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BBQ Thursday: Community Q BBQ

Yesterday, life took me to Decatur, GA.  One thing I pride myself on is my ability to navigate around Atlanta, not being native to there.  My brother has lived all around Atlanta, and I feel like I know my way around pretty well.  Getting off the interstate and driving around the side streets doesn’t bother me, like it might some folks.

But the Decatur area is a place I am not all that familiar with.  I spent a good deal of time there about ten years ago when my mom had an illness that required an extended stay at Emory, but I was mostly confined to the hospital and the surrounding area.

I got finished up with my work around lunch, and contemplated driving home.  My yard is in desperate need of attention, but just for the heck of it I looked up nearby BBQ places.  I saw that Community Q was very close, so I decided to give it a shot.  I had heard good things.

To say I was skeptical when I pulled in was an understatement.  There is a certain standard of which a BBQ joint must meet, and the outside tells you a lot about a place.  Community Q is not far from the Emory Campus on Clairmont Road, and it was nestled in between some Asian restaurants.


Store front

As I walked up, I could smell faint scents of smoked meat, but it was hard to discern what exactly I was smelling.  It was around 1:00 when I got there, and the line was very long, which was a good sign.


I only had to wait in this line for about ten minutes, so it wasn’t so bad.  And I waited in line longer than I waited to get my food once  I ordered.   The fellow at the cash register was talking about the Braves’ move to Cobb County was stupid, so I knew I was with friends.

This was a place I’ve never been to before, and likely won’t get back to anytime soon, so I should have ordered a sampler of many different items.  There were lots of options to choose from.  Brisket, ribs, sausage all looked good.  But this ain’t Texas and it ain’t Fox Bros., and I wasn’t in a rib mood.  When I review a place for the first time, I like to get pulled pork to keep it consistent. Plus, I wasn’t all that hungry, so I just stuck to a pulled pork sandwich and two sides.  Throw in a sweet tea and at tip, my lunch was $16.00, so not exactly a cheap place.

I ordered my sandwich, and asked the guy at the register taking my order which sides to were good.  He said the mac n’ cheese was really good, and also recommended the stew.  Not one to argue with the experts, that is what I got.


First off, the mac n’ cheese was good.  It was fine.  But it wasn’t anything special, in my opinion.  I didn’t even finish it.  The stew was good.  I enjoyed it, but again, it wasn’t anything special.

That takes us to the main attraction, the meat.  This was some of the best barbecue I’ve ever had.  It had a nice char on it, had a great flavor, was tender.  It basically was everything you want in barbecue.   The sauce was pretty good too.

The only regret I have about Community Q is I was by myself and couldn’t share more meat with someone else.

Though not a traditional kind of place, I would rank the pork at Community Q right up there with some of the best I’ve ever had.  If you are in the area, forego the sides and just get meat.  You won’t go home disappointed.   Can’t say enough on how good it was.


Community Q is located at 1361 Clairmont Road in Decatur.  




In Honor Of Opening Day…

Guys, the Braves are going to be terrible this year.  Some out there are optimistic that the fire sale will pay dividends.  I am skeptical, but the jury is still out.

I personally think that the Braves and Freddie Freeman should have parted ways.  I love Freddie, but if you are going to sell off every piece of your team, might as well finish the job.

We have a new (old) Brave in Jeff Francoeur.   Since we can’t enjoy the product on the field this season, let’s sit back and enjoy this funny prank from a few years ago we have all already seen, but it is too funny not to watch again.




Heads up, Book Facers

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Lewis Grizzard Wednesday: He up and died and broke my heart

My dog Catfish, the black Lab, died Thanksgiving night. The vet said his heart gave out.

Down in the country, they would have said, “Lewis’ dog up and died.” He would have been 12 had he lived ’til January.

Catfish had a good life. He slept indoors. Mostly he ate what I ate. We shared our last meal Tuesday evening in our living room in front of the television. We had a Wendy’s double cheeseburger and some chili.

