Mark’s Feed Store Bar B Q Review
Oh lord, these fried pickles are good. My husband goaded me into writing a review, using transparent reverse psychology, which I keenly observed, roundly derided, and then succumbed to. We’re sitting outside because he forgot to wear shoes to meet me. He’s often worried about the decline of his mental health, but this didn’t phase him in the least. Because he only worries about losing his mind when he remembers to. For real, though. These fried pickles. They’re pretty good. Most places use those rehydrated hamburger pickles that give you a mild chemical burn even through the thick, orangey, morning-news anchor pancake-makeup foundation of breading. These, however, are mild with a thin seasoned breading and a luverly ranch dressing.
(Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Once I was a snob who gently looked down on those of my acquaintance who put ranch dressing on everything. Now I am a snob who thinks, but does not use, words like “complex” and “impudent” about the ranch dressing I am pouring in my gob. )
I have a tray of barbecued chicken, coleslaw and a piece a Texas toast. He has a beef brisket sandwich with a cup of baked apples, that taste like the inside of a Perkins apple pie. In a good way. They taste like they came out of a can in a time when canned things were exciting.
The chicken is a little dry, but I am young and can overcome this, with enough emotional processing. The coleslaw is like a normal coleslaw, that is to say quite tasty if one is fond of semen texture, which I am. Not in semen. It’s gross there. But in other, semen-like foods.
The Texas toast is beautiful. It is golden and porous and definitely had a pat of butter melted on its middle, which shines with an oleaginous light. I am not going to eat it, because some days I tell myself that I am gluten free. It was a toss up when I saw the toast, whether today was going to be one of those days or not. Oh shit. I already had a bite of his sandwich. Fuck it.
Anyway, Aaron’s going to write about the Texas toast because it will give him a lovely pretentious glow in his midsection.
I gave him the computer and he totally failed to write about Texas toast. He just edited me. Forces me to write restaurant reviews so I can’t enjoy my perfectly adequate barbecue and then heartlessly wrenches away the computer. The computer that I handed to him so he can laugh at my jokes. Which he barely snickers at and then edits. It’s a dog’s life with a partner who has an English degree that they don’t use for their work. They have to justify those three and half years at your expense. He’s staring at me now. He knows I’m writing about him. But he’s distracted by Texas toast and any movement in the distance.
We’ve finished the meal now. I have only vague memories of it past the pickles because we were mostly arguing about my use of syntax in describing the pickles. If you are hungry and want a food, this place is fine. If you are a barbecue zealot, you should have the brisket and not the chicken. The brisket is better. There. Are you happy?
P.S. He put double spaces after all my sentences. Because he is FROM THE PAST.