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RIBTASTIC
A superb, and perfectly sun-worn, eatery sign in downtown DeFuniak Springs, Florida:
Shot by reader Melissa M. near the end of an Georgia-to-Florida trek ... in a Prius (you can chart her exact route by tracking injury reports involving blind people). “Hope all is well with you,” writes Melissa. “I’ll be pulling for Howard in November but know better than to interfere with an Australian election.”
UPDATE. Ric Locke reports:
I have eaten at Pig Daddy’s in DeFuniak Springs, and it is (or was, about ten years ago) exactly as expected by some of the commenters above. A Muslim walking by downwind automatically becomes an apostate, and the patrons tend toward the sort who look fat but will go back after lunch to their work, which is picking up cars with one hand and changing their tires with the other. Their boyfriends do more strenuous labor.
With due adjustment for the differences in local subculture, such places can be found in most parts of the United States. They are the exact cultural equivalent of the little places the Michelin Guide is so enamored of, out-of-the-way little eateries with fabulous food.
Hmm. There could be some sort of universal rule at work here.
When you see a sign like that, you just KNOW the ribs are good!!!
Posted by Old Tanker on 2007 10 15 at 10:21 AM • permalinkIt has been a longtime dream of mine to open my own Bar-B-Q joint.
I plan to name it after two of my childhood friends, Cletus and Shag.
Cletus and Shag by the way were brothers and two of the finest high school football players ever produced by the great state of Alabama.
Posted by joe bagadonuts on 2007 10 15 at 10:25 AM • permalink#2 RebeccaH,
That is a strange bird. I guess the rumors about Foghorn Leghorn and Daisy Duck were true.
Posted by mythusmage on 2007 10 15 at 10:33 AM • permalinkmmmmmmm… barbecue… smells like…. victory!
Posted by richard mcenroe on 2007 10 15 at 10:55 AM • permalinkThe more clothes the pig on the sign is wearing, the better the food. If he’s holding a fork and knife, it means eat here now.
Posted by MikeTheLibrarian on 2007 10 15 at 11:04 AM • permalinkI am pretty sure that it is a holy obligation for prius owners to drive them to Vermont to be welcomed into the heart of GW Adventism here, fetted as they cruise Main St, admired by passing green Subaru Outback owners, geen with envy, but still they figure it will be a couple more years before AGW allows them to give up their all wheel drive. At least judging by the number of Priuses I see with out of state plates.
Alas, that sort of eatery can’t be franchised, only experienced.
Posted by The_Real_JeffS on 2007 10 15 at 02:53 PM • permalinkYou know, now that I’ve had a good luck at him I must say, that is one happypig.
Posted by mythusmage on 2007 10 15 at 03:22 PM • permalinkOk. So, the food shop sign analysis is like the ugly wine bottle label? When pressed for choice of a good wine, go for the one with the ugliest label. (This is called the Rule of Ugly.)
Why not go to the Contact Us page and say howdy?
Fabulous! I take signs, too. They’re great pieces of Americana (or wherever you may roam).
Posted by Kyda Sylvester on 2007 10 15 at 06:48 PM • permalinkthat sign reminds me of my travels around the American South. If you’ve been to such an establishment, a sign like that pretty much tells you all you need to know. I can picture the inside of that place right now, even though I’ve never been there.
ribs, beans, slaw… mmmm.Posted by daddy dave on 2007 10 15 at 07:04 PM • permalinkFor some unknown reason, there are three authentic barbecue places in Seattle along one two mile stretch of road. Well, authentic aside from being in Seattle and not, say, Memphis. I’ve tried two of them and they’re damn good.
Something about good barbecue that’s universal. Unless you’re a Mus… a Mmmm… you know, a Presbyterian.
Posted by Steve Skubinna on 2007 10 15 at 09:11 PM • permalinkDropped a note to Pig Daddy’s via the link at Erni G’s post (#25)
No doubt they will be somewhat bemused by Aussies promising to drop in for for BBQ.
Posted by Pedro the Ignorant on 2007 10 15 at 09:20 PM • permalinkAt last a direct connection. I have eaten at Pig Daddy’s in DeFuniak Springs, and it is (or was, about ten years ago) exactly as expected by some of the commenters above. A Muslim walking by downwind automatically becomes an apostate, and the patrons tend toward the sort who look fat but will go back after lunch to their work, which is picking up cars with one hand and changing their tires with the other. Their boyfriends do more strenuous labor.
With due adjustment for the differences in local subculture, such places can be found in most parts of the United States. They are the exact cultural equivalent of the little places the Michelin Guide is so enamored of, out-of-the-way little eateries with fabulous food.
If you are ever traveling on Interstate 30 between Dallas and Greenville, keep an eye out for signs that say “Soul Man’s”, with an improbably cheerful pink pig. If you aren’t accustomed to the venue, budget an extra quarter hour for the shift into intestinal hyperdrive to pass.
Regards,
RicCheck out the Betty Boop support the troops graphic at the bottom of the menu page.
Posted by rightwingprof on 2007 10 16 at 10:19 AM • permalinkI learned a long time ago from my wife’s 80 year old grandmother that when travelling on vacation (or holiday as the effete British call it), ask the local people where they go to eat. In fact, I can recall ...
(~~~ wronwright goes back 20 years ~~~)
... taking a bus tour in Charleston, South Carolina. My wife’s mother-in-law (yeah, I was pussy whipped back then, I took the old broad with us, just once) going up to the bus driver and asking “where is a good place to eat?” The bus driver mentions several very expensive restaurants in Charleston proper. She replied “no, I mean where do you like to eat?”. He drawled “Well it ain’t around here, that’s fer sure. Everybody round here goes over the bridge to Mt. Pleasant. Try the shrimp restaurants at Shem Creek. That’s a shrimp harbor”.
Well, in short order we drove over there and pulled into an unpaved parking lot. We see cars with nothing but South Carolina license plates. No out-of-state plates at all. And the cars were old model ones at that, a few of them clunkers. I thought “I don’t know about this”.
Well butter my bottom and call me muffin if we didn’t have a damn good meal. At super cheap prices. Imagine long wood tables with newspaper spread across. When one family is done, they remove the dishes and replace the soiled newspaper with clean ones. And seafood platters that were brought out on actual platters 3 feet across chock full of rock crabs, oysters, shrimp, clams, and fish. All for $5.99. Damn good deal.
We decided to change our hotel and stay at the Shem Creek Hotel. $59.99 a night. Shem Creek became our secret. We decided not to tell anyone about it. Sadly, my wife and I went back to Shem Creek 10 years later and damn if they didn’t erect a neon sign saying SHEM CREEK. And they constructed ritzy houses and condos all around. It’s spoiled now. I blame Bush.
Posted by wronwright on 2007 10 16 at 10:40 AM • permalinkAs to the universal rule, ISTM that it isn’t necessary that the sign or wine label be ugly. What it must be is unsophisticated, not slickly designed to appeal to a broad demographic, owing little or nothing to Madison Avenue and related enterprises. In effect, the sign-maker says to himself, “what means good food (or plonk) to me?” and proceeds on that basis.
I don’t recall Shem Creek as a name, though I’ve eaten well and cheaply in Charleston (more properly, in the vicinity; Charleston proper is ‘way too gentrified to offer much in the way of that sort of place without deeply experienced native guides.) The effect wronwright describes is near-universal, but it merely means the recognition factors have changed. What you look for nowadays is storefronts in strip malls where the parking lot has a preponderance of American marques in evidence, with signs as slickly produced as any but no recognizable logos. If it is lunchtime, one absolute requirement is a table of mostly men in none-too-clean twill shirts or jumpsuits with embroidered name patches on. If there is another table, this one of women in the sort of clothing expected of a receptionist who are sharing glances with the guys and giggling a bit, the deal is clinched. Seat yourself, and when Christine asks for your order say, “I’ll have the special, with sweet tea.”
Regards,
Ric#20 Hey, paco, come on down to Atlanta, my brother and I will take you on a blissful pig crawl - they’re all over the place here!
(My sister-in-law won’t go with us because she’s a vegetarian. My dh won’t go with us because he says nothing on earth will convince him to go out in public with us again if barbecue is involved. Issues.)
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My kind of place: Nothing halal on the menu.