On our last morning My husband Bob and I went to check out Nitt Witt Ridge, one of those places like the Watts Towers where an enterprising free spirit takes a pile of glass and shells and with a little cement, makes a home. It was something to see, but we were 2 hours early for the tour, so we didn’t see much of it. On the way down the hill, we met a disheartened couple who thought that maybe there was nothing on Nitt Witt Ridge…as in, “Haha, you’re the nitwit for climbing the hill! Gotcha!” We assured them it wasn’t just a practical joke.
We had cleverly wasted enough time at Nitt Witt Ridge so that we could have lunch at the Main Street Grill again before leaving town. This time I went for the tri-tip. Now, I have had very good tri-tip before. Let me correct that, I thought I had had very good tri-tip before. This sandwich brought tri-tip to a new level. It was not chewy. There were no thin veins of gristle running through the meat. You hardy even needed teeth to eat it. A very light slathering of BBQ sauce and a super-soft bun brought it all the way home.
