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Do you hear the drums, Hernando?
Oct. 6th, 2004 11:15 amThe plan for last Thursday was pack the van with Damon's apartment, drive to Memphis, eat barbecue. No Graceland, no Beale Street, no Civil Rights Museum, just a Motel 6 and some smoked pork. Unfortunately, by the time we rolled into town, it was late (10 pm) and most places were closed (remember, it's the South). So we settled on a late-night snack at Waffle House and vowed to try again at lunch on Friday.
The next morning we slept in and headed into Mississippi (a.k.a. Miss-ippi a.k.a. The 'Sip). One thing I love about road-tripping in the South (or anywhere not the Northeast and Mid-Atlantic states, I suppose) is the lack of toll roads which not only is cheaper, but the pavement often seems smoother and there are more interesting choices for stopping along the way -- not just settling for the tollway plazas that all look alike. So we scoured the blue signs announcing food and lodging and gas and in the midst of a conversation we both saw the blue sign for the Hernando exit, saying "Coleman's BBQ" and we both said "yeah."
I parked the van in the back of the lot, because the back was so full with boxes of belongings that I had no use of the rearview mirror, which makes backing out difficult. I pulled in next to the huge smokers and my mouth immediately started watering. Before going in, Damon said he had to go to the ATM because he only had 8 dollars. I told him that might be plenty. Sure enough, the BBQ dinner plate we both got cost a grand total of $4.99.
It had linoleum floors and wood panelling walls and booths and the entire place was a smoking area. Half of the other customers were guys on their lunch break wearing work boots and stained pants and torn shirts and trucker's caps. Sort of like a hipster club, except they were all in the 30s and 40s and had facial hair and weren't doing a damn thing in their life ironically. The women serving us mostly in their 40s with glasses and appliques on their t-shirt which were tucked into their slacks and while they didn't necessarily have 'big hair', it was comparatively bigger than what I usually see. In other words, the women I grew up knowing in my church and family.
Coleman proclaimed to the South's Finest, and that day I did not dispute. Their barbecue was done the right way -- pork shoulder cooked in smokers for hours and hours and hours, then sliced off with a little bit of sauce as a condiment. Add on some baked beans and french fries and white bread to soak it all up and our meal was complete. Each bite just got better, but also freaked me out more and more, unlocking random memories of church potlucks and dinners with family and trips to Mississippi at holidays, things I didn't know I'd forgotten. Oh, and the sweet tea. The sweet tea! I can't even write about it.
Talking to Damon, I realized I hadn't been to Atlanta in 4 years, but I hadn't been to Mississippi in 8 years. Growing up we went at least twice a year -- for a week or two in the summer, then for Thanksgiving or Christmas. That seemed to be a lifetime ago, one I tend to rarely revisit. But soon I would be completely surrounded by the South and I realized the weekend was going to be a bit stranger and overwhelming than I expected.
The next morning we slept in and headed into Mississippi (a.k.a. Miss-ippi a.k.a. The 'Sip). One thing I love about road-tripping in the South (or anywhere not the Northeast and Mid-Atlantic states, I suppose) is the lack of toll roads which not only is cheaper, but the pavement often seems smoother and there are more interesting choices for stopping along the way -- not just settling for the tollway plazas that all look alike. So we scoured the blue signs announcing food and lodging and gas and in the midst of a conversation we both saw the blue sign for the Hernando exit, saying "Coleman's BBQ" and we both said "yeah."
I parked the van in the back of the lot, because the back was so full with boxes of belongings that I had no use of the rearview mirror, which makes backing out difficult. I pulled in next to the huge smokers and my mouth immediately started watering. Before going in, Damon said he had to go to the ATM because he only had 8 dollars. I told him that might be plenty. Sure enough, the BBQ dinner plate we both got cost a grand total of $4.99.
It had linoleum floors and wood panelling walls and booths and the entire place was a smoking area. Half of the other customers were guys on their lunch break wearing work boots and stained pants and torn shirts and trucker's caps. Sort of like a hipster club, except they were all in the 30s and 40s and had facial hair and weren't doing a damn thing in their life ironically. The women serving us mostly in their 40s with glasses and appliques on their t-shirt which were tucked into their slacks and while they didn't necessarily have 'big hair', it was comparatively bigger than what I usually see. In other words, the women I grew up knowing in my church and family.
Coleman proclaimed to the South's Finest, and that day I did not dispute. Their barbecue was done the right way -- pork shoulder cooked in smokers for hours and hours and hours, then sliced off with a little bit of sauce as a condiment. Add on some baked beans and french fries and white bread to soak it all up and our meal was complete. Each bite just got better, but also freaked me out more and more, unlocking random memories of church potlucks and dinners with family and trips to Mississippi at holidays, things I didn't know I'd forgotten. Oh, and the sweet tea. The sweet tea! I can't even write about it.
Talking to Damon, I realized I hadn't been to Atlanta in 4 years, but I hadn't been to Mississippi in 8 years. Growing up we went at least twice a year -- for a week or two in the summer, then for Thanksgiving or Christmas. That seemed to be a lifetime ago, one I tend to rarely revisit. But soon I would be completely surrounded by the South and I realized the weekend was going to be a bit stranger and overwhelming than I expected.
