In the beginning was the word: pig. And the word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, and we beheld its glory, full of grace and truth. We are the People of the Hog. Our services are the long, smokey nights, swatting mosquitoes and tending the fire. Our congregation gathers at a long table, to pull its flesh and take it unto our own. Our sectarian conflict is in the sauce – the vinegar, the molasses, and the heretic mustard. Despite being far from the table of my fathers, I know – sure as the Lord made little green apples – that the only barbecue is pork and it comes from the south.
And we shall have no other gods before it.
And so it came to pass that finding myself in the Home Depot parking lot around lunchtime, I had the brisket sandwich.
As barbecue substitutes go, these folks had done a fair job. The brisket was tender – fork tender, but not falling apart on its own, ideal for a sandwich. A well developed smoke ring. The slices I got were from the middle of the brisket, long and fatty. I’m generally a burnt ends sort of boy, so my sections were lacking in that sort of character, but I won’t hold my moral failings against their sandwich.
As is proper, the sandwich was topped with coleslaw – generally a vehicle to provide both creaminess and texture. In this, it was an admirable addition to the sandwich. I heartily recommend it.
Sauces were brown sugar based, of varying intensities of heat. The hot sauce, unfortunately, wasn’t. It seems to be a hallmark of living in this part of the world that it’s people generally don’t like their food to fight back. With the exception of the explicitly spicy – wings and curries – I’ve struggled to find much in the way of kick in the cuisine. Except for that Confidential Armadillo sauce, or whatever the hell it is. That shit’s fantastic.
My sandwich came with fries – very well executed, crunch on the outside, mush on the inside. I definitely recommend the fry sauce, which had the most kick of anything on the table.
My lunch compatriot also had brisket, but had a side of greens (he’s watching his girlish figure). A visual inspection denoted an acceptable amount of pork (i.e. lots), but the taste test left both of us underwhelmed. Collards are supposed to be cooked within an inch of their structural integrity; these were well underdone. Also missing were any smoke or vinegar flavors – key to good greens. These were basically just a soggy salad.
This isn’t to say that there isn’t a happy ending – there was also some of the best cornbread I’ve had in years. Sweet, buttery, fantastic.
It’s strip mall smoked meat designed to please white folks – nothing to object too, nothing too much to praise, served to you by a chef in a clean coat. If you’re at Home Depot and thinking about lunch, these folks will do you fine.
I’m just not ready to get pulled pork out here.