is both unique and similar to its brethren, and how much it may or may not have changed in the three decades since most locations of the 120 unit chain called it quits. If one were to ask me, or at least not explicitly tell me to not talk about G.D. Ritzy’s, I’d tell them that the three locations in Evansville, Indiana, all of which have the same owners, are my favorite. Their art deco decor and classic diner food are remarkably close to what I remember at the locations in Lexington during my early childhood. They may have pared down a few slow selling menu items and added a couple new flavors of made in-house ice cream, but the Evansville locations are impeccably maintained 1980s time capsules complete with elevated dining rooms that sit a couple feet higher than the floor by the order counter, marble tabletops, hexagonal tile, and big band music played through reproduction teardrop-shaped Seeburg jukebox speakers. Every time I’m fortunate enough to eat in an Evansville G.D. Ritzy’s, I’m immediately transported back to early childhood, and that experience keeps me coming back. 

One of three Evansville, Indiana G.D. Ritzy's locations

An hour away in Owensboro, Kentucky, there are two additional Ritzy’s locations. I say Ritzy’s because by the time they had opened, the chain had dropped the vaguely profane sounding initials from its signage and branding. I’ve heard from a reliable source that the owner of these locations was the last new franchisee to open a Ritzy’s before the chain declared bankruptcy in 1991. The Frederica Street location is clearly a purpose built Ritzy’s building, identical in dimensions and shape to its counterparts in Evansville, but with a newer color scheme and a re-imagined interior designed to evoke the bright and optimistic aesthetic of the 1950s more than the art deco 1940s theme of the older locations in Evansville. A second Owensboro location on Highway 54 is in a newer building with none of the Ritzy’s architectural cues, but similar interior decor. The food at both Owensboro locations is excellent as it is in Evansville. A few additional unique ice cream flavors are offered, as are baked potatoes. Evansville evidently dropped, or never saw fit to pick up the hot potatoes. Both locations are perfectly fine, but fail to be as immersive and magical as their Evansville counterparts in my deeply subjective and biased opinion. 

Ritzy's of Owensboro, a later iteration of the early building design; notice the lack of initials unintentionally implying blasphemy. 

The Huntington, West Virginia G.D. Ritzy’s is the oldest in continuous operation, having opened in 1983, the same year the chain won an award for its chocolate ice cream. Ironically, the Huntington G.D. Ritzy’s is the one surviving location that never made its own ice cream. I was lucky enough to talk to the location’s original owner, who told me that making ice cream from scratch never made business sense for his one location the way it might have for a franchisee operating multiple units who could make ice cream at one restaurant and distribute it to their other nearby locations. On my most recent visit there, the Huntington G.D. Ritzy’s was selling Hershey’s ice cream. Their menu has seen some additions and subtractions over the years, but the Big Bopper fried bologna sandwich is still present on the menu. It’s a glaring omission in Evansville, Owensboro, and Columbus. The Huntington Ritzy’s recently changed ownership, and the new owners have been trying new menu items like premium soups and salads that seem out of place to me, but I take G.D. Ritzy’s more seriously than the average person. They also offer brunch on weekends unlike any other Ritzy’s I’m aware of past or present. The decor, like in Evansville, is what I remember from childhood, though it feels rough around the edges. The patina of decades of continuous operation is more obvious, perhaps the result of the limited resources of a single owner, versus the consortium of owners of the Evansville locations who keep their locations feeling bright and new despite them being closer to their 40th year in operation than their 30th. 

The weathered and worse for wear G.D. Ritzy's of wild, wonderful, West Virginia

The newest Ritzy’s location in Columbus operated by chain founder Graydon Webb and family offers a limited menu of burgers, fries, hot dogs, chili, the famous Ritzy’s PB&J, ice cream, and little else. Sandwiches are topped to order behind a glass counter in front of you, similar to Subway, or if you like, the Canadian burger chain, Harvey’s. The building is a heavily renovated 1950s vintage A&W which bares little resemblance to the Ritzy’s buildings of the ‘80s, but does have nods to the design of the earlier locations here and there. It’s located in a trendy, dare I say ritzy, neighborhood, so efforts were made to make the place feel upscale. Early on, they used fresh cut fries rather than frozen, but have since switched back to frozen, presumably because my opinion that the fresh cut fries were mushy and gross was widely held. Buns are fresh-baked, while other Ritzy’s seem to get mass-produced buns delivered. My one lingering complaint about the Columbus location is that the prices are a good 50% higher than at other Ritzy’s. It’s seriously tough to get out of there for under $20 for a sandwich, fries and ice cream, but I suspect it’s in line with food prices of other restaurants in the (very hip) area. They offer the classic ice cream flavors, but also try out new ones on occasion. I had two scoops of a very nice carrot cake flavor on my last visit to the tune of $7 before tip. 

