A few days ago, I found myself in a foreign land known as “Capitol Hill”. It took me about 45 minutes to find my way over there from NW DC, partly because my GPS told me to get onto 395 like the stupid gadget that it is. When will I learn to turn that thing off while driving through our complicated crisscross of roads and quadrants? Alas, after going from Dupont to Union Station to L’enfant Plaza to Eastern Market, I had finally made it to my destination on 8th street SE in what was probably the most difficult possible way.

After meeting with my underground stonecutters group and drinking the blood of an English sheep, I decided some food was in order. “What do these people of ‘Capitol Hill’ eat?” I wondered. Do they partake in the sushi, the steak frites, or the spaghetti and meatballs? It was then that I remembered a tale once told by my friend about a place known at Kenny’s BBQ and how it was legendary in this far off land. Low and behold, this famous eating establishment was a mere ten minute drive away.

As I made my way into the establishment, I was greeted by a fine young lady behind the counter. Actually that’s not true. She didn’t say a word and just stared off into the distance, waiting for me to order. She used a toothpick to clean underneath her fingernails. I perused their menu and started to salivate because one, I was starving and two, it’d been ages since I’d eaten some good BBQ.

I asked the customer service oriented counter lady, “What comes with the platter?” She replied, “It’s a platter.” Mmmmm. That was sounding good. I then remembered how much I like baked beans with my BBQ and asked, “Do you have baked beans?” As she stared down at the cash register and ran her fingers over the buttons she replied, “No.” So I decided on the shredded beef platter with a side of macaroni and cheese, and in the absence of baked beans I chose a side of black eyed peas and rice. In ten minutes my food was all bagged up and ready to go, so assuming I could find my way back to NW, I would be eating in no time.

When I got home, I unpacked my Styrofoam container of shredded dead cow as my dog anxiously drooled nearby. To my surprise they had included some cornbread along with my massive meal. I couldn’t wait to see how much of it I could stuff into my face at 10:00 at night. I dove into the BBQ beef and at first thought to myself, “Arrrggggghhhh….BBQ….sooo delicious….” My dog looked at me and said, “Arrrggggghhh….I know…BBQ…sooo delicious…give me some noooow you bastard….” But as my hunger wore off and I actually thought about critiquing the taste, my thoughts changed to, “Hmph. It tastes like shredded beef with sweet and sour sauce on top of it.” The macaroni and cheese had almost no flavor to it. It was more like macaroni and Elmer’s Glue. The black eyed peas and rice tasted pretty good but would have been much better had they been baked beans. And the cornbread you ask? It was pretty dry and tasted like it was premade or had been sitting on a shelf all day long.

So all in all, my Kenny’s BBQ experience wasn’t one that I’m going to highly recommend to you. In fact, I’d rather eat with my grandma in her retirement home’s cafeteria where they serve a delicious ham with applesauce. Plus I get to eat in the warm company of my grandma.

Photo of a flying pig by Grundlepuck

This post appeared in its original form at DC Metblogs