Long-time readers of this blog will remember the irrepressible mischief of my wife, Richard (not her real name). Well, one of the greatest regrets of our marriage is that I took her to Pecan Lodge one time on an off-day. It was good, but not great. She was unimpressed. I had been one time before that, and it was unbelievable, like a choir of brisket sirens singing me on to the rocks of heart disease. Forever after her visit, when I had spoken with someone about Pecan Lodge in her presence, she offered the rejoinder that, actually, it wasn't that good.
An Englishman in BBQ Sauce
This has been a constant thorn in my side. The yin to my yang, the Bonnie to my Clyde, our marriage could not be complete until she had seen Pecan Lodge for what it is, the best barbecue place in Dallas, and a review that I foolishly threw away on page three of a three-page article about having barbecue for lunch. Well, Mother's Day was the day I chose to right all of these wrongs. Driving down with her and the stepson, she mentioned that this was the "last chance" she would give Pecan Lodge. The stakes had been raised. She does not tolerate fools gladly, nor does she tolerate average brisket. She also still enjoys sides more than barbecue, which will at some stage require marriage counseling, but we're not there yet.