Catfish was a gift from my friends Barbara and Vince Dooley. Vince, of course, is the athletic director at the University of Georgia. Barbara is a noted speaker and author. I named him driving back to Atlanta from Athens where I had picked him up at the Dooley’s home. I don’t know why I named him what I named him. He was all curled up in a blanket on my back seat. And I looked at him and it just came out. I called him, “Catfish.” I swear he raised up from the blanket and acknowledged. Then he severely fouled the blanket and my back seat.

He was a most destructive animal the first three years of his life. He chewed things. He chewed books. He chewed shoes. “I said to Catfish, ‘Heel,'” I used to offer from behind the dais, “and he went to my closet and chewed up my best pair of Guccis.” Catfish chewed TV remote-control devices. Batteries and all. He chewed my glasses. Five pairs of them.

One day, when he was still a puppy, he got out of the house without my knowledge. The doorbell rang. It was a young man who said, “I hit your dog, but I think he’s OK.” He was. He had a small cut on his head and he was frightened, but he was otherwise unhurt. “I came around the corner,” the young man explained, “and he was in the road chewing on something. I hit my brakes the second I saw him.” “Could you tell what he was chewing on?” I asked. “I know this sounds crazy,” the young man answered, “but I think it was a beer bottle.”

Catfish stopped chewing while I still had a house. Barely.

He was a celebrity, Catfish. I spoke recently in Michigan. Afterwards a lady came up to me and said, “I was real disappointed with your speech. You didn’t mention Catfish.”

He got his own mail. Just the other day the manufacturer of a new brand of dog food called “Country Gold,” with none other than George Jones’ picture on the package, sent Catfish a sample of its new product. For the record, he still preferred cheeseburgers and chili.

Catfish was once grand marshal of the Scottsboro, Ala., “Annual Catfish Festival.” He was on television and got to ride in the front seat of a police car with its siren on.

He was a patient, good-natured dog, too. Jordan, who is five, has been pulling his ears since she was two. She even tried to ride him at times. He abided with nary a growl.

Oh, that face and those eyes. What he could do to me with that face and those eyes. He would perch himself next to me on the sofa in the living room and look at me. And love and loyalty would pour out with that look, and as long as I had that, there was very little the human race could do to harm my self-esteem.

Good dogs don’t love bad people.

He was smart. He was fun. And he loved to ride in cars. There were times he was all that I had. And now he has up and died. My own heart, or what is left of it, is breaking.

Is a big helping of patience in order?

I’m a big fan of winning. It’s better than losing.

Of course, the UGA Athletic Board has the same line of thinking by and large – that’s why Mark Richt is in Coral Gables and Kirby Smart was called to come home to Athens.

In a perfect world, the Smart regime would surpass anything Richt has ever done. But there’s an old saying I once heard – that you cannot make chicken salad without the chicken.

The steal a phrase from Smart’s old boss, ‘it’s a process.’

Georgia may not appear in the mold of how Kirby wants it in September. But will it be toward what he’s envisioning in a three-year plan by the time Auburn comes to town? I’d say odds are good.

There are depth issues at places like running back and inside linebacker. Yes, there’s young talent, but even when you’re in the fire of competition, it’s a learning curve, regardless of the ability.

And make no mistake – if Georgia has a similar record to the end of the Richt era (when Georgia was blessed with an easier schedule than it will face this year), the fans of The University of Mark Richt will be loud boisterous.

But there’s a reason why Georgia pulled the trigger to bring Kirby to Athens.

My prediction is this: It may not show with the record – but Smart will have this program headed in the right direction by November.

Go Dawgs!

Lugnut Dawg




Lewis Grizzard Wednesday

Lewis had many loves, one of which was tormenting our inferiors at the North Avenue Trade School. 

Georgia Tech Goliath Shown the Truth

So maybe I made a couple of comments like, “We beat them in football, we beat them in basketball. All they’ve got left to talk about are academics.”

Tech had beaten us three straight years and, quite frankly, those of us on the Georgia side grow a bit weary of reading about the supposed greatness of the Atlantic Coast Conference, of which Tech is a member.

If you read the paper and listen to the Tech fans, you’d think the  Jackets go to the Final Four every year.

The truth is, they’ve never achieved such loft, but Georgia has.

Back to the near fight.

I was in the restroom in The Omni. I was actually in the process of doing one of those things you do in a restroom when the guy behind me, who was wearing a yellow sweater, began to make disparaging remarks about me.

He said, “You rotten, no-good, gravy-sucking, four-eyed son-of-a-blah, blah, blah.”

After completing what I had come into the restroom to do, I turned around and said, “Listen you yellow-bellied, sap-sucking, slide rule-carrying, pimple-faced, blah, blah, blah, you have no business talking to me that way.”

The guy was big, too. He must have been 6 feet 4 inches, 220. A crowd had gathered by this time. I had no choice but to stand in. To have backed down, even to a guy who was 6 feet 6 inches, 260, would have been a sign of weakness.

I took my glasses off and slung them to the floor and said, “I’m 42 years old, been married three times, had two heart surgeries, haven’t exercised in 10 years, eat too many foods that contain cholesterol, still insist on white bread, have sticks for arms and legs, lose every time I play gin rummy, can’t putt and read a lot, but if you want to go at it, here I stand.”

The guy, who had to stand 6 feet 8 inches and 280 pounds, and probably was a member of a motorcycle gang and had a knife on his person, began to back down.

“I’m really sorry about making those quite disparaging remarks about you,” he said.

“That’s not good enough,” I countered. “I want you to repeat after me: ‘Georgia has kicked our butts in both football and basketball, and it is obvious that Georgia people are better human beings than Tech people.’”

He said, “Georgia has kicked our butts in both football and basketball, and it is obvious that Georgia people are better human beings than Tech people.”

“Now,” I said, “I want you to go from this place in shame. I want you to hurt from the knowledge that the great Atlantic Coast Conference is nothing but a gathering of bed-wetting communists and the University of Georgia is a pinnacle of learning and athletic greatness.”

The guy turned and walked out of the restroom, beaten to a verbal pulp.

“How big was he?” asked my lovely female companion as I reluctantly reconstructed the story.

“Had to be 6 feet 10 inches and weight 290,” I said.

She kissed me gently on the cheek and said, “Let’s go home, Rocky.”

It was one helluva night.

BBQ Thursday (enemy edition) – Adam’s Rib Co.


A few months ago, Kensington and I took a big risk.  We were on an adventure down off US 1 to meet up with some Cubans who deal in various items labelled as contraband by some (all) people, and meet up with some wild Colombian women.

Anyway, back on point.

We got near Gainesville, and having been on the road for several hours, we were hungry.  We figured we had rode far enough through the wiregrass of north central Florida, plus we figured all the truck stop women we had seen would make the Florida Co-Eds pretty (come to find out the Co-Eds were the truck stop women…).  Kensington had done his homework, and thought this Adam’s was the place.

One thing of note- Adam’s has two locations, both on 13th St, which can lead to confusion.  We chose the one near the UF campus, deep behind enemy lines.

The inside of the joint is about as close to the pits of hell as I hope to ever get.  For example, scenes from all of the games of the 1984 gata schedule are painted on the ceiling.  Typical jean-short wearing clientele, not dignified enough to walk on sawdust.  We noticed we were getting funny looks, I looked at my shirt and noticed a proud bulldog on my left chest and power G’s on my belt.  Suck it Florida.

We each ordered the combo plate.  Kensington chose ribs and pork, and I took the ribs and chicken.ARC

Despite these peoples poor life choices, hair gel, and double-first-cousin spouses, the rascals can cook some ribs.  Not too sweet, meaty, and with a nice char.  The flavor was great, and definitely does not need sauce, mostly because the sauce is God awful – it’s called vinegar…look it up.  I was so blown away that everything I ate for the next two days was sub par.

Next time you are stuck behind enemy lines, give Adam’s Ribs a try.  It’ll give you the strength to get back to Georgia.

I’m always impressed with Florida alums.




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