Tuesday, July 03, 2007

Our own little backwoods

We like our summer BBQs.

It gives Bubba a chance to be the big man at the meat counter when asking for slabs of brisket and me a chance to tune my hostessing skills by forgetting to introduce people as I drag them to the garden to look at my SO HUGE tomatoes.

We're so classy.

As summer BBQ time was fast approaching this year, I was faced with a daunting hostess-type dilemma: What to do about the unseemly dirt yard behind the garage.

Not exactly a festive and fabulous party scene where you want to hang out and sip Chardonnay.

But how can I get everyone to do like I do and pretend it isn't there? I don't want to be that annoying hostess that's all biggigity when you first show up, going, "Oh just ignore that big patch of barren land behind the garage that you weren't going to go look at anyway. Just pretend it's a gorgeous oasis of lawn and trees like it will be in two years when we finally get around to it."

No, that's annoying and whenever someone tells me to "just ignore" anything at their house, I always spend the whole time fixating on it and then go home and talk shit to Bubba about it for a week.

Can you believe that they spent so much on a toilet and it's just sitting in the box in the garage? And who opens their garage to show off all their new fixtures and then tells everyone to ignore them? Show offs. Also, heated toilet seats are so five minutes ago. Who are they? The Trumps! I don't think so. We hate them.

You can see my dilemma, no?

Of course, Bubba had a brilliant plan - let's draw attention to it. On purpose.


We (Bubba) put in a horseshoe pit (half-court because our yard isn't *that* big, ok? Gah!) and built a Hillbilly Golