A.J. arrived at our house around 7:30 p.m. A southern boy with a good nature and smart about his craft, he was also often hard to understand.
Southern drawls sound like tongue twisters, as opposed to a Midwest accent which has long A’s, and we never finish our sentences.
At least, that’s what proper grammar indicates.
We’re goin’ to the mall. Wanna come with?
Anyway, I digress.
By the time A.J. had left our house, the 1,500 pounds of metal he left behind were completely assembled and ready to go. It was 11:00 p.m. at night, and I wasn’t about to spend my time in the sub-antarctic temperatures watching my husband and him assemble what my husband purchased.
So, in the morning I woke up and walked outside with my dogs. Hiding in camouflage fashion, it sat behind the tall bushes; I couldn’t really make out what it was.
In truth, I knew what it was, I just couldn’t believe my eyes when I actually saw it fully assembled. My husband loves to smoke.
Meat, that is.
Myron Mixon is an idol to him. BBQ Pitmasters is a reality TV show we actually watch, and yes, salivate over. From BBQ ribs, pork shoulder, ham, brisket, and even a hog are victims to being smoked slowly in different varieties of smokers and by a vast array of cooks who own their own restaurants, have won many awards and contests, and also make appearances at county fairs across the nation.
My husband started with a small smoker, but that wasn’t good enough. With him you either go big, or go home.
Big is what he got. When I saw it at first, I immediately thought of one thing which doesn’t even exist (but this shows you how my mind works): An Amish race car.
There it is.
It even has chrome rims.
It has two separate chambers; one for grilling and the other for smoking. I, however, thought it could hide a body–like my own–or can be used as your own crematory, if you so chose to do away with the body of a loved one the way they would prefer.
But it really does look like an Amish race car, or at least what I would anticipate an Amish race car to look like, if the Amish were to enter NASCAR.
Either that, or it looks like a small locomotive. Cue Petticoat Junction theme song.
When I saw it at first sight, I put my hands up to show my universal sign language of, “WTF?” I then asked him how many parties he planned on having this summer because that contraption is going to smoke and/or grill the size of something equivalent to a T-Rex; if they still existed.
It has gauges, drop handles, heat chambers for wood and charcoal. I looked for a speedometer and believe one of the gauges is used for this function, but can’t prove it.
As it sat in our driveway, I asked my husband where the hell is race car going to live for the rest of its rusty life? Do we need Jeff Gordon to come over and provide some insight? Is a separate, insulated garage in order to keep Yoder (my name for it), warm and happy?
The hubs said we would have to move Yoder–down the driveway, along the sidewalk, up the other side of our property, and into the back yard through the gate.
Okkkkaaaaaay. Let me just get my back brace and call the insurance company.
He pulls. I push. 1,500 pounds of metal–with chrome rims. If you were my neighbor, what would you think? If I were them, I can only imagine them thinking that it’s kind of like Back To The Future. Marty McFly walks into every establishment wearing a “life jacket” and drives a DeLorean with 1.21 gigawatts of juice that sent him back to 1955.
Our neighbors think this is an Amish race car.
Amish race cars don’t exist; at least to my knowledge. If they do, they are slow, very, very heavy, and only work by using a lot of wood or charcoal. Maybe you need to feed it a carrot.
I’m getting my husband a fake beard and hat for our anniversary. I would like Myron Mixon to come to our house and take a picture with my husband next to Yoder.
To my husband, that would be the same as winning the BBQ Pitmaster’s championship.
Man, I’m going to be eating a lot of smoked meat this summer.
That’s what she said.