A Near-Death Experience
Well, we finally got some rain on the mountain. A storm blew through Friday night, dropping 1.2 inches. It never ceases to amaze how quickly things can turn green after a nice rain.
We survived the rainstorm with no problems but it was the indirect cause of our near-death experience.
With the earth moist again, the CFO and I decided to go down the mountain to Elkin in search of evergreen plants of some variety that the deer would find distasteful. It was a please drive down through the green countryside.
The traffic on US-21 was light and we had no problems.
I was of a mind to have barbecue for lunch and a remembered a joint across the Yadkin River, on NC-67, in Jonesville. So, we passed by our beloved Basin Creek hamburger place that serves a wonderful Bass ale on tap and drove though downtown Elkin town in search of barbecue.
The first omen of the troubles to come was that the old NC-67 bridge over the Yadkin between Elkin and Jonesville was closed. Ok, we take the detour over the newer, featureless, US-21 bridge.
There it is, Roses Barbecue, right where it should be. Closed. OK, Plan B. There's another place just down the road, John Boy's by name. Plenty of cars but no evidence of a woodpile. It's late. I'm hungry. We go in, belly up to the counter, and order barbecue trays.
I should have known better. Everyone else there was eating hot dogs, hamburgers, oppossum stew, rattlesnake fritters ... anything but the barbecue.
They called out our order and I went to the counter to retrieve it and that's when the near death experience got underway in earnest. Their idea of barbecue apparently is a pork roast ground into a pulp with some kind of red stuff squirted in a spiral shape on top of it. But, the slaw looked like real barbecue slaw and the hush puppies looked like real hush puppies. Oh, well, I'm hungry and it's already paid for, so let's give it the benefit of the doubt.
Now, my mouth is highly calibrated when it comes to pork barbecue. It knows a first growth Bordeaux barbecue from a Mogen David fermented grape juice barbecue. But,let me tell you folks, it was not prepared for John Boy's barbecue. I took the first bite and I lost the ability to breath. My heart stopped beating and the lights went out. All I could see was that white tunnel of light in my mind's eye. Fini. The end had come. Goodbye. What a horrible way to go.
But, alas, the wad of whatever it was my mouth, began its journey down my throat, toward my stomach. My heartbeat returned. I could breath again. My eyesight was restored and I realised I had just had a near death experience in barbecue hell. My shaking hand reach for the sweetea and I slowly returned to the land of the living.
I've tasted bad barbecue before. But, folks, let me tell you I had never tasted any as bad as John Boy's.
Don't go there.
Please.
We survived the rainstorm with no problems but it was the indirect cause of our near-death experience.
With the earth moist again, the CFO and I decided to go down the mountain to Elkin in search of evergreen plants of some variety that the deer would find distasteful. It was a please drive down through the green countryside.
The traffic on US-21 was light and we had no problems.
I was of a mind to have barbecue for lunch and a remembered a joint across the Yadkin River, on NC-67, in Jonesville. So, we passed by our beloved Basin Creek hamburger place that serves a wonderful Bass ale on tap and drove though downtown Elkin town in search of barbecue.
The first omen of the troubles to come was that the old NC-67 bridge over the Yadkin between Elkin and Jonesville was closed. Ok, we take the detour over the newer, featureless, US-21 bridge.
There it is, Roses Barbecue, right where it should be. Closed. OK, Plan B. There's another place just down the road, John Boy's by name. Plenty of cars but no evidence of a woodpile. It's late. I'm hungry. We go in, belly up to the counter, and order barbecue trays.
I should have known better. Everyone else there was eating hot dogs, hamburgers, oppossum stew, rattlesnake fritters ... anything but the barbecue.
They called out our order and I went to the counter to retrieve it and that's when the near death experience got underway in earnest. Their idea of barbecue apparently is a pork roast ground into a pulp with some kind of red stuff squirted in a spiral shape on top of it. But, the slaw looked like real barbecue slaw and the hush puppies looked like real hush puppies. Oh, well, I'm hungry and it's already paid for, so let's give it the benefit of the doubt.
Now, my mouth is highly calibrated when it comes to pork barbecue. It knows a first growth Bordeaux barbecue from a Mogen David fermented grape juice barbecue. But,let me tell you folks, it was not prepared for John Boy's barbecue. I took the first bite and I lost the ability to breath. My heart stopped beating and the lights went out. All I could see was that white tunnel of light in my mind's eye. Fini. The end had come. Goodbye. What a horrible way to go.
But, alas, the wad of whatever it was my mouth, began its journey down my throat, toward my stomach. My heartbeat returned. I could breath again. My eyesight was restored and I realised I had just had a near death experience in barbecue hell. My shaking hand reach for the sweetea and I slowly returned to the land of the living.
I've tasted bad barbecue before. But, folks, let me tell you I had never tasted any as bad as John Boy's.
Don't go there.
Please.
Comments
Post a Comment