At the first, Spencer spied a sign on the interstate that stated the names of eating places coming up at the next exit. We were hungry. 250 miles south of home and we were hunting. Hunting and hungry for something to eat. Turns out it was going to be smoking pigs! LOL, at least that's what Spencer called Smokey Pig Bar-B-Que.
I took pictures of the wooden shack-like building with it's bar-b-que smoker hidden by the picketty-wooden privacy fence. Couldn't hide the smoke, tho.
Oh, so good was that taste of sweet sharp sauce on shredded pork with fluffy fresh bun.
The customers were a happy lot, knowing their pleasure was coming. One gentleman laughed, and sounded like my uncle. I just had to greet him with a kindred smile. Customers came and went, a steady stream, never empty-handed.
The hand-written signs kept us entertained while we ate.
"If you don't like it HOT don't get it DIPPED," and
"When you order Pork Chop that means Pork Chop (bone in)
N O T chopped pork!"
We couldn't help but laugh at some of the menu items: Half Chicken, Large Dog, Small Dog, and Shred Dog!
Next morning we were parked, by Spencer self-designated driver, on a sad dreary vacant street in front of Bluegrass Grille. He said he googled where to go because he wanted local food, culture of the city. Grass grew up between the curb and sidewalk, the windows of empty storefronts were dirty, and all was quiet. This was early morning, the sun just grazing the horizon that was still gray from the night. No twitters from the birds, no coughs from old men, no car horns, nothing.
Then. Then we opened the door to the grill. Hubbub! What a mix of sounds! Clanging, high chatter, chair scrapings, ice clanking, laughter, kid trills, and "We'll seat you in just a few minutes." We were third in line. The back wall was a green, muted mural of the Appalachian Mountains. The floors were knotted hardwood, and the side walls were red brick. What a contrast!
From Louisville, to Chattanooga to Savannah, I can't fail to mention the Espresso Gallery, The Sugar Shack, The Social Club, and Coffee Roasters Cafe. Homeward through South Carolina and Tennessee we stopped at The Diner.
The Diner was retro to the 1950's. All glistening, reflective silver chrome on the outside and red-checkered and soda fountain-like on the inside serving burgers and fries and berry cobbler and pies. Yet we were totally taken aback by the wait staff, men and women who looked like they were the teeny-boppers of the 1950's! Definitely put a smile on your face and made ya wish ya could afford their t-shirts.
Spencer knew I thought his t-shirt was threadbare and not worthy of being seen in public. At the laundromat in Tybee, we were discussing this when an older couple joined in our conversation. She was very grandmotherly and she commiserated with him, "He's treating his shirts like he'll treat his car and his wife, "Keep 'em forever!" Of course, I got the "See there, Mom" look.
So, one of the last places we went had the best fish, Molly McGuires, but I'll not return. I got food poisoning from the cole slaw. The last breakfast place we patronized was Bojangles, southern-inspired fast-food known for Cajun chicken, but we had nuggets, and biscuit sandwiches. Gotta tell ya though, as we went through the drive-through Spencer was flirty with the girl. Yep. They laughed and giggled. When we got to the window to receive our food, they were still laughing and giggling.
I asked if he wanted to get her phone number. Guess not. Maybe like the neighboring Coosaw Indians she should send up a "come hither" smoke signal.
By the way, can Cajun chicken make ya giggle?
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