even*clevelandFirst to rec
“After sneaking in a float at the Castor River Shut-ins on an epic, cross-country trip with one of my oldest friends, we decided to stop at The Pig. (We had spotted it on the drive in and made a mental note that it looked like it was worth a visit.) We were the only people there that day, and while the barbecue was superlative and the sweet tea with pebble ice divine, what really knocked us out were french fries in a wholly new-to-us format: swirled and twisted, flaring from thin crispiness to cottage fry-like heft. The kind server explained that they are called "pigtails," and they are like the love-child of a fry and a chip. The only other place I have encountered them since is upstaging a room service burger at the Marriot Bonvoy in Detroit.”
