We thoroughly enjoyed the 666 barbecue of my earlier post. In fact, I’d give it a 9-9-9 (with a nod to Herman Cain) on a scale of 10-10-10.
Doctors don’t recommend The Southern Diet. In fact, they recommend moving our appetites to another warm locale, say, with The Mediterranean Diet.
My brother, the health nut, has always turned up his nose at Southern-fried anything. When our mother used to want to go out for “fish fried so that it curls up at the edges,” BroJoe would shake his head in horror. Just the word “grease” could set off his gag reflex. So when he sent this photo, I was surprised that he’d even gone inside any place that served this stuff. I couldn’t imagine him bellying up to the buffet line just to take a photo!
(Take a guess. I know what they are, but not how they taste. I’ve never eaten either.)
I wrote back to BroJoe that the one on the right used to be one of Mother’s favorite dishes. As a joke, I asked which one he tried.
Astonishingly, he answered, “Both. I ate them for lunch. Now they’re eating me.”
Not a 666, though the aftermath does sound beastly. Nope, I’d say this one was an o o, possibly an o o o o.
“In God we trust. All others must pay when they order.” – Sign at Southern barbecue joint
(Okay, Connoisseurs, the pans hold fried chicken livers and gizzards–livers on the left. Expecting something else? Nope, this is a chitlin-free blog.))