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How we even found this
place is beyond me. After trekking to the outer-limits of the Isle
of Manhattan (through a rainstorm no less), we finally arrived at
what was promised to us as the BBQ promised land. The fact I was soaked
to the bone did not immediately endear me to this joint, and things
didn't improve when we came to the realization that there was absolutely
nowhere to sit. I don't mean it was crowded and there were no seats
left; there were just no seats at all. Apparently the promised land
couldn't afford a fuckin' stool or two. And then came the piss-poor
attitude. Sweet, you mean I get to hike to the middle of nowhere in
a driving rain and then get abused for the pleasure! Somehow the douchebags
behind the counter seemed pissed that we were ordering food. How dare
we. And then we had the nerve to try to order the rustic creamy corn
with Wisconsin cheddar side. Yeah, we're kinda out of that. Um, you're
out of corn? Yes, we have no more corn. Seriously, how do you run
out of corn--the staple of BBQ places everywhere? Look, asshole, we're
just out of it, so shut the hell up and order something that we do
have. So, begrudgingly, I ordered mashed potatoes and Cajun dirty
rice and beans sides with the Tennessee whiskey beer can style half
chicken entree and headed back out into the storm to trudge back to
the office to eat the stuff at my desk like a schnook. And, goddamn,
if they didn't give me the wrong sides after all that grief. Instead
of the mashed potatoes they gave me something called baked beans with
burnt ends. Wet and pissed, I took a couple fork-fulls of the strong-smelling
legumes. "What an odd taste," I remarked to my office-mate. "Yeah,
that'd be pork, you idiot," he claimed. Swine! I knew it! They were
trying to poison me for being to vehement about the damn corn. After
ditching those on my pig-hatin' friend, I dug into the chicken. I
wanted it to suck. I wanted it to really suck so I didn't have to
ever go back to this place. And, of course, the stuff was delicious.
It was tender and spicy and flavorful and awesome. Granted, it was
a little colder than I would have liked it after our adventure, but
I just couldn't deny its goodness. If I ever run across this Daisy
May woman, I may slap her in the face for making the experience at
her restaurant so excruciatingly painful, and then kiss her feet for
making some of the best BBQ chicken I've ever had. I'm a very complicated
man. [MF]
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