The Rumbly Tummy: Scott's Jazz Migas
It's Monday morning and we are parked in the Wall Drug parking lot, just outside the Badlands in South Dakota. The dogs and I just howled like coyotes in our excitement of the cold weather and the celebration of the end of another long weekend of fun, but tiring, shows. Scott is doing an inventory of our refrigerator, pulling the nearly too-far-gone tomatoes and the wilting cabbage out, "The radish green and radishes on the bottom right should probably go," I say. "Ooooh,"