The Columbus Ritzy's is a modern take on a classic. (I think that big fiberglass burger is from a Max and Erma's.)

Along with the above knowledge gathered from my travels to every surviving (G.D.) Ritzy’s, I’ve carried a shameful secret. There was an eighth location in operation that I had yet to visit. Distance, adult responsibilities, and a pesky little global pandemic kept me away until this past weekend when I finally made it to South Carolina to eat at Burky’s Grill, the bootleg G.D. Ritzy’s of Myrtle Beach. 

Before developing G.D. Ritzy’s, you might recall, Graydon Webb was a Wendy’s executive, and restaurant industry veteran Wayne “Burky” Burkart was one of his esteemed colleagues, also in the employ of Dave Thomas. When Webb opened his own restaurant chain, Burkart became a franchisee, operating six G.D. Ritzy’s locations in South Carolina starting in 1983, keeping them going longer than 95% of other Ritzy’s locations. Burkart sold his restaurants, and attempted to retire in 2000, but had repurchased and renamed the Myrtle Beach G.D. Ritzy’s by 2003. It’s operated as Burky’s Grill ever since. I had seen photos of the place for years, and the interior and food bore a striking resemblance to what I knew to be Ritzy’s signature look and fare. I was eager to visit, but circumstances never worked out until they did. 

It was a Saturday afternoon in late July when I found myself in Myrtle Beach along with what seemed to be the majority of the population of South Carolina and surrounding states. I had picked the exact wrong time to visit a beach town whose local economy is based primarily on tourism. After an hour and a half of dodging overloaded minivans and SUVs packed with caterwauling children, incessant and senseless grandparents, and long-suffering parents, not to mention the hordes of bright and cacophonous full size pick-em-up trucks lifted sky-high in the front and lowered to the ground in the rear in what’s known as a “Carolina squat” stance. I spied a friendly and vaguely familiar looking green sign on the horizon. 

A nonstandard Ritzy's design, or perhaps an early iteration of the more common curved corner, befinned building.

Remnant of the original flat railing and the new tubular railing against the backdrop of Ritzy's iconic hexagonal tiles.

I had arrived at Burky’s Grill. I found a spot at the edge of the crowded parking lot and took a minute to admire the building. It lacked G.D. Ritzy’s distinctive curved corner and decorative fin, but it was clad in the chain’s familiar white stucco, and its entrance was in roughly the right spot. Once through that entrance I felt as if I had walked into my own home, and not only because the original G.D. Ritzy’s “TIME TO EAT” wall clock above the order counter was identical to the one I have hanging in my living room. It had the familiar, inviting look and feel of a 1980s vintage Ritzy’s interior complete with the original tile, furniture, and lighting. There were minor changes here and there. There were spots where the original flat railings had been cut flush with the floor and replaced with tubular ones that allowed the order line a wider berth. The patterned green carpeting in the elevated dining area had been replaced with solid green carpet, and the booths which would have originally been green had been reupholstered with red vinyl. Despite the minor changes, it was still clearly a Ritzy’s interior, and that’s a theme that continued after I worked my way through the order line and received my food. 

Burky's order counter; I don't believe these are the modern menu boards, but they're pretty close to the original 1983 vintage menu boards they use at the Huntington G.D. Ritzy's.

Burky's "TIME TO EAT" clock is a piece of G.D. Ritzy's corporate decor package. 

I have one of my own at home. 

This is what passes for a "TIME TO EAT" clock at the Columbus Ritzy's.

In an effort to experience as much of the menu as possible for the sake of comparison, I ordered three entrees as well as fries and a drink to see how much resemblance each item bore to what I might find at other G.D. Ritzy’s locations. 

 

If one were to order fries at any of the seven locations using the (G.D.) Ritzy’s name, one would receive the thinnest imaginable objects that could still be considered fries without edging into potato stick territory. They’re roughly ⅛ inch wide, and similar to what one might see at a Steak ‘n Shake or Freddy’s Steakburgers. Burky’s fries, while still in shoestring territory, are closer to ¼ inch, nearly identical in size and shape to McDonald’s fries, and equally similar in texture and flavor. 

Original tables, chairs, light fixtures, and stainless wall trim. 

More original wall trim and lighting, plus the aforementioned original Seeburg speaker

The topping on my chili dog was close, if not identical, to the mild and tangy chili offered at every Ritzy’s. (In Evansville, they give you the option of adding an additional kick to your chili by placing on every table bottles of hot sauce, and what I call Cincinnati Juice, which is a mysterious brownish liquid that imparts the flavor of Cincinnati chili to anything it touches.) It was the dog itself that was off. It lacked the snappy natural casing and strong garlic flavor of what I know to be a Ritzy’s hot dog. Burky’s dog was skinless, and comparatively bland, clearly from a different manufacturer. 

