Recently I wished to express my sympathy to a church lady who had been subjected to suffering at the hands of sinful men: her doctor hassled her so long about something at a morning appointment that she missed being able to get biscuits from Hardee's. (This lady emails a report to interested parties after each of her chemo treatments. The reports are always hilarious, and usually include what she ate on the way home. She would be the best blogger ever.) She affirmed that this treatment had been egregious and went on to tell me that although Hardee's has the best biscuits, "the lard--
[here I begin nodding like the know-it-all I am, expecting a comment on the inferiority of shortening or butter to lard]
"well, you sure can tell the difference between what you get at the store and home-rendered."