This picture has just about everything I liked about this day: warmth, fluffiness,  sunshine, and freshness. And fried chicken.

Mimz had the heart to map out a little trail for us the night before and then offered to drive. I was super grateful that I could just lay back and go with the flow. With Mimz and Marsh at driver and shotgun, BBao and I in the back snacking on random goodies I brought over from the Super HMart in HOTlanta; we headed back out west one more time.

But I did have to inject a little of my fatassinated opinion into the mix with my c’mon-is-it-really-that-out-there breakfast recommendation: “Can we get some fried chicken?”

To which NO ONE batted an eye. Mimz just chimed in plain as day, “Sure. Oooh, have you ever had Bojangles?”

Bojangles…

Haha. Bojangles.

I was never more myself until that moment Marsh and I suddenly started singing. We were both like “chikachicken, call that uuunghhhh Bojangles.” Men are forever children. (more…)

Once again, Marsh and I found ourselves left to our own devices. But, being the laid back, un-trippable cats that we were, we just rolled with it.

Since we had to steer clear of Irene, we had no other choice but to hit up the ‘cue joints out west. A friend had mentioned that barbecue just wasn’t that big in the Mountain Regions western North Carolina. It made sense. Most of the piggeries are east of the foothills; the closer you are to the source of the food, the higher the quality of local meals you can expect. If you want seafood, you don’t go looking for it in Utah (or even Hickory, NC).

(Without going too far off on a tangent… That rule of thumb about an area’s ingredient-prevalence:quality ratio has been constantly challenged in modern times. I’ve heard of some very high end places in remote areas importing their ingredients bi-weekly. Sounds like a shitty business model, if you ask me.

And even in places near the source, you’ll still have to weed through a lot of garbage. For example… recent exposés detailing today’s intensive pork production industry has shifted consumer hearts toward hog farms that are more sustainable, operate more socially/ethically/ecologically consciously, and offer products of perceived superior quality — popular buzzwords include free range, organic, artisanal, pasture-raised, and heritage. But the dank air of amorality surrounding our nation’s second most productive collection of Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations is a subject reserved for another post.

Oops, I’ve said too much.)

So, obvious rule of thumb — if you want good pork, go to a land where there is a lot of pork and a ton more pork eaters.

But of course, as with all rules, there are exceptions. (more…)

I was always up earlier than the rest of the house — something about those sort-of-muggy-but-still-cool Georgian dawns remindedme of Vietnam. The fresh country air was quite invigorating and my lungs were almost selfish. I imagined it purging my lungs of 20-some-odd years worth of caked on New York City smog.

While traversing through the damp, dew laden shrubbery along the path to the backyard, I caught whiffs of burning wood coming from a distant place — one of our neighbors ‘cuing some roadkill, perhaps? The motherland nostalgia hit me in full force. It called my jungle genes into action and I started … clapping furiously. There was blood all over my hands but I had no intention of stopping. My ears were buzzing.

One greedy bugger tried to double-tap my leg so I baited it with an outstretched ankle and then…. ::WHACK:: destroyed it. I must have killed about 15 mosquitoes that morning.

Since these were my (and Marsh’s) last moments in Georgia, I nabbed a few farewell jujubes from the tree before rounding up my stuff. (more…)

Significant — this day, Marsh and I discovered our penchant for having superior luck when it comes to wandering about without an agenda. From this point onward, it seemed that days in which we didn’t have concrete plans always turned out much better than those days in which we did our research. Case in point: Chattanooga, TN.

We were both pretty tired from the hikes and adventures the few days prior, but I wanted to really soak in as much as possible in these 9 short days. Since we had time to kill before Joo  got off work, she suggested we squeeze in this impromptu day-trip to Tennessee and get some barbecue.

I wanted to save myself for North Carolina but, alas, 3 months of abstaining from all things barbecue (in preparation for this trip) had left me tragically impatient.

It was pretty much a straight shot up I-75 to hit the southeastern tip of Tennessee. By my driving (slow-ish), it took us about 2 hours each way. And I have to say, despite the abuse we put that Kia Optima through — gas-brake-dips, flooring it, taking ill-advised last minute turns, basically “whipping the shit out of it,” as Marsh would say — it held up fairly well. (more…)

My Atlantan cousins weren’t always available to play so I ended up spending a lot more time with The Marsh. It was probably Monday (Day Three) that we aimlessly set out on our own. Joo suggested we go grab some barbecue in Tennessee. I was reluctant, because I wanted to save myself for the trail in North Carolina, but I figured “What the hey? We need some kind of reference point.”

After a quick Googling, I found a random, somewhat favorably reviewed ‘cue joint in Chattanooga and we hit the road in a rental Kia Optima.

But, first things first… our bodies needed to fuel up for the 2 hour drive. So I punched in our preliminary destination into the navigator and we went on a little detour toward the local Krystal Burger. It fucking sucked. So instead of writing about it, I’m going to rewrite this memory and pretend we just went to the Waffle House.

I think I may have hyped it up a little for Marsh because every time we passed by a sign on the road for the Waffle House, my dumbass would automatically blurt out “wah fuh HOWWWS” the way I think a gangster rapper would if he were stating his place of origin.

The funny thing was I’d never been here before. Ever. I don’t think he ever understood why I was always so excited to pass by one. (The truth was, it was simply a very satisfying thing to say.)

(more…)