This time of year, most of us embrace a few cherished traditions that center around food. It makes sense. With the right food and beverages, even our crazy aunts and uncles can be downright entertaining. What sort of longstanding food traditions do you look forward to the most? Traditional turkey dinner at Thanksgiving? A roast on Christmas Eve?
My family has merged together all its different streams into what now plays out as turkey at Thanksgiving, hot pot (Chinese fondue) on Christmas Eve, and tamales on Christmas Day. Nestled between Thanksgiving and Christmas is my birthday. Yeah, I’m a December birthday kid. Over the last twenty years, the celebration of my birth has become know to me and my family as BBQ Day. If I still lived in Texas (or anyplace near the cradle of delicious BBQ) this tradition wouldn’t make as much sense.
In small town Texas (as I’ve explained to my Montana-born wife multiple times), restaurants serve as an indicator of the town’s overall status/evolution. The first step out of the primordial ooze of hicksville is the opening of a burger joint. Next is Mexican. Then comes the BBQ stand…followed by another BBQ stand…which inevitably leads to yet another BBQ stand as each former friend determines to demonstrate their superior meat skills. All of this means that for most Texans, any given Tuesday is BBQ Day.
But I live in Idaho. In these parts, nine of ten times I hear the word “BBQ” someone is inviting me over for grilled burgers and hotdogs. I don’t mean to come across as a meat snob, but just because something is cooked in your backyard on your grill doesn’t make it BBQ. Needless to say, finding genuinely good BBQ around here is a bit of a chore. In addition, my family doesn’t value the tradition of cooking meat via a slowly-circumvented-unit-of-hot-air with the lid closed. All of this has combined to spawn BBQ Day as celebrated upon the commemoration of my birth. The tradition of BBQ Day is simple: I scour the Treasure Valley to locate a hopeful source of BBQ. We venture there. We then sup upon said BBQ until the belt about my midsection must be abandoned.
This year I had all but settled on a BBQ truck within several miles of my home. While it seemed decently promising, I wasn’t completely euphoric over its sampling. Then, three days before BBQ Day, I stumbled upon an unbeknownst (to me) gem of a restaurant that felt like the founders had stumbled into my dreams and become inebriated there only to escape by the skin of their teeth to open a restaurant inspired by their harrowing adventure. The establishment’s name is Biscuit and Hogs.
Uh-huh. I’m a bit disappointed I didn’t come up with the idea first. For the most part, it’s what it sounds like. Take a breakfast place, add a love for Homer Simpson’s “magical animal,” and serve it shaken not stirred. I ordered a waffle sandwich described this way:
a traditional buttermilk waffle stuffed with house smoked brisket, signature pork belly bacon strips & melted white american cheese. topped with rich cheesy béchamel sauce and a sunny side up egg.
Oh man. God is good indeed. And a happy BBQ Day to us all.
At the Desk This Week
I took a break from writing this week. I’m reading through an old project of mine to see if I want to revive it at this time. Or…if I want to jump back into another abandoned project. Decision decisions. Hopefully I can nail down what I want to do next soon! Happy holidays to all y’all. And Peace to everyone.
If You Wish to Start Reading The Green Ones…
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