After making tamales yesterday, I sat down to write the instructions like I said I would. But the husks and seasonings made me stop and think. What if I just made a kit? If you’d be interested, let me know.
Frozen tamales aren’t bad. But after making (and selling) a million of them, I finally said out loud what I’d been thinking for years: fresh ones are 10 times better.
Every Fall, the tamale texts start rolling in. I used to make thousands. Now? Not a chance. But I might just show you how we did it — masa, sauces, meat prep and all.
Better Than Yelp
What started as a quick breakfast stop turned into a surprisingly great burrito, a purple soda experiment, and a reminder that friendly folks and real food still exist — right on River Drive in Davenport.
The Book I Didn’t Write
She killed my dad, made bail, and moved right back into his house like it was hers. I turned 33 years old eleven days later with nothing but grief, a van full of fireworks, and my brother Jeff. For thirty minutes, we got to flip the script — until the deputies came knocking.
Tea to TikTok
161 years ago today, war came to a Missouri town in the worst way. Guerrillas, gunfire, and a name you know — Jesse James. This ain’t the Civil War you learned in school. This is the version told from the porch.
From The Porch
It was 6 a.m. on a Friday. The sun wasn’t even committed yet. But there I was, Papa in the recliner, watching a five-year-old eat cashews for breakfast while the fast food industry told me what I couldn’t eat. Spoiler: I didn’t take it well.
Between the Verses
Lazarus was already four days dead when Jesus strolled into town — and the side-eye from Mary and Martha was righteous. This isn’t just a miracle story. It’s a story about showing up late, sitting in grief, and doing the impossible anyway. Porch-style thoughts on a God who cries before He fixes it.
The Book I Didn’t Write
I spent the day before with my dad—talking fuel tanks and aircraft mods like we always did. Twenty-four hours later, I was identifying his body in a hospital room, eyes stitched shut from a gunshot wound. His wife—twenty years younger—was already in custody.
From The Porch
Town’s got sidewalks, drive-thrus, and trash pickup. But I used to have airplanes in the yard and river mornings out back. So yeah… I miss it. Most days, I miss it bad.
Tea to TikTok
They didn’t tunnel out. They didn’t bribe guards. They built a glider. In an attic. In a Nazi prison. This isn’t fiction — it’s one of the wildest true stories from WWII you’ve never heard. And it never even left the roof.
From The Porch
Milli climbed onto the arm of my recliner like a ninja, took one look at my hand, and delivered a roast I wasn’t ready for. Kids don’t hold back. And apparently, neither does dry skin.