There was no Cincinnati Juice to be had at Burky's but here's some next to the hot sauce on a tabletop condiment caddy in Evansville. 

No strawberry slices here. 

My luxury PB&J was similarly not quite authentically Ritzy’s. It had the requisite untoasted Texas toast (Texas bread?) smooth peanut butter, strawberry jam, and crushed peanuts, but lacked the fresh strawberry slices that make G.D. Ritzy’s PB&J extra luxurious, but in Burky’s defense, I imagine it’s a pain to keep fresh, sliced strawberries on hand for use on only a single menu item. 

Burky's take on G.D. Ritzy's Double Ritz cheeseburger. It's hard to see here, but the patties were upside down.  

Of the items I ordered, my burger was the closest to what I know to be authentically G.D. Ritzy’s, and while like the fries, a G.D. Ritzy’s burger is quite similar to what you’d find at Steak ‘n Shake or Freddy’s, it’s distinct from more mainstream fast food burgers, and feels premium by comparison. During preparation, the burger patties are formed into balls of raw meat and smashed under a spatula on a ripping hot flat top grill, giving them crispy edges and a juicy center. The burgers cook almost completely before being flipped to their respective B-sides to linger on the grill for less than a minute to finish. This cooking process gives the patties a distinctive crispy convex top and a soft concave bottom. I mention this, because the patties on my burger were placed on it upside down from what I’ve experienced not only at Ritzy’s, but at every other place that serves this style of hamburger. I laughed audibly upon noticing, drawing more attention than I had taking pictures of the counter and dining area, because like everything else at Burky’s, the burger was just shy of being identical to Ritzy’s. 

Marble, tile, green, iconic textures all. 

Whether it was the solid green carpet, round chrome railings, the too-soft hot dog, the berryless PB&J, the too-fat fries or the upside down burger, the place was a knockoff Ritzy’s to a comedic degree, which isn’t to say that any of the food was bad. I ate more of it than I should have considering it was my second lunch of the day. It still tasted 85% authentic Ritzy’s and 95% objectively good. The locals, or at least, the tourists in town for more than just lunch, agreed with me because the place remained packed for the duration of my visit well past the typical lunch rush. The table of Mormon missionaries behind me and the table of motorcyclists and their helmets to my right served as an almost too on the nose illustration of Burky’s, which is to say G.D. Ritzy’s mass appeal. 

The view from the top of the elevated dining room.

The crowd was all the more remarkable because of the omission of hand scooped ice cream from the menu. The G.D. Ritzy’s ice cream counter with its 16 flavors in 5 gallon drums in a glass-topped freezer were nowhere to be found. In their place stood a soft serve machine and a menu of soft-serve based desserts. I didn’t bother ordering ice cream due in equal parts to the dearth of authenticity and the fact that I’d eaten two large meals that day and had plans for a third before I would be able to chug some Alka Seltzer and rest my weary head. They seemed to be making the most of the soft serve though, as there was an extensive menu of soft serve based shakes, sundaes, and Blizzard-like concoctions. The lack of ice cream is easy to forgive in Burky’s case. As I learned in Huntington, making ice cream from scratch for a single restaurant location doesn’t make economic sense, and while Ritzy’s ice cream was not present on the menu, Burky’s had every menu item that at least one Ritzy’s or another lacked. They offer the baked potatoes only available at the Owensboro Ritzy’s, the Big Bopper fried bologna sandwich only available at the Huntington Ritzy’s, and the steamed vegetable plate that they only offer in Evansville. If Ritzy’s is your favorite band and Burky’s is a cover band, they can be forgiven for not playing one of Ritzy’s hits in their set and striking a sour note once in a while if they play literally every deep cut. 

And Zapediah wept, seeing as he had no more G.D. Ritzy’s to conquer.

Finally making it to the eighth surviving G.D. Ritzy’s has rewarded me with a sense of fulfillment, but also a sense of sorrow. My most recent trip has me nearing the bottom of the barrel of broken chain locations that I have yet to visit, at least in the eastern half of the U.S. Without new fodder for new blog posts, this silly little project of mine quickly devolves into an ouroboros gobbling down its own tail as if it's dripping with delicious Cincinnati Juice. The out of place, self-referential rhyming posts I wrote last year are the type of drivel I put out when I can’t visit broken chains, and nobody wants more of that. So I implore you, dear reader. Get in contact with me in the comments below, my email, Facebook, or Instagram, (Nothing good ever happens on Twitter.) and let me know what broken chains you’d like to see me visit next. 

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