My Texas

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Story of my life people...

Story. Of. My. Life.  These people up here have no clue.  New York City is pretty much the center of the world.  It does a lot of things well...really stinking well.  But anything resembling something found in the South?  Don't even get me started.

Twice now, I've attempted to enjoy BBQ in NYC.  Twice now, I've been completely horrified by what I found.  Apparently, New Yorkers have quality Southern BBQ confused with anything resembling cuisine found in China.  The BBQ sauce looks (and sometimes tastes) more like soy sauce.  And twice now I have been served some sort of BBQ fried rice with my BBQ.  Rice.  I don't know how they do it in the rest of the world, but I know this...  BBQ does not involve rice.  Ever.  End of story.

New Yorkers, by the way, are obsessed with all things Texas.  Dallas BBQ, Texas BBQ, Texas themed bars, Texas Festival, the list goes on and on.  My Texas does it right.  Not some place called Hill Country BBQ, located in the Flat Iron district of New York City.  Actual Hill Country.  With Pappasitos and queso and kolaches from Shipleys and wide open skies and sunsets.  There is no possible way to explain it to someone who never set foot farther west than the Mississippi (or the Hudson for that matter).

You haven't been to the Houston rodeo,
Sang "Carry On" at a Pat Green show,
If you ain't seen an Abilene sunset,
Then you ain't met My Texas yet.

Haven't had a kolache when you go through West,
Never heard of the Larry Jo Taylor fest,
Think polished pop country crap sounds the best,
Then you ain't met My Texas yet.

You haven't been to the Ft. Worth stock show,
Sang along with Cory Morrow,
You ain't seen a hill country sunset,
Then you ain't met My Texas yet.

(My Texas, Josh Abbott Band)

Nothing like it in the entire world.  Certainly not in New York City.

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