This past weekend was my first weekend on call so we didn't really have many plans other than staying nearby.
Side note: Being on call was a bit stressful.
I'm the type of person that requires constant plans and a schedule.
Just the simple task of washing my hair was scary, because I was constantly worrying things like "What if I get called in with wet hair? I can't scrub in with wet hair!"
Anyways, we braved the conditions and went downtown to the farmers market.
. . . but not because we wanted fresh produce.
I had heard stories of the infamous Pecan Lodge and their "Hot Mess" sweet potato stuffed with brisket and buttery, cheesy, bacony, chipotle sour creamy goodness.
. . . I had also heard stories of their infamous waiting line.
I had to give Josh a good pep talk on the ride, so that he would be prepared to wait at least an hour in line for the "best BBQ in Dallas"
Thank goodness, I was worried.
We quickly made friends with the sweet retired couple in front of us in line, alllllll the way from Alaska.
They formerly lived in Dallas, and we ultimately ended up trading numbers because they had plenty of good advice on local real estate and dentists.
Important folks to know, right?
Anyways, during the wait Josh joked "Watch our new friends be the lucky ones to get the last Hot Mess"
He's never been more right.
The kind lady who was practically my new Dallas BFF ordered the last Hot Mess.
When the cashier told me they were sold out and marked The Hot Mess off of the chalkboard behind him, I just knew Josh had played this elaborate prank on me.
. . . and then the kind soul behind the register offered me a tissue, which I was seconds away from accepting (so that I could wipe the blood from Josh's nearly busted lip)
I was pissed.
So I settled for the pulled pork sandwich and their infamous boneable mac and cheese
(Did you see the review above? Is boneable a word?)
I was no longer hungry.
This was not the hot mess.
. . . so I grew a pair and went to ask my new BFF if I could have a bite of her Hot Mess.
I'm not ashamed.
I needed to know what it was like.
In my defense, she told me that she was honored that I felt close enough to them to ask them to taste their food.
. . . and this one teeny tiny bite was well worth the 90 minute wait.
The farmers market was cool too.
You won't regret it one bit.
. . . and make friends with the people in line in front of you, ya know, just in case.