Mr. Manager screamed into the kitchen and told the woman to give me a sample of all the meats they had. Three small plastic cups of meat were presented on a tray: one was beef and the two others were pork in varying styles. They were all bad an unauthentic tasting. Did they taste like something you get out of the freezer at a grocery store? Yes. Did they taste like something you grew up eating in your lower school cafeteria? Yes. The beef was shredded and was chock full of sodium. The pork tasted like it had been simmering in a bowl of sauce for the previous 4 hours. I ordered a sandwich, basically because I felt too badly to just walk out without ordering anything, and was feeling badly for myself until I saw the guy in the pig costume who had just come inside desperately needing a break from the brutal summer heat. I left the restaurant vowing to never eat another barbecue meal in this town again.
To boost morale, I stopped by Carl's and ordered a delicious soft vanilla cone. If Carl's made a dipped cone, I would have been in the highest spirits ever.