Hog Heaven

         Calling all Foodies: If you drive west on Route 46, about twelve miles out of Sugar Notch past the point of no return, you will come to the House of Man, which is not a tanning salon but a Soul Food shack. The neon sign is supposed to read that it features meals for the inner man, but about half of the bulbs are out. Seeing this, and the walls that need paint, many will think the place is about to fall, but I love the ambience and I will be darned if I will be cast into outer darkness and reduced to eating at Mickey D's.

         Open the screen door and step inside. The joint looks like it is on the brink of disaster. It seats twelve at three tables, each of which has wobbly legs. The plates and silver are leftovers from the Brushwood Correctional Institute up the road in Mitterwald. Be sure to ask Ruby, the hostess who will be your waitperson every night, for a fly swatter. They have some big ones there, and pests are not what you need when you are dipping into a bowl of Okra and 'Matoes.

         After that hearty soup comes a rack of ribs, just slathered with that special sauce Hickey Freeman, the guy in the toque behind the flames, calls "No Rest for the Wicked." I asked him for the recipe once, but he demurred, only telling me that the stuff would beat the devil out of you. Hickey recommends you wash the meat down with a chilled bottle of Colt 45 malt, but bring your own. The place doesn't have a liquor license. Ruby will get you a glass if you prefer not to drink from your bottle. She might even wash it before handing it to you.

         So if you go to the House of Man, remember to take along your Mylanta, because Tums are not accepted there. Bon appetit!

(334 Words)