Hope Smells Like Smoked Meat

There’s hope for us, and we found it in an old bank.

C and I drive about an hour for church on Sundays, to another small town on another lake after another car ride littered with enough moose, deer, bear and small animals to both raise your blood pressure to an unhealthy level and draw out a very real fear of an automobile-accident related death.  The drive is usually followed by either attending church or going grocery shopping.  Fear of death, followed by God or food.  Huh.

Well, yesterday after said drive and said church service, we stuck around to have lunch with the church pastor.  He chose the restaurant, and I can tell you now, in hindsight, that it was undeniably the right choice.  You know the quote from Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken that says it was the decision of taking the less trodden path “that made all the difference”?  Well, we followed a new friend down an unknown trail, and when our path ended, there was pork.  Frost is a genius.

Meet Bacon, Ham Steak and Brisket.  Cute now, but extra yummy later.

They have a meat smoker at this particular establishment, and the juicy brisket to prove it.  To me, pig products are a crucial component of successful dining, so to understand my excitement, just imagine me rolling around on the hardwood restaurant floor, kicking my legs in the air and laughing hysterically, with dark barbeque sauce dripping from the corner of my mouth.   Or if you want to sleep tonight, go ahead and skip that.

I, of course, refrained from the above actions yesterday, due to the fact that we were in the company of someone who didn’t really know us yet, and well… I was wearing a skirt.  I’m not about to embarrass myself by giving the other diners a peek at my panties – I've got more class than that.

Here are some other signs that we found a promising restaurant:
  • Liberal use of fresh jalapenos and a nice pico de gallo
  • Cracked pepper on freshly fried kettle chips
  • A Cuban sandwich, which is startling, because Dorothy, we're not in Miami anymore
  • I can’t recall any that item on the menu had a moose theme
  • Coleslaw served in the pulled pork sandwich, which means that someone did their homework 

In a world of meatloaf (albeit, good meatloaf) and baked chicken breasts, eating yesterday’s meal left me feeling like I was watching a new morning sun rise over the horizon.  In a land of snow and ice, it compares to catching a glimpse of the North Pole workshop.  In a lifeboat, it would be a white sand beach.  In our case, it’s just a little thing called hope, wrapped in prosciutto and drizzled with honey. 

Down the hatch, Hope.

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