Because I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon for NYC, and because I’ve been song negligent two weeks in a row, I thought I would treat you tonight to a special Wednesday night Thursday Night Dinner Song.
Before we go there, though, I would like to pat myself on the back.
(Adam pats himself on the back).
Why am I doing this?
Well first of all, I have very low self-esteem.
Second of all, though, tonight I was headed–sadly enough–to a grungy chain sandwich shop, akin to Subway but not as good, for a meatball sub because (a) it would be fast, (b) it would be filling, and (c) I could study while I ate.
But as I was sitting in traffic on Piedmont Road waiting to turn left, I thought about my harsh critique of American eaters and realized: “I am the pot! I am calling America black!”
“Whatcyu talkin’ about Willis?”
“Sorry. You know what I mean, Gary Coleman.”
So I spun my car around and headed to Fat Matt’s Rib Shack for genuine American cuisine. Aha! I realized. Here is authentic American food! BBQ! I mean other cultures have BBQ–Koreans have BBQ, for example–but American BBQ has a rich, savory history. This was just what the doctor ordered. I had the pulled pork sandwich with beans and coleslaw:
Let it be said that tonight the Amateur Gourmet led by example. I hope the next time you’re in your car headed to a dreary routine meal you spin your wheels around and head for something fresh and exciting. No, Hugh Grant, not that kind of fresh and exciting. You Brits are such pervs.
Here’s your Thursday Night Dinner Song, featuring yours truly on guitar. (I got 60% of the chords right).