No secret missions, no strange scenarios, just the plain hypoglycemic-driven need for sustenance led me to the doors of Señor Sol.

After a three-day shut-in gorge fest I decided it was time to venture outdoors. I needed to get out of the house partly because I’d eaten everything in the place during Thanksgorging, but mostly to avoid the stench of decaying turkey carcass rising out of the mound of dirty dishes and bulging trash bags in my kitchen. Blinded by my first glimpse of sunlight, I reeled back into the gloomy stench I once called a home, groping for eye protection. Donning my shades, I headed back out into the cruel light in search of yet another dinning adventure.

Eating for a living can be a tough job but the readers must be satiated! Maybe I’ll get an easier gig some day like being a sleep critic, reviewing the pros and cons of napping on different mattresses or something, but for now I had a job to do, a mission to accomplish, people were counting on me! (Okay, so I was hungry, plain and simple. If you had my life you’d make stuff up, too.)

I knew after three days of hedonistic gluttony it was going to be hard to find anything that seemed appealing. I was lurkin’ around 6th Avenue sniffing the air and avoiding oncoming traffic when I caught a whiff of grease and barbecue sauce that lured me into Brothers BBQ. As I walked in the smell washed over me: “AW, YEAH BABY!” my stomach said in a deep Barry White baritone, “THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!” The hand-painted menu on the wall boasted a variety of down-home temptations like barbecue sauce by the gallon, meat by the pound and Alma’s sweet potato pie “so smooth, sweet and creamy that we couldn’t keep ‘em in stock!” “AW, YOU KNOW HOW I LIKE IT, BABY,” my stomach continued, “COME TO DADDY!”

I ordered the $7.95 ribs and beans lunch special and sat down at one of the stainless steel tables to take in some of the surroundings. License plates adorned the walls and a huge TV was the focal point of the room (a decorator after my own heart). In what seemed like just a few seconds my name was called. I headed up to the counter with visions of huge slabs of greasy barbecue sauce-laden ribs and buckets of beans. “AW YEAH, SUGAR, DADDY’S GOT A SWEET TOOTH TONIGHT! GIVE IT TO ME HOT AND GREASY!” my stomach started again. Then as abruptly as my belly had found its voice it lost it. There staring up at me from a little Styrofoam plate were four ribs a little longer than my finger, a couple of tablespoons of beans and half a shot of barbecue sauce. I began to cry. “FEED ME SEYMORE,” growled my stomach, so I carried my little lunchie back to what now seemed like a giant table. I ate all the ribs without taking a breath, and although they were some of the best I’ve tasted in a while, I hadn’t even got started eating yet, so I dove into my beans (all two spoons full). They tasted great ... nice and hot ... no, really hot ... no, Hades HOT ... AAAAHHHHH. I have no idea what was in my cup but I gulped it down like a camel. Then, as the iced carbonated syrup shook hands with the fiery beans and barbecued pig I felt the pressure of political unrest building below, (no recount needed). The food was good, what little there was of it, but if I didn’t leave soon I was going to make more noise about this than was necessary. I got just about to the door when the flames started. “AAAAHHHH FIRE,” I screamed as I ran down the street with a fireball chasing me at just below waist height. “Eating for a living can be a tough job,” I thought for a brief moment just before the flames engulfed me.

B

Grade: 3rd Degree and still hungry.

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