Dixie's BBQ, by Chuck Nyren

Not mutually exclusive, oxymoronic nor particularly paradoxical, Dixie's BBQ and Automotive Repair is plainly the place to go in Bellevue for a peppy $7 lunch.

Okay, so it is a bit bizarre. You eat in a garage. On picnic tables. But first you grab your food cafeteria style. If LJ The Blues Singer is behind the counter, don't be cute with her. She's very serious. I asked if their advertised combination plate was 'Brisket and Transmission Flush' and she wasn't amused. Her hostile stare gave me indigestion even before I put morsel to mouth.

The food's good. How good is a matter of opinion, but it's definitely 'for real' barbecue.

And the owner, Gene Porter, puts on a great show. Quietly he creeps around the room with a small saucepan and petite spoon, offering up a bit of 'The Man', a crimson concoction famed throughout central King County. Few partake. The ribs and such are already drenched in a thick sauce, so why take the chance?

Again, don't be cute. "I'd like some of The Man," I said, motioning for Mr. Porter to come on over. Happily he wended his way through the astonished patrons, and ever so daintily dropped a dollop of his pride and joy on my plate.

I looked up. "Excuse me, but I didn't ask for the boy. I asked for The Man …"

Gasps from the crowd. There's a thin line between bravery and stupidity, and everyone knew I had erased it. Everyone except for Mr. Porter, who was as pleased as punch to shovel oodles of spoonfuls atop my up until then contented pork ribs. They screamed in pain.

I like hot food. I liked The Man. I liked the three glasses of milk I had to get up and get.

Yours truly paid for my arrogance. The next morning, after a few cups of coffee .... Well, I don't want to get too graphic -- but I felt like I was on the operating table of Dr. Mengele, The Proctologist.

Don't forget to toss a square of lemon cake on your tray. It's the perfect afters for barbecue.

--- Chuck Nyren