I love BBQ. Eating BBQ with 2 gay men (Wifey and Poodle)? Well, that’s just an extra special treat.
This place we went to was okay. Not good, not bad – okay. My Little Poodle got ribs bigger then the ones tucked inside his tiny poodle ribcage (and subsequently whined about the prospect of getting sauce all over his pretty shirt), Wifey got herself a rib combo and I ate catfish.
Oh shut up, sometimes catfish is a good choice. We were gonna cruise gay bars after dinner, couldn’t have bbq sauce all over me.
The best part of this BBQ joint we went to, Dallas BBQ, were the giant drinks and the extra shots my waiter slipped me in test tubes. And the two or three kettle and clubs he made me (f*cking strong, kid) whilst only charging me for one, well, thank you. It kind of made up for the fact that the rest of the night I was invisible to every one of the opposite sex (think: water water everywhere, not a drop to drink).