The MeatPit

Or how BBQ changed my life

I could write about a slew of things, such as, the time a visitor and I went to a predominantly Spanish flea Market, what 6th street is really like, how it feels to be see a constant and free flow of Mexican and Latino/a culture or how I won a free haircut and free booze at a hip bar. However,  I will write about none of these things right now. Instead I am going to share with you a story about a meat pit, bbq and Lone Star Beer.

The Salt Lick is an all you can eat, delicious bar-be-que, b.y.o.b sit down restaurant.

There are four of us, three people from  Wisconsin and me, one lone Washington resident. One of the men we are with is a fabulous homosexual. We are outside of the Austin bubble and into authentic Texas. 

 The drive is long, taking us through 2 highways and one, "FM" road. I have not yet figured out what an "FM" road is, other than a two lane highway that allows cars to go 50=65 mph. This road  allows the Subaru outback to weave in and out of tight curves. We all notice a change in the landscape. The small hills are now covered in a lush greenery with small, green creeks forcing their way through the mossy covered ground. 

I have no idea where I am but have become accustomed to the feeling of a lack-of directional sense. We finally found the bbq joint, planted, literally in the middle of nowhere. We pull in and the restaurant becomes a small village.

There is a winery, there is live music, a stage, a sprawling dirt parking lot and seven, (yes, seven) state troopers wearing cowboy hats directing traffic.

I am astounded. And also completely enthralled and overjoyed at this sight. 

We grab a seat on a wooden bench and I crack open a Lone Star. I look over to my left, and see a mini football team, completely in uniform. I also see little cheerleaders. Yes, tiny 9 year old cheerleaders who are dressed in legit cheerleading gear. I sigh, realizing I haven't yet accepted the football culture here and take a sip beer.

Meanwhile, there are two 40-something men playing some folky country twang with a steel guitar, adding to the overall ambience and mood.

Our table is eventually ready, and we follow the waitress. We walk past "the  meat" pit... 

to long, cafeteria style wooden benches. We sit down, we crack open more Lone Star. We contemplate ordering "meat by the pound" but eventually decide against it.

I realize that, the four of us, kind of hip looking 20 somethings, with one obvious homosexual don't really fit in the atmosphere. I then see an older white man lift up a  his brown grandson really high and press him up against a tree. I take another sip of beer.

Our food eventually comes. This is more bbq than I can handle. There is a pound of meat on my plate, some ribs, brisket and grilled sausage. I eat it all, my belly "dunlop" over my pants. This meal contained delicious,  smoky flavors, combined with habenero sauce and twangy bbq sauce.  Yes, as you may of noticed, I am avoiding the use of the noun, "meat" because writing 'delicious meat' is something I am not mature enough to do. In fact, I couldn't stop my subtle snickers at the use of Meat by our waitress. Sayings such as "Well the meat is cooked___" or "the meat by the pound is cheaper" and my favorite,  "the sausage is heavily seasoned and then cooked in the meat pit."

Note: "Dunlop" refers to the saying, 'I have eaten so much my belly dunlop over my pants' to signify the fullness and Texan eating. 

I am fuller than I have ever been. I am also in the middle of somewhere outside of the city, surrounded by families,  a table celebrating a recent marine coming back (and I  quote) "from the dessert" and a wedding rehearsal. I am in a cafeteria setting full of people who are celebrating wonderful things, such as marriage, returned of loved ones, and I am eating the best goddamn meal I have had in a long time. 

Not to mention, I am completely, for the first time in a long, time, surrounded by people all of my race. (I live in a predominately 75% Hispanic neighborhood; work in a 95% hispanic and African-American school,  so I have become used to hearing mostly Spanish and seeing mostly people who are have a different skin tone than myself. This is  a far cry from the scenarios in Washington I have encountered). I think about some Cornell West and take another sip of beer as I finish my meal.

We get up to leave, walk past the meat pit, past the little football players and cheerleaders, past the twangy folk music, past the newly homed marine,  past the sheriffs and back in the car. I buckle my seat belt, feel my incredibly overstuffed stomach and proceed to process my new home.