Post by yarndog on Jun 21, 2012 16:42:34 GMT -5
A LITTLE BACKGROUND. MY BOOK IS A TRAVELOGUE, NOT A WORK OF FICTION.
I burst through the doors on that Friday afternoon with my student in tow and started cruising down the long hallway. We took a left at the end and then an immediate right into the main production area.
I couldn’t wait to talk to Henry. A short Hispanic man in his late 40’s, owning a pleasant disposition. When I first met him he seemed shy, quiet, and unassuming.
I saw him hunched over the piles of camping saws looking for improper assembly. Any errors meant more rework. I caught his eye, “Hey Henry, how are you?”
“Good, how about yourself?”
“Great, I just got back from Los Angeles yesterday.“
“Los Angeles?”
A year ago Henry searched the internet for the best place to live in the United States. Chaska, Minnesota owned the top of his list. He wasted no time in uprooting his family, spending thousands.
“I went to the American Idol Final Performance show on Tuesday. My sister got tickets” I said.
“She did?” He turned to help a client.
“Yes, Los Angeles was great. On TV everything seems so dramatic. Not so dramatic live. I ate BBQ in Los Angeles too. I went on a BBQ Tour last summer and made some YouTube videos out of them. I figured since I am out there I might as well make it part of my tour.”
A former L.A. gang member as of a dozen years ago Henry did all the horrible things a gang member does, with inexplicable horribles done to him too. Sentenced to 12 years in prison for killing a person; a year for each bullet they found in his gun. In prison Henry experienced a religious conversion and his life has never been the same since.
Have you ever heard of a place called Trader Vic’s?”
He turned and walked to the back of the work area to help a client. “No.”
“Well, I went to Trader Vic’s and tried their BBQ ribs and they weren’t very good. No sides.”
Henry looked up from the bench. “No sides?”
“They had this mustard sauce that lit my mouth on fire and this red sauce that tasted like tomato paste for pizza.” I gritted my teeth as I couldn’t contain my continued resentment over that red sauce.
“That’s terrible.” He sorted through more camping saws in his pile looking for errors.
“It was terrible, and furthermore, my sister said she would go to a BBQ place with me, but when push came to shove, she bailed out. She rolled her eyes and scoffed.”
He looked up from his pile, straight at me. “That’s a bummer, you really missed out.”
“I know. It sucks. She is still out there and saw a place in Redondo Beach called Pinky’s. It’s supposed to be world famous. She went to the Promenade in Santa Monica, a big shopping area and saw like six barbeque places.”
He smiled at this. “Oh man, there’s barbeque all over. Pinky’s is famous. It’s good, but it’s not the best.”
I looked straight at him. “What place do you like? Where do you think the best place is?” I needed to know what he knew.
Without hesitation he said “Man, if you want the best, go to Lucille’s.”
“Where’s that?”
“There’s two of them. One is near Disneyland in Anaheim and the other’s near Pasadena.”
“Mmmm, I don’t think she will be able to make it there” I said.
“There is nothing that compares to Lucille’s. It’s the best.”
“Thanks Henry, this is great stuff.”
I burst through the doors on that Friday afternoon with my student in tow and started cruising down the long hallway. We took a left at the end and then an immediate right into the main production area.
I couldn’t wait to talk to Henry. A short Hispanic man in his late 40’s, owning a pleasant disposition. When I first met him he seemed shy, quiet, and unassuming.
I saw him hunched over the piles of camping saws looking for improper assembly. Any errors meant more rework. I caught his eye, “Hey Henry, how are you?”
“Good, how about yourself?”
“Great, I just got back from Los Angeles yesterday.“
“Los Angeles?”
A year ago Henry searched the internet for the best place to live in the United States. Chaska, Minnesota owned the top of his list. He wasted no time in uprooting his family, spending thousands.
“I went to the American Idol Final Performance show on Tuesday. My sister got tickets” I said.
“She did?” He turned to help a client.
“Yes, Los Angeles was great. On TV everything seems so dramatic. Not so dramatic live. I ate BBQ in Los Angeles too. I went on a BBQ Tour last summer and made some YouTube videos out of them. I figured since I am out there I might as well make it part of my tour.”
A former L.A. gang member as of a dozen years ago Henry did all the horrible things a gang member does, with inexplicable horribles done to him too. Sentenced to 12 years in prison for killing a person; a year for each bullet they found in his gun. In prison Henry experienced a religious conversion and his life has never been the same since.
Have you ever heard of a place called Trader Vic’s?”
He turned and walked to the back of the work area to help a client. “No.”
“Well, I went to Trader Vic’s and tried their BBQ ribs and they weren’t very good. No sides.”
Henry looked up from the bench. “No sides?”
“They had this mustard sauce that lit my mouth on fire and this red sauce that tasted like tomato paste for pizza.” I gritted my teeth as I couldn’t contain my continued resentment over that red sauce.
“That’s terrible.” He sorted through more camping saws in his pile looking for errors.
“It was terrible, and furthermore, my sister said she would go to a BBQ place with me, but when push came to shove, she bailed out. She rolled her eyes and scoffed.”
He looked up from his pile, straight at me. “That’s a bummer, you really missed out.”
“I know. It sucks. She is still out there and saw a place in Redondo Beach called Pinky’s. It’s supposed to be world famous. She went to the Promenade in Santa Monica, a big shopping area and saw like six barbeque places.”
He smiled at this. “Oh man, there’s barbeque all over. Pinky’s is famous. It’s good, but it’s not the best.”
I looked straight at him. “What place do you like? Where do you think the best place is?” I needed to know what he knew.
Without hesitation he said “Man, if you want the best, go to Lucille’s.”
“Where’s that?”
“There’s two of them. One is near Disneyland in Anaheim and the other’s near Pasadena.”
“Mmmm, I don’t think she will be able to make it there” I said.
“There is nothing that compares to Lucille’s. It’s the best.”
“Thanks Henry, this is great stuff.”