The Greatest Meal I've Ever Eaten

I remember the date. January 2, 1996. The weather was mostly sunny, with light winds. It was a day in Dallas, Texas like many others, except that I was about to have a religious experience.

Unexpected? Sure. I wasn't on a foodie tour. I was in Dallas for the 1996 Cotton Bowl. The game hadn't gone well. Colorado 38, Oregon 6, in 31-degree temperatures with frozen fog.

I had two days before my flight home. What to do with my remaining time in Big D?

Let's eat, but where? If I had been in Boston I would have gone for some chowder. Baltimore? A couple of crab cakes? San Francisco? Sourdough bread bowl.

The answer in Dallas was clear. Barbecue it would be. I started my rental car and headed out, blind to my destination with only a vague philosophy for what I sought. Steak houses can be glitzy. Italian restaurants are best found with white tablecloths. Asian places need to have a certain scrubbed clean look to them. I had no such preconceptions on this fateful day.

Near Parkland Hospital I was inexorably drawn to a small and nondescript building. "Smokey John's Barbecue."

"That's the kind of place that can put a plate of 'cue on the table," I thought to myself. The smell of the parking lot drew me in like a moth to a flame. What I found inside brought me to my knees in humble adoration.

I started with the brisket sandwich (looking much like the one pictured above). The flavor was exquisite if one can use such a word in reference to barbecue. The sauce was rich, smoky, spicy, and sweet in complete harmony with the Universe. It settled on my tongue like the sweet kiss of your best girl. The brisket was tender to the tooth, breaking open in soft invitation.

It was the sweetest country music ever heard in the form of lunch. I swear I heard Carrie Underwood's voice though she was only 12 years old at the time.

Next to the brisket was a white container of potato salad. God forgive me the blasphemy I am about to commit. A boy is supposed to prefer his Mama's potato salad and, bless her soul, mine made an outstanding one.

Worth Twice What I Paid For It

Smokey John makes a better one. The potatoes must have drawn straws to be allowed to give their lives for this salad. Mayo, egg, onion, pickle, and other spices Smokey John may have been inventing on the fly. It all combined to beg me to pack up and move to Texas. I was half ready to do the siren song's bidding.

Many a barbecue lunch has been ruined by an inappropriate application of baked beans. Smokey John scoffs. His beans tasted like a wet and tawdry affair between tender legumes, smoke, and brown sugar glaze. The Farmer in the Dell's cheese stands alone. Smokey John's baked beans can stand alone as lunch.

Isn't There a Better Word for These Than Beans?

I was sated, satisfied and ready to call it the best meal of my life...except it wasn't over. Lord have mercy, there was peach cobbler!

Georgia is the Peach State. That may be true most of the time but Smokey John in Dallas is the Emperor of the Peaches! His cobbler was rich and gooey. It was topped with an overlay so light it nearly flew out the door on its way to God's banquet table.

And Sweet Baby Jesus...

I felt like I needed to go outside and bring world peace in our time to deserve such a meal. It wasn't so much lunch as food realizing its greatest potential. I was not worthy. No one is worthy. It was the Greatest Meal I've, check that, Anyone Has Ever Eaten.