Although I had very little of consequence to complain about, it was yet another gray, rainy day, and the last dregs of Hurricane Helene were really getting me down. I was driving to Cape, looking forward to trying the new place I was going to write about next, and I was attempting to let this raise my spirits. I had checked all sources from the internet to confirm the hours of this new place. It should definitely be open. This would be nice, cozy, comforting, and I was going to read while I waited for my food. Relax.

When I arrived, of course, the new place was closed. I was informed by a handwritten note placed for easy viewing, so while I hoped everything was OK with the people who owned the eatery, I couldn’t help but be disappointed. Frustrated. Even a little angry. How many times had I arrived to review a place and found it closed? More than a few. Much more, and I wasn’t prepared to deal with it good-naturedly today. I just didn’t have it in me.

I got back in my car and just started driving. It was 2 p.m. I hadn’t had a thing to eat all day, and I was hungry. My book lay heavy in the passenger seat next to me, and my stomach chimed a relentless chorus of need. While I drove, my eyes skirted back and forth, hunting, searching.

I ended up at Dexter Bar-B-Que, the Cape Girardeau location at 236 South Broadview. I hadn’t been there in years, and I normally don't write about chain restaurants, but whatever. I didn’t care at this point. Hopefully, the food was good. Hopefully, I could find an angle, something that inspired words to flow onto the page. Hopefully, I could stop hungering and relax.

Dexter Bar-B-Que’s dining room is open, large, and welcoming. The person who took my order at the counter was exceedingly friendly, and even told me that my change, which was $13.00, was good luck. We had a tiny, fun conversation about that, and I went to fill my drink, have a seat and wait for my food. I hoped it wouldn’t take long for my food to come out, and by golly, it did not. In less than five minutes, I had a huge, lovely barbecue sandwich on Texas toast and a plate of fries in front of me. The first thing I noticed was how pretty the sandwich looked on the plate, and then the smell hit me. Smoke, but not just typical barbecue smoke, no, this was noticeably hickory smoke, that unique smell that hearkens back to wood that has grown out of the ground spiced by God with barbecue seasonings. Hickory wood smoke is the essence of barbecue flavor, condensed by nature and utilized by man to make something mouth-watering and darn near perfect. And my mouth was watering.

Book forgotten, I took the first bite, which science has proven is always the best. On www.apa.org, Jean Kristeller, PhD and expert in the benefits of mindful eating, says, “Our taste buds are chemical sensors that tire quickly. The first few bites of a food taste better than the next few bites, and after a large amount, we may have very little taste experience left at all.” I know this, so that first bite is always savored, and this time was no exception. Soft, tender pork, dressed with very little sauce, still swiftly permeated my senses with flavor, meaty, smoky, savory, just the right amount of moisture and, dare I say it, fat. The sandwich was on thick Texas toast, perfectly crunchy golden brown, and it held up the thick shreds of pork admirably. I mean, barbecue, right? I never had it up North, and I am so thankful that y’all have perfected it down here. I didn’t even miss the pimento cheese I had come to love. This meat needed no cheese.

The fries were lovely, too. Not undercooked, or overcooked, but nice and crispy outside and soft and pillowy inside. Pure comfort, all the way around.

On my way out, now full, happy, and satiated, I saw the person who took my order and said I hoped my luck would hold. “It will, girl, it will,” they answered, and just like that, the dreary day couldn’t hold me down any longer. Thanks to the skills of cooks and the kindness of strangers, my day shone without the sun.