Keeper of the Flame
Join Date: Nov 2013
It Smells Like What???
Greetings fellow carnivores. Smokey Brethren.
So in my spare time I dabble with a BBQ blog, just for the fun of it, and occasionally I write something that, well, doesn't quite get off the cutting room floor. For I have to be proper over there, and not look like an idiot if I can help it. But over here I figure I can look like what ever I want, cause you all will understand. And so I wrote the following piece a while back, lamenting on a curious condition I think many have encountered in their BBQ journey. It ain't for proper folk, so it you're one of those, you may wish to turn an ear. But it is, at it's heart, an observation where BBQ meets the human condition, and something I hope you can enjoy. Or barring that, at least explain it to me. Here it is...
The other day, amid the ambiance of a Stevie Ray Vaughn guitar solo, my elder brother and I nourished ourselves in a local BBQ joint. A hole in the wall, that smelled of wafting hickory and perfectly executed brisket. We give the place four hearty stars, should our friends and family ask. And even if they don't, we let them know anyways. I especially fancy their brisket. Being the BBQ junkie that I am, I guess I appreciate what goes into a good brisket, and the culinary campaign that it is. And so we had lunch there, savoring it like good BBQ demands. Lost in the soft, pliable meat, the flavor profile, and the wondrous, savory aromas patron to it. All in a days work for good BBQ. We walked out of that place with tightened bellies, and smiles upon our faces, lit in a golden sun.
Later that evening, whilst lounging about with a group of friends, chewing the fat and such, I felt a small disturbance develop down in near my nether lands. I loosened my belt a trifle, and carried on with the business of looking nonchalant. It wasn't working tho, as I squirmed about in my soft padded chair, like a child in a church pew. Well, being a man, I knew what had to be done here, and considering that the people I was among I think were also men, I wagered they wouldn't mind. So as discretely as one can be flatulating in a room full of people, I listed a bit to the side, like a ship on a sand bar, make believing of course that I was investigating something on the floor, and then after a fashion, suitably let one go. It felt fantastic. Oh they always do. My world had conspired at once back to the comfortable wallows of a post-flatulent existence . And then, quite unexpectedly, amid the moans and curses, something astounding happened. Let me tell you about.
As my cronies were pulling their shirts up over their noses, I noted in the air a peculiar scent. Something reminiscent not of foul bodily expulsions, but of...No, it couldn't be. I turned to my friend Ralph, who reluctantly sat beside me, and queried" Does that smell familiar to you? "
"All too much!" Ralph bellowed.
"No" I yammered, "Pay attention. Take your time. Smell it. Get to know it."
For the next few seconds we played the part of a couple of air biscuit connoisseurs, in a delicate dance between curious amusement and out right gagging. And we kind of came to the conclusion, in so much as one can ever conclude such things, that what we were smelling, smelled an awful lot like brisket. It did. The others were not so convinced, even tho I bequeathed them a couple more "opportunities" to analyze it. Even so, I know what I smelled, and it was almost, but not quite, pleasant. Frankly, I didn't know what to think. That is until a few days later, when I went to church.
After the Sunday service, my blog co-host and I were chatting as men do after church, and he mentioned to me something quite interesting. He confessed that he had also experienced some rather odd but savory south end breezes. He said they actually smelled kind of good in a way. And that he too deduced it must be from the BBQ he's been making and henceforth ingesting.
It was then, with the facts spread out before us, that we had to come to grips one way or another with our discovery. We didn't know what to think. Now on one hand, I guess we should be rather disgruntled. For if our farts smell like our BBQ, well what then does that say about our cooking? But then, and on the other hand of the odoriferous beast, the BBQ has just got to be exceptional if it can make even your worst stink bombs smell akin to a perfectly smoked brisket. Go figure that. And well, in some countries we've long heard, a healthy burp is but a pat on the back. Thus, being the eternal optimists that we are, my fellow patron and I decided we had better just go with the latter on this one, wagering it the highest of compliments to the pit master, should your booms booms wax that of a pleasant stroll past the smoke house. It could be worse, I think... In point of fact it has.