Graze is in Madison, Wisconsin, a place that if you know me, you know I daydream about often. It’s my holy grail, existent only in my mind, I suppose. Were I to live there, my fantasy would go up in a smoke, like the odorous haze lifting off sileage.
Even under the cloud of the governor whose name will not grace this page, Madison remains civilized. Maybe even pushing smug. But, you know, they get it right in so many ways, self-satisfaction is forgivable.
Just a narrow isthmus, this town carries a blaze of of appetite-worthy sandwich destinations.
Graze is a little fancy. Check out the pickle plate. Maybe not a place for boys.
I was fortunate enough to have lunch with Joanie and Claire there a while back. We grazed, yes, but felt like fillies, not calves. Still do, we’re deep in our spring chicken phase.
Today, for example, we could have any of these for lunch. Madison is no flyover town, that’s for sure. Land at their sweet airport and catch yourself a Union cab to the square for a sun-bathed lunch. A lazy day…
In a haze, got the doldrums? Wondering, “Do they make (fill in the blank) anymore ?” Short daze getting to ya? They do me. Off we go to ~snap out of it~! Taking a graze through a fantasy – southern Wisconsin rolling hills, happy cows, sparkly lakes, a town that tends itself well. Take note – not accepting nays – love thyself, no grays.