Speaking of food

This past Friday my friend Marmo took me to Dinosaur barbecue way, way up by 131 St. in between a highway and a bunch of warehouses.

Now, barbecue is as Texan as Tex-Mex, like how lasagna is as British as chicken tikka masala. I've never gone on a quest for good BBQ in New York for the same reason my friend Apple's mom told her never to buy a reuben West of the Mississippi - good barbecue outside of Texas, the South, and Cincinnati, Ohio (for pork ribs) just seemed like a contradiction in terms. I went in to this place with a healthy dose of skepticism.

Dino BBQ ended up blowing my weekend because nothing else I did could ever live up to it. Marmo and I split a full rack and did not speak from the moment the food arrived until the last rib bone, stripped of its meat like an ambitious model, was taken from our greasy fingers.

I described the feeling as better than sex, but Marmo pointed out that I'd said the same thing about finishing my script a week before. Maybe it just felt like coming home again. In any case, after that I didn't feel like leaving the house for three days.

My problem, then, was that my cousin the revolutionary is himself a Southerner, and I feel that he needs to experience Dinosaur BBQ as well. But I couldn't bring myself to go back there for another month - I mean, I've seen "The Itis".

Finally, MCTR and I decided that we would take our good friend Drew there upon his triumphant return from Ghana in June. Nothing says America like high fat, high cholesterol food.