3 months ago
This is making me very hungry.
After the fifth barbecue stop in North Carolina my brother-in-law and I were delirious. We stumbled out of the door of the last joint, nearly tripping over ourselves like a couple of drunk freshman. I called my wife but when I attempted to speak the right words wouldn’t come out. Sure my belly was full of pork, but it was something about the addition of coleslaw, hush puppies, and glass upon glass of sweet tea to the equation that produced some kind of odd chemical imbalance in my brain. I was drunk on pork, and I giggled at the buzz.
(h/t orangecoat)
AT 3:45 on a recent Saturday morning — as frogs croaked into the void and a mufflerless pickup downshifted onto Cow Head Road — Rodney Scott, 37, pitmaster here at Scott’s Variety Store and Bar-B-Q, gave the order.
“Flip the pigs,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “Let’s go. Some char is good — too much and we lose him.”
