Some day I’m going to learn to pay attention to obvious signs. I always tell my kids (and co-workers and anyone that asks) that a parking lot full of pickups is a sign that a place has good food. The laws of logic insist that the adverse must also be true.
Sign one: When I arrived at Dillard’s Barbecue and Biscuits at 11:50 am on a Tuesday there was not a single truck, much less a car, in the parking lot. Then I went inside. This picture is from the back corner of the restaurant – you could have fired a shotgun and not hit a soul (the waitress was in the back getting me a Diet Coke at the time). The entire time that I was there (about 25 minutes), not another person came in.
Sign two: When the waitress came to the table, she had both cheeks pierced (like little silver dimples), was wearing lace leggings under a ruffle skirt and had a large number of tattoos. She would have fit in well in the Highlands or Little Five Points, but a barbecue joint in Suwanee?
Sign three: When I asked her what was good, she said “everything”. At no place is “everything” good. So my next question: “How is the stew? Is it thick? Or thin?”
She hems and haws. “It’s real full of stuff. So it’s thick.”
“Thick like tomato soup?, I say, “Or thin like vegetable soup?”
The soup shows up. It is indeed full of “stuff”, but the soup itself is the antithesis of thick. This stew makes water look thick. And the stew accompanies:
chopped pork that looks like an elementary school cafeteria’s interpretation of barbecue, two ribs covered in ridiculously thick sauce and french fries that, for lack of a better term, sucked. The roll was good. In fact, it was the only thing that was good.
That 73% of the people that ate here liked the food astounds me. Hopefully, they all came for the biscuits, because I’ve had better barbecue from the frozen food section of an Ingles.