Wednesday, December 21

Things I Ate That Will Probably Kill Me: Hill Country Barbecue

...because what other slab of meat comes on paper to soak up the grease, and is correctly referred to and sold by the slab? My boyfriend and I opted out of the meat parade and split a Cornish Game Hen last week, which had a peppercorn-pocked skin that made it great. Not great!!!, but great, since there was a bucket of macaroni and cheese and cornbread nearby, and anything smothered in cheese wins with me every time.

The place's posturing of being some weird kind of overly themed Disneyland for foods of the sauced variety was odd, like your brain's at a saloon at Six Flags while your mouth's in a Food Network clip show, surrounded by the type of hyuck-hyuck tin artwork they sell outside FAO Schwartz to tourists who wholeheartedly believe it looks like vintage goods instead of schlock sold streetside. Actually, on second thought, waiting in cafeteria-style lines make me anxious, the jokey sizes for sides — 16oz "Heapin' Helpin'" and 32 oz "Feed Yer Family" — made me sick, and the cool-ification of overeating portion sizes and paying a lot of money for it made me sad. But, I'm pretty sure I skipped out of there high on animal fats, and the fact my clothes still smell like campfire-cooked meats means it was worth it, if only because someone hasn't bottled "Southern Campfire Roast" as a perfume yet.

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