bbq & babies

I used to live in Oakland (as in Oaktown, The biggity O, Oakland bitch, home of Ebonics and Too Short and Hammer pants).  This was very lucky considering I love to eat ghetto barbecue!  There is nothing as good as ghetto barbecue.  Not a gosh darn thing.  Outback Steakhouse Mac-N-Cheese is not as good as ghetto barbecue.  A Big Boy Combo is not as good as ghetto barbecue.  Your mom’s fine Italian cuisine is not as good as ghetto barbecue.  Football might be as good as ghetto barbecue, maybe even better, but football isn’t edible therefore does not count.

Southerners from the Southern states like to talk about how they have the best barbecue, like cowboy barbecue, but it doesn’t even come close.  Hollywood people haven’t a clue as to what barbecue even is.  They try to send you all over town to have, “the best BBQ ever.”  But it’s never the best BBQ ever.  It’s too tangy.  Tangy does not a good barbecue meal a make.

In Oakland I used to go to Everett and Jones.  Everett and Jones (the old school University Ave. location, not the fancy new Jack London with normal tables and all the fanciness like silverware and napkins and stuff location) every night.  A Chicken sandwich with potato salad and extra sauce with a nice flavored soda (strawberry, grape, fruit punch) was my thing.

The anticipation of that night’s meal would consume my every thought throughout the day.  One time, while taking an essay style art history test, I believe I answered that Michelangelo’s Gates of Paradise must have been inspired by ghetto barbecue.  My gal pals suggested I attend a group therapy session as they were tired of hearing me talk about nothing but that evenings’ meal.  And when the magical dinner hour would arrive I would run, not walk, to Everett and Jones, or even Flints if it was an extra special night.

The weekends were extra special because that was the twice a day barbecue time!  Some would say this is a problem.  Those people obviously never had a good sauce.

One night while mentally prepping my taste buds for the fantasticness that was about to ensue at the C grade establishment my thoughts were brutally interrupted!  The order taker lady asked me if I was pregnant. Throughout all phases of my phases of fatness never have I had a belly.

Big knees, yes.

Big thighs, yes.

Sausage link fingers, yes.

Big arms, still have those,

But never a belly!

As you can see this pregnancy question was highly confusing, so I asked her why.

She responded, “because you eat here everyday.”