Battle of the Barbeques
RMK, I cannot disagree, for Nawth-by-God-Cackylacky Q is exquisite! It is simply a different animal (see what I did there?) than its Midwestern iteration. When my Bride and I lived in Kitty Hawk, we frequented a restaurant there called High Cotton. They served the best Q I have ever eaten. Unfortunately, they do not ship their stellar product, nor will they divulge their secret sauce recipe.
Robbo Jock, we'd love to meet you, so remember that our offer stands! Sounds like you are a skier, which is my favorite sport of all time. Raised in New England, I skied every slope there, including Stowe, Killington, Stratton, and Mad River Glen. Those fine slopes don't hold a candle to those in the Rockies, however, and having done Aspen, Snowmass, and Park City, I'd love to join you on one of your forays. There is much to be said for the sport of Apres Skiing as well, I'm sure you'll concur!
nomorehelosforme, thank you for your kind response! When I was born in Atlanta in 1949, the city's population was 400,000. Now it's 7.5 million, too big and traffic-ridden for me! I am not surprised that "Botch-Head" is full of skyscrapers now, and yes, I remember 55 Pharr Road.
Here's a "Pharr Out" barbeque story for you. Back in 1969, my soon-to-be-sister-in-law was dating a 6'2", blond-haired, broad-shouldered, Greek God named Bill A. Bill owned an advertising agency and had landed the very lucrative Hickory House account. He came up with the (stupid) idea of a "spokespig" named "Hickory Hawg". Some cretin would dress up in a pig outfit (think NFL-style mascot with exaggerated features) and do a series of television commercials which ended with the tagline: "Hickory Hawg say Hickory House has de bes' barbeque!" So Pharr, so good.
Bill had hired some ne'er do well to dress in the pig get-up and stand in front of the Hickory House's flagship restaurant on Pharr Road and beckon passersby, both vehicular and ambulatory, to go in and grunt some Q. It was Independence Day, the Fourth of July. The job requirements included: don't show up drunk, don't expose yourself, no profanity, stay out for two hours in the hot summer sun of Hotlanner, then collect $100 (a king's ransom in those days). Easy, right?
And so it came to pass that moments before the pig gig was to begin, the human porcine simulacrum, drunk as forty Hells, managed to call Bill and tell him that he could find someone else to run his perverted Island of Dr. Moreau on the furnace-like sidewalk in front of the Hickory House. OH, NO! There was but one choice: Bill would have to become Hickory Hawg and do some epileptiform Morris Dance in front of his valued client's place of bidness, as we say down South. And so he did.
About an hour into this command performance, Bill was sweating up a storm, feeling rather faint, and wondering why he ever got into the AD GAME in the first place. I'll let him take it from here in his own words:
"I had been dancing around in this God-D***ed pig costume for what seemed like an eternity, when a long-haired, disheveled hippie pedestrian approached me at a rather brisk pace. As he drew near, I went into character and said in my best redneck accent 'Hickory Hawg say go on in an' eat the Worls' bes' bah-bee-que!'"At which point, the sidewalk cruiser, who had been gazing at Pig Bill's paper mache' head with inordinate interest, said in a loud but even voice: 'Take this, you F-in' PIG' and proceeded to kick Bill so hard in his unprepared groin that our advertising Guru was lifted two feet into the air, then descended to the hotplate concrete sidewalk in a confused heap! His testicles now resided in the place his ovaries would be, were he a woman. Thereupon he commenced to fill his semi-crushed pig head with less-than-fragrant vomit and bile as he tenderly cradled his wounded vacant scrotum with shaking hands.
There is much more to the story, but I can tell you that Bill got out of the advertising business and into the coal business, where he made, then lost, millions. Perhaps he was dressed as a miner?
Apologies for the thread drift, but this was, kinda/sorta, about our porcine friends.
- Ed
Last edited by cavuman1; 21st Jan 2020 at 18:09.