Went to Harris Teeter for groceries, was wandering the aisles looking for something to go with barbecue pork–and tangentially, I am going to commit treason and say “What the hell is up with barbecue around here?” They are so incredibly proud of their barbecue in this state, and it’s…well, it ain’t much. Instead of cooking the barbecue in, through basting and glazes and thick sauce, so that every bite is pure barbecue, they cook the meat until it’s as grey and dead as a leper’s libido, and then they present you with this sad, beaten, shredded meat, and you are supposed to soak it in vinegar and dip it into various BBQ sauces. It is meat reduced to the level of potato chip. It is a travesty. I have had better barbecue at KFC, and that’s just sad.
Ahem. Anyway. We were at the grocery store.
I came around an aisle, ran into someone who was a dead ringer for–somebody–couldn’t place it for a minute–someone famous, wasn’t it?–and then it clicked. I scurried back down the aisle and found James.
“James! Mad King Denethor shops here!”
James gave me a look, roamed casually over in that direction, and said “Whoa.”
The guy was a dead ringer. Oh, maybe a bit younger–early forties, say, back when he was merely Somewhat Eccentric King Denethor*–but still, it was uncanny.
We went on shopping. After a few minutes, James leaned over and said “Don’t look now, but I think the King is stalking us.”
I glanced back. Probably a coincidence. There are only so many patterns for cruising the grocery store, after all. Still, we finished our shopping quickly. Some people, it doesn’t pay to antagonize.
Edit: Said to James “I just ripped on southern barbecue in my blog. The lynch mob should be here shortly.”
“AAAGGHH!” James flailed madly from the kitchen. “What are you DOING? We have to LIVE in this town!”
Have pity on him. Take me, southern barbecue lovers! The man is innocent! He was an unwitting pawn! I’ll go quietly.
*Yes, I know, Royal Steward. He’ll always be Mad King Denethor to me.
