I Should Know Better

It’s the deep south, East of the Mississippi, the land where I grew up.

So I should know better than to order beef, right?


It was tough, chewey, and no flavor. The table-top squeeze bottle of BBQ sauce counter-acted the last failing, but only by adding something to nothing. It was still “wish I had some floss” tough. The only way this is goin’ down is if you chew your cud on it a while, a long while.

Fortunately, or so I thought, I’d ordered sides of both slaw and potato salad.

“I can survive this if I fill up on the sides,” I told myself.


The slaw was chopped so fine I thought they were gonna make a puree’d onion soup with a little mystery greenish-blue for visual intrigue. It was turquoise onion mush.

Strike two!

And then, rocketing past my worst fears and into the black hole of disbelief, the potato “salad” was similarly pureed but with moisture added. It truly was a pasty thick almost-soup. Worse, with all the textures gone, it’s flavors then cancelled each other out. It too was paste, tasteless paste.

How can this be?

Did my ordering beef in an Alabama BBQ restaurant tag me as someone for … well, I just don’t know where you can get cole slaw and potato salad that bad.

I am flummoxed!


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