Text 25705, 67 rader
Skriven 2015-04-06 02:46:00 av MICHAEL LOO (1:123/140)
Ärende: AUS trip 467
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John Mueller has another truck at the boundary between an
unprepossessing industrial park area and an unprepossessing
residential area. Despite the aching cold and the spittle
bordering on sleet, there was a bit of a line. Our turn came
in about ten minutes, and I ordered a sausage link and some
moist brisket. The people behind the window set about
putting together the order, and to amuse us for a couple
minutes while it got ready, we were handed a sample of a few
shreds of very nicely done moist, somewhat light on the
smoke, but quite tasty. This only set up our mouths for a
letdown. What we ended up getting, when the order came, was
run of the mill, rather lean, cut in stringy chunks to
highlight the second-rateness of the meat. I take this to
signify that the guy filling the order (John? I don't know)
figured he'd never see us again, so we ended up getting
whatever.

This came with a little condiment tub of very oily spicy
sauce, more like a Mexican salsa on steroids, that I liked
enough to drink by itself.

The sausage was quite good, rather coarsely ground, pretty
peppery, but on the whole, we had figured out why LeAnn
Mueller had fired her brother! There's an underlying
dishonesty, perhaps from a sort of kleptoid mania. The guy
was right, he'll never see us again.

After that disappointment we decided to mend our misguided
ways and brave the lines at La Barbecue, LeAnn's fashionable
stand, so we drove over there only to discover that the
queue was longer than one would have dreamed possible,
perhaps as long as Franklin's. The wind was blustery, too,
and we thought we wouldn't be inclined to brave the weather
for a pound even of the best, despite the famous custom of
the place to hand out free beer to the faithful. Fourth down.

I'd heard about Sam's a mile or two away in a somewhat less
attractive neighborhood, and as it was light out, no problem.
This turns out to be a ramshackle building with a raggedy-
painted slogan outside "You Don't Need No Teeth to Eat
My Beef" (often quoted as "teef"). Inside is dim and rather
dingy, with idiosyncratic decorations featuring numerous
photos of happy diners and a few Martin Luther King
tchotchkes. But still it's an inside dining room, points in
favor. We got our order of sausage and moist brisket to go
anyway, choosing instead to dine in the comfort of the
Holiday Inn.

It was pretty good BBQ, nicely smoked, but perhaps not of
first-rate meat. One remembers that Sam too got in hot water
a few years ago with the authorities for buying stolen
property, and the newspapers painted lurid pictures of
people staggering out of the local H-E-B with briskets
stuffed down their pants. At least it was reasonably moist,
so this man was honest at least with his customers. I didn't
care for the tomato soup-like sauce that came alongside.

The sausage, one link, was the size of two of anyone else's
and had to be snapped in half to fit into a butcher-paper
wrap. It was fine-ground, fatty, and soft, with a bit of
andouille-like tang that not everyone would like but that
I didn't mind at all, just so long as it didn't make me
sick, which it didn't.

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