I discovered this fact when Opie Capone and I took a road trip down south on Wednesday to pick up our wee grandmother from our parent's house where she'd been spending a few days.
She didn't used to be a wee grandmother. She used to be a damn good pool hustler, a crack shot with the .22 pistol and the world's best all-around southern cooking goddess. But now she is 84 and my grandfather has been dead for several years and she has become wee.
And that's ok.
On the way down I got really hungry and told Opie/Jonboy that we were stopping in Brownfield. I didn't make that up - Brownfield is the town's real name. I cannot think of any more aptly named place in the state, unless of course it is the real name of Fake Cow City. (If you're real curious about it, email me and I'll tell ya what it is.)
This is where we ate:
Oh, man, it was goooood. Its a bar-b-que joint right on the highway. If you ever go through there, stop and chow. When we rolled out the door and climbed back in the truck, Opie said "That was really good and it didn't even give me a headache."
"A headache? What are you talking about?"
"Don't you ever get a headache if you eat too much bar-b-que?"
After we picked up grandmother and headed back north toward home, I had to stop at the rest area just north of their town. I'd seen this sign on the way in:
It made me laugh.