but couldn’t the bread be better?
A couple days ago, on the drive home from North Carolina, I made my regular stop off US Route 64 for lunch at Pierce’s Pitt Bar-B-Que.
Pierce’s was first introduced to me in the mid-80’s when it was still just a shack. You ordered your food at the window and ate it in the car.
Now Pierce’s is a full-on restaurant with seating for what looks like a couple hundred, a giant parking lot, lots of souvenir merchandise and a fancy awning.
The smokehouse still pumps out clouds of fragrant grey clouds, the bbq is still delicious and the sides continue to sing righteous back-up.
I like this place. I like the food. A lot. Pierce’s is popular, understandable.
They seem happy and well-fed.
Outside seating is my preference, particularly on such a pretty day as it was.
High praise for the meat, accolades for the greens, but why oh why is the bread so bad? Believe me, I ate every bite and licked my fingers. That said and done, I cannot be the only bbq lover who prays for the current era of artisanal-local-heritage to tap its wand on the sad rolls that carry the pulled pork. Tap, tap, tap, fairy godmother of meat, make the bread better.