Barbeque one day a week.
Manfredi’s.
People come from miles around,
all directions.
You miss it, there’s always
next week.
Come too late in the day,
you miss it.
We came early.
Parked,
walked through
the permeating presence
of grilled meat in the air,
smoke visible around at the back,
crowds pressing in,
drooling.
We walked inside
where you order,
two lines,
some people unsure
which line was which.
Chaz knew
from experience,
led me to the back counter
the correct line
to wait
then our turn.
“Do you have ribs?”
I asked,
bating my breath.
The counter woman said,
“Yes.”
“Oh, Thank God!”
I said with relief
and ordered a slab.
Chaz ordered the combo
ribs, chicken, tri tip,
covering the bases.
I looked at the case
for sides,
said,
“A half pint
of egg salad,
two half pints
of mac ‘n’ cheese,
a full pint
seafood salad
and a full pint
of broccoli salad
because you said it was good
and I want to find out
and three pieces of carrot cake
just because.”
Then the other line
where you wait for your order
and pay.
We fingered candy
and local beef jerky
and then to the counter
our stacks and piles
accumulating and assembling
I got out my card
machine said “approved”
a lovely word
and half the cost
of anywhere else
I said,
“We love this place!
More than once
it’s on my blog.”
And the other woman
at this other counter
happily startled
said
“Thanks.”
We loaded the car,
drove back home,
saved cake for later,
got out plates,
heaped,
took them to sit,
dug in
happy.
I didn’t need to be prompted
to jot down this blog.
We still haven’t got
to the cake.