The Barbecue Is At The End

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I had a barbecue-less weekend in San Francisco, which was then followed by a week of being wracked by some nasty west coast sinus infection. Long story short, no barbecue this week (mostly). Instead, here’s some pictures of my trip.

My arrival was greeted warmly by a near-altercation with some drunk Korean people. I had taken a picture of my friend Michael to send to my parents (to prove to them that I have friends) and the flash went off when one of the guys came and asked us to, and I quote, “[something in a Korean accent]… take picture of us.” Sure, we replied several times, until we realized he was actually accusing us of taking creeper shots of them (way to flatter yourself, geez) and demanding to see our phones.

I don’t usually give in to the demands of Korean terrorists (of whose end game I could not fathom — were we going to throw down outside if I was guilty?), but given that I had spent about eight hours in a cold, pressurized tube and that it was somewhere around 3 a.m. in the morning on the east coast, we reluctantly allowed our phones to prove our innocence. That was about right before Korean bro #2 stuck his head in and asked me whats-your-problem-bro in an angry way that made me involuntarily chuckle. 

Jason, whose impeccable timing I will never understand, showed up about 30 seconds after all of that. The rest of the trip was neither as exciting nor absurd.

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Smokey and a mountain

Michael’s house overlooks a portion of the city, which has allowed his friends, including me, to take the same picture over and over again. I had been looking forward to seeing him use his Weber Smokey Mountain, but a combination of factors — mold and a leaky roof — prevented us from barbecuing. I had brought by DSLR with me, but it was mostly forgotten and buried in my luggage.

I hadn’t really planned on doing too much touristy stuff since I was mostly there to just see friends. My other friend, Matt, was also visiting. He apparently hates the city.

I’m gonna “yadda yadda yadda” the rest of my trip because me getting drunk and eating too much isn’t all that interesting. Also, the tissues in my apartment are calling for their imminent destruction. The barbecue is at the end.

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Not barbecue, despite the fire. It can be hard to tell sometimes.

Some sort of tiki drink. More dangerous than one would think, and it’s not because of the open flame. I spent the entire next day hungover.

Not pictured: mostly unplanned visits offices of Everlane, Microsoft and Slack, eating rabbit at a Thai place, meeting Michael’s pretty cool friends and karaoke (not shown mainly for the sake of my own dignity). Every office I went to had unlimited avocados.

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Dim Sum

Oh yeah, it was Chinese New Years. We got dim sum for lunch. It was tasty.

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The best kind of party, after slumber.

After that (and a well deserved nap), there was a dumpling party. There’s no recipe here because I managed to not contribute at all. It was also tasty. Michael gave me one of his sous vides to try out — on the condition that I write a terrible review about because he hates it so much.

On my return trip I ended up in Kansas City for a two-three hour layover that was delayed by an additional hour. When I landed, I immediately thought “Kansas = barbecue?” Too bad Kansas City is in Missouri for some reason. (If you really want to know, like I did, Kansas City, Mo., and Kansas City, Kan., are physically the same city, but bisected by state lines after the two territories were demarcated. It is named after the river and makes no sense.)

I had considered leaving the airport to find some barbecue, but luckily one of the five restaurants in the airport turned out to be a barbecue restaurant — Pork and Pickle.

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I told you it was at the end.

For being in an airport, it wasn’t too bad. They had their own electric smokers in the back.

I got the combination platter, which was almost immediately a mistake because there was no way I was going to finish it without dying on the rest of my flight. I managed to power through a beer and all of the meat before calling it quits. Pro-tip: don’t eat only smoked meats before getting on a flight or you’ll be burping it up for the next few hours.

The brisket was moist enough, likely coming from the flat, though there wasn’t too much of a bark. The ribs were about the right consistency as well, being not quite fall-off-the bone but also not too firm. It as well suffered from a bit of a mushy-outside problem, which I suspect is either from sitting for too long or from the electric smoking.

The service was pretty friendly at the bar. The people next to me — two apparent strangers with a chair in-between — had a very long talk about religion. Books were exchanged. Luckily, when you look a bit frumpy like me, no one ever wants to talk to you.

Conclusion: it was okay. I hadn’t actually had barbecue at a restaurant in a while, so it was pretty refreshing to get some, especially after a grilling/barbecue-less weekend.

Then finally, I then came home to this:

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Missed y’all too, including as potential back-up against Korean terrorists.

After which, we spent a good 30 minutes riding around in a circle around DCA because we got onto the wrong bus. But I did get some excellent, homemade signs out of it.

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