Apparently the fine people of Memphis crave milk sammiches during a *jazzhands*SNOWPOCALYPSE*jazzhands*. OR perhaps there is some super secret double probation panade-making operation going on in the kitchens of Memphis. Once you make a nice meatloaf with panade, you'll never go back to the dry, dessicated loaf of your youth.
My snow-day cravings tend more towards grillades and cheese grits, but I am not from here originally.
By Leonard Gill
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