There's no limeade at 35,000 feet

As I type these words, I'm on a Delta flight somewhere over the middle of the country, returning to San Francisco from eight days in the South. Through the window, I see brown mountains, white clouds, and absolutely zero limeades.

I'm in withdrawal.

Limeades are at the top of the list of drinks I crave whenever I'm down South. Richmond, Virginia, where Nick and I spent the past four days, is particularly known for its limeades. In fact, forget about Richmond being the Capital of the Confederacy; it's the Capital of the Limeade. We had a delicious limeade at Kuba Kuba in the Fan and another one at Bill's Barbecue. (Limeade and barbecue is a heady combination; I would say it's like pairing red wine with filet mignon but I'm afraid you'd lose all hope for me.) I'd have had the vodka limeade at Phil's Continental Lounge, if only Phil's had been open. (It's in the process of relocating.) The limeade at Dunn's Drive In is also popular, though I'd never heard of it until I did a Google search just now for limeades in Richmond.

I'm not exclusive in my love of limeades, by the way. In Greensboro, where I'm from and where we also just spent a few days, the lunch counter at Brown Gardiner drug store offers a fabulous orangeade. I didn't get the chance to have one this time, so it's high on my to-do list for my next trip.

Alas, there's no limeade to be had on this Delta flight. I suppose it would be too much to ask the flight attendants to cut and squeeze limes and whip up a batch of simple syrup. But as part of breast cancer awareness month, the airline is serving a pink lemonade martini. It's not a limeade or, even better, a mojito, but it's for a good cause and...sorry, I've got to run; the drink cart is here.