Since I don’t yet have the photos of my latest Team Limoncello Triumph (thanks, Ted), you’re getting my Post-Race Carbo Re-Load re-cap rather than the actual recap of the post-race itself.
But believe me when I say, you’d rather eat bacon than do a triathlon. Especially if it’s THE BACON OF VICTORY. Read on – and feast on – my friends…

The Bacon Platter at the Star-Spangled Tavern on Market Street at DC Ranch. Best $6 you’ll ever spend, kids. Unless you’re Muslim, vegetarian or Jewish, but I digress.
As you will soon learn (sans photos, right Ted?), I completed my first triathlon in 10 years last Sunday – but that wasn’t the highlight of my past decade. The highlight was the Bacon Platter along with The Big Kids’ Mac-N-Cheese at the Star-Spangled Tavern. And since we’re speaking of MY NEW FAVORITE RESTAURANT IN ALL OF SCOTTSDALE (pardons to its sister joints, COWBOY CIAO, KAZIMIERZ WORLD WINE BAR and SEA SAW), I am also ga-ga over Star-Spangled Tavern’s Fried Chicken (which comes with a side of said Mac and Cheese) as well as their most Star-Spangled SPECTACULAR Bacon Cheeseburger (caps mine) – which is SO GOOD, it would be an insult to smear it with any lowly form of ketchup, mustard or mayo. The juice of the Bacon Cheeseburger is its OWN condiment. Need I say more.
So today, we finished the triathlon and left the parking lot around 9 AM (it started at 6:30!?!?!), and headed to a LOCALLY OWNED breakfast emporium to partake in the morning rituals that do not involve indoor plumbing (Big Earl’s Burgers – Good Stuff). Quite frankly, I’d asked if we could go to the Bacon-Fried Bacon / Pie Palace in Black Canyon City off I-17 (good pecan pie) whose name I can’t recall, but Ted mentioned he didn’t know if it was open, and reminded us that his beloved and our teammate, the ROCK STAR / TRIATHLON STUDDETTE Terri, probably couldn’t eat there, as she is a “mostly vegan” (she eats fish… and vegetables… and carrots, lots of carrots). So we went to Big Earl’s – a gas station cum Big Breakfast / Burger Emporium in Cave Creek. Terri ate toast. Mike, Kristi and I had beef.
I personally had a breakfast burrito, with sausage and cheese interred, and bacon on the side. … The fellowship was good. The hot sauce, divine (both the green and the outta-the-bottle, locally-made Suzanne’s Chipotle and Garlic red). The burrito was a filling well-made brick of nutrition. The bacon was good… but it wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted… BACON WORTHY OF VICTORY. I wanted a pig that died for my suffering… Like I said, you might want to donate to the Humane Society if you continue reading further.
Not that I’d beaten anyone, as you’ll soon read (next post, I promise). Rather, I longed for the “ideal bacon” — that of standing amidst 150 hard-bodies with me, wanting to scream, “DRINK A BEER, YOU WHEAT-JUICING HARD BODIES. ENJOY THE PLEASURE OF ANIMAL FAT, YOU MODEL-PERFECT, CRANK-TURNING MANNEQUINS! HAVE A FREAKIN’ POTATO-CHIP, YOU … YOU… people who kicked my fat ass.”
That said, they went home to their juicers. I went home (after the burrito), visited the bathroom, showered, laid on my couch, watched the Saints beat the Browns, watched the first half of the Cardinals spank the Forty-Niners (like I said, FIRST HALF) and waited for my sweet husband to come home from his day at the motorcycle track.
Neither of us wanted to cook. And yet… neither wanted to get dressed to eat (yes, I realize we’re in Arizona), and so we decided that both of us had a craving for a “carbo reload” (very obscure practice for exercise aficionados) and so we traveled for take-away to the newly opened Star-Spangled Tavern at DC Ranch…
WHERE WE WILL TRY TO SPEND PART OF EVERY SUNDAY HENCEFORTH, DRINKING FROM THE FOUNT OF THE INDOMINATABLE BILL AND EATING CHEF ROB’S WHOLESOME GOODNESS (and relishing in the fact that some hard-bodied hard body is swimming in a pool… swimming)
Bastards.
Having been up since 4:15 AM (and having completed said triathlon and said motorcycle training session), we just wanted to enter into a carb-coma. I hadn’t taken a nap yet, and so when we went to Star-Spangled Tavern, we had immediate thoughts of “take-away” Big Kids’ Mac-N-Cheese (its given-name), for re-heat from the post-naptial bed, but the mixological talents of the inestimable BILL and the temptations of the above-mentioned BACON PLATTER spoke our names.
We took our seats at the bar…. for the duration.
Bill is THE GREATEST BARTENDER WE HAVE EVER KNOWN. We will attempt to return to his church every Sunday henceforth… he starts mixing at 10 AM and the restaurant starts serving food at 11. And allow us to tell you our next order: THE DUCK HASH WITH POACHED EGGS. Apparently, one of Bill’s barflies tried it at one end of the bar, and by the end of the first quarter (of the morning game), every person down the length of the bar had tried it.
Having arrived during halftime of the second game (the Cards’ game), we ordered the Big Kids Mac-N-Cheese, which we’d sampled one week earlier on our sixth anniversary (we like these guys, what can we say). We had the bacon platter. We had the Dogfish IPA Pale Ale and BILL’S SIGNATURE BLOODY MARY and $68 dollars later (sans tip), we stumbled out… sated… and well, sated… my GOD, it was the best damn bacon and bloody Mary (not together…) Bill is the greatest barkeep ever born… Triathlon or no, let me just say this…
I look for a place to call home… A bar where the keep reminds me of places I’ve been… where my glass goes not empty… where they ask why I’ve been so long in coming… where they rail because I root for the Saints and they know it’s not so smart… and they say that it’s late because we’ve made it to the second quarter of the afternooon game, and we’re still not too late to buy the chef a drink…
I look for home… and here I’ve found it… with bacon.
All I have to say, kids, is if you’re gonna do a triathon… or for that matter, if you plan to drink like a professional and eat like someone who’s done it before.. go visit Bill on Sunday at the Star-Spangled Tavern at DC Ranch. Your drink will not go empty, your ego will not be massaged and your belly will not be empty.
And if you show up when we’re there… we’ll buy you a drink… one of Bill’s bloody Mary’s. It’s on our tab. Suffice it to say, with that stupid triathlon, we earned it.
ahhhh.