The search for delicious

 

 

My brother, who lives in Austin and is an expert on BBQ, tells me I can stop at just about any grocery store in this area and pick up great BBQ.  Consort and I always take him at his word and so began our hunt for excellent smoked meat.  We googled “BBQ near me” and the first hit was in Granger, TX, population 1,431, about five miles from where we’re camping.  Consort had mentioned an interesting grocery store in Granger.  Could be, could be. 

The store was great; had a real old-timey feeling, wood floors and freestanding coolers.  The produce section looked like a postcard promoting veggies – gorgeous!  But the most amazing smell was coming from the back of the store.  I followed my nose to a great deli/meat counter, but there was absolutely no sign of BBQ.  I asked the lady behind the counter where that fabulous aroma was coming from.  The lady said they were getting ready for tomorrow and were all sold out of BBQ.  What I smelled was for tomorrow’s lucky customers.

Consort and I headed back to the truck with no purchases and a little disappointed.  It’s hard to get excited about a deli sandwich when you’ve just smelled ribs.  Back in the truck, I googled “BBQ near me” again, and this time was directed to Taylor, TX, about ten miles down the road.  In Taylor, TX, Google gave me two choices for BBQ:  A restaurant or a grocery store.  We opted for the grocery store. 

Davis Grocery wasn’t too far off Main Street, but it was in a kind of sketchy neighborhood, mostly sketchy.  I was beginning to wonder if we should turn back when consort began pulling off the road into the parking lot of a very questionable establishment. 

Whether the structure would pass building and safety codes was obvious; it would not.  There was a molded plastic sign that at one time lit up on a pole out front.  Someone had spray-painted the sign, blacking out the original name, then painting in the word TACOS.  The same appeared on the front of the building:  The old establishment’s name crossed out and the single word, TACOS, spray painted in splashy colors.  Everything was happening fast – consort pulling over, my noticing the dilapidated building and spray-painted words.  I looked across at consort and said quite definitively:  I am NOT going in there. 

Consort looked puzzled, which is not uncommon when we talk, and asked, What’s the problem?  I said, Are we looking at the same place?  Consort looks where I’m pointing and says, No, that’s not the place.  Look across the street.

Davis Grocery, a nice little building with a well-kept lot.  Smiling, I said, I’m good with this one.  That was when I saw the bars on the windows.  There were double metal doors on the side of the building with heavy locks on them, the kind of stuff you see on the backdoors of businesses.  I walked to the front of the building, but there were no other doors.  Consort politely opened the door for me as he always does and, not to be outdone, I politely said, You first.

 

The groceries were minimal in the store, but they carried all the basics you’d need in a pinch.  Consort was thrilled to find mutton listed on the menu.  He has fond memories of eating mutton at the World’s Fair in Missouri.  I keep telling him to Meet Me in St. Louis.  Sadly, the guy in front of us cleaned them all out of mutton.  We ended up with smoked Meyer's Elgin Sausage and a half rack of baby back ribs.

The ribs did not make it home.

Today we went back in to Davis Grocery for, you guessed it, mutton.  We went early.  We bought the last of what they had.  It was delicious.  Consort was pleased.

 

Let me close with a word of caution:  When you’re on the turnpikes and freeways of America, watch out for those Winnebagos and Bounders.  You never know who might be inside.  ~Stephen King, Doctor Sleep