Let’s say you’re driving south through Atlanta, around dinner time. Do yourself a favor and avoid driving through the center city by taking 285 northwest, and stop at the Heirloom Market BBQ. The Official Wife of Creamy Middles left it up to her dining companion to order, and he selected the Texas Trinity: brisket, short ribs, and hot sausage, with two sides, which in this case were mac ‘n cheese and collards.
The Official Wife most enjoyed the ribs, lamenting that there were only three on the platter, “forcing” her to claim two, since it’s just bad form for a man and woman to share a single rib. Meanwhile, her companion took it upon himself to snap up more than his share of the brisket, slurping the grease off his fingers, and openly wondering if it would be gluttonous to step back in line and order another serving. (It would have been, so he didn’t.)
In The South, one can easily find good barbecue — Texas-style, North Cack-style, et cetera — if one cares to find it. However, the very best places, like Heirloom, are not just “good” in the sense that their meat is flavorful and tender and beautiful to behold. They are “good” in the way that one must carefully maneuver his car through a tight parking lot shared with a convenience store, push past a chalkboard full of specials and through a swinging wooden door, call an audible at the register in order to score a slice of pecan pie, and only after sitting down at a counter, with smoky flavors wafting up from the platter, notice that this place has a sauce titled “Hotlanta”, because that makes all the sense in the world.
