Don't know if any of y'all read this magazine, but this homage to BBQ (& football) deserves a wider readership. I don't know who Wright Thompson is, but I suspect we could enjoy (or suffer through) an Ole Miss football game in harmony.
Food of the Gods
Around the third quarter, when the fried chicken and stuffed eggs I had outside have been bled of all nutrients, and my beloved Ole Miss Rebels are once again getting their asses kicked--maybe by Arkansas, maybe by the Mississippi School of the Blind--that's when it's time to eat something with working man roots, something with a backstory, someting cradled for hours in a smoker.
...The stand belongs to Corky's. Normally, I will not get within smelling distance of Corky's--the McDonald's of Memphis barbecue--but at the stadium they have me by the short ones. Do I dislike corporatization of 'cue more that I like the tang of the sauce, the crisp of the chip, the chew of the meat? It is the most basic of questions: Love or hate?
I choose love, and thus, on game day--and on game day only--I will order Corky's. Blame it on situational ethics. I don't give a #badword#. When it's my turn, there is a simple business transaction: They get eight dollars, I get barbecue nachos. It feels like a drug deal.
...Earlier this fall, when Missouri was playing in Oxford, I watched the Midwesterners return from teh concession stands wide-eyed and nachoized...If there were any sorority girls around, I do not notice. Can I tell you a secret? A willing Drew Barrymore could sashay to Section O of Vaught-Hemingway Stadium, with a bottle of Maker's Mark in one arm and Heather Graham on the other, and I would be faced with a difficult decision.
Finally, I get back to my seat. I'm focused. All I see is the cardboard tray on my lap, a saturated-fat All-Star team: pulled pork, dry rub, sweet barbecue sauce, tortilla chips, jalapeno peppers, and a blanket of molten cheese that may or may not be a dairy but sure as hell is an awesome. If I were tobacco-lawyer rich, I'd hire someone to paint a replica of Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel on the ceiling of my Gulfstream, except I'd want God reaching down His Almighty Finger into this very plate.
...You know how they say there are no atheists in foxholes? Well, there are no vegetarians at football games in teh South, either. There are only those who've never discovered these nachos.
The players down below move gracefully, as only healthy, strong, young men can. The bite currently in my hand will take me yet another step away from them. There is something Roman aobut eating this absurdly fattening food while those boys push themselves to their physical limit. The weighted chip hovers closer to my mouth, and now the crunch, the sweet kiss of the sauce, a cheekful of meat.
There is cheering in Vaught-Hemingway Stadium. They are cheering for me.
************************************************************************
I will only at that a) at Vaught Hemingway Stadium, the Corky's nachos really are the most exciting thing I've seen in a year or so. and b) the author possibly needs to get laid more often if he can get this worked up over BBQ.
CONTEXT ADDED BY ADMIN:
END OF CONTEXT
Don't know if any of y'all read this magazine, but this homage to BBQ (& football) deserves a wider readership. I don't know who Wright Thompson is, but I suspect we could enjoy (or suffer through) an Ole Miss football game in harmony.
Food of the Gods
Around the third quarter, when the fried chicken and stuffed eggs I had outside have been bled of all nutrients, and my beloved Ole Miss Rebels are once again getting their asses kicked--maybe by Arkansas, maybe by the Mississippi School of the Blind--that's when it's time to eat something with working man roots, something with a backstory, someting cradled for hours in a smoker.
...The stand belongs to Corky's. Normally, I will not get within smelling distance of Corky's--the McDonald's of Memphis barbecue--but at the stadium they have me by the short ones. Do I dislike corporatization of 'cue more that I like the tang of the sauce, the crisp of the chip, the chew of the meat? It is the most basic of questions: Love or hate?
I choose love, and thus, on game day--and on game day only--I will order Corky's. Blame it on situational ethics. I don't give a #badword#. When it's my turn, there is a simple business transaction: They get eight dollars, I get barbecue nachos. It feels like a drug deal.
...Earlier this fall, when Missouri was playing in Oxford, I watched the Midwesterners return from teh concession stands wide-eyed and nachoized...If there were any sorority girls around, I do not notice. Can I tell you a secret? A willing Drew Barrymore could sashay to Section O of Vaught-Hemingway Stadium, with a bottle of Maker's Mark in one arm and Heather Graham on the other, and I would be faced with a difficult decision.
Finally, I get back to my seat. I'm focused. All I see is the cardboard tray on my lap, a saturated-fat All-Star team: pulled pork, dry rub, sweet barbecue sauce, tortilla chips, jalapeno peppers, and a blanket of molten cheese that may or may not be a dairy but sure as hell is an awesome. If I were tobacco-lawyer rich, I'd hire someone to paint a replica of Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel on the ceiling of my Gulfstream, except I'd want God reaching down His Almighty Finger into this very plate.
...You know how they say there are no atheists in foxholes? Well, there are no vegetarians at football games in teh South, either. There are only those who've never discovered these nachos.
The players down below move gracefully, as only healthy, strong, young men can. The bite currently in my hand will take me yet another step away from them. There is something Roman aobut eating this absurdly fattening food while those boys push themselves to their physical limit. The weighted chip hovers closer to my mouth, and now the crunch, the sweet kiss of the sauce, a cheekful of meat.
There is cheering in Vaught-Hemingway Stadium. They are cheering for me.
************************************************************************
I will only at that a) at Vaught Hemingway Stadium, the Corky's nachos really are the most exciting thing I've seen in a year or so. and b) the author possibly needs to get laid more often if he can get this worked up over BBQ.
