I felt like Dan Aykroyd in Trading Places, when he's standing there in his filthy, bedraggled Santa Claus suit looking in the window of a fancy restaurant, where everybody's drinking champagne and smoking big cigars.
Night after night, I'd press my nose against the glass at Salty Sow, while they were in their soft opening run up toward opening their doors to the general public. Then I'd shuffle off down the street, whistling an old hobo song, praying for the day that would come when the regular folk could stroll in the door and order up a plate of chow. The wait is over. The Salty Sow is now open daily to the public at 4pm. Remember when Reagan throatily ratcheted "THE SOW IS MINE" in that great scene from the Exorcist? That's what I'm hollering when I finally get some food from here. Previous Salty Sow coverage http://www.scrumptiouschef.com/food/index.cfm/2012/5/10

