Texan Bar-B-Q: git 'er done

Buzzie's Bar-B-Q

It was time. We'd done all we could to prepare for this moment. We knew we were ready but doubts still lingered in our minds. Would we be able to do our Texan hosts proud? Would we walk away with our bellies full and our heads held high? Could we recover quickly enough to enjoy apple pie tomorrow? Would we ever be able to fit our clothes again? What if we had to book extra seats on the plane?

As the 4WD pulled up in the parking lot, our apprehension grew. Sure, Buzzie's Bar-B-Q looked innocent enough but we knew that behind the corrugated iron facade lurked some of the largest servings of meat we'd ever see. It was no laughing matter. Buzzie's is one of the top 50 Bar-B-Q restaurants in Texas, which doesn't sound impressive until you realise that there are literally thousands of Bar-B-Q joints vying for a spot in that list. Competition is fierce. We looked at each other. It was now or never.

We stepped out of the car and walked across the near empty parking lot. It was late afternoon. The sun beat down on us. Mike went first. He knew what perils lay ahead. He'd faced his fears long ago. We followed.

Mike and Em tuck in

Inside Buzzie's was little more than a shed. At one end was a serving counter. At the other a drink machine, piles of bread and a salad bar. A sea of picnic tables spread in the middle. The head of a longhorn mocked us from the back wall. I took a deep breath and ordered. Half a chicken, a pile of coleslaw, a mountain of potato salad, a giant tub of Buzzie's special Bar-B-Q sauce and all the bread you can eat. I gathered my tray, watched as it buckled under the weight of my meal and struggled back to the table. Carl stepped forward. He looked the lady behind the counter in the eye and ordered. One large rack of pork ribs, lashings of coleslaw and potato salad, a giant tub of Buzzie's special Bar-B-Q sauce and all the bread you can eat. Weren't no-one gonna tell him he couldn't do it. Hell no.

We ate. Sauce slopped on our clothes and smeared across our faces. Still we ate. The longhorn glared down at us. Still we ate. And ate. And ate. Until we could eat no more. We were beaten. A quarter of a chicken sat dejected on my plate. Bernie had struggled through even less. Even Mike fell a few ribs short of the rack. But Carl didn't falter. He finished the ribs, scoffed the potato salad and coleslaw, licked his fingers and wiped his mouth. He had beaten the Bar-B-Q. He could undo the top button on his pants proudly.

Carl earns his Texan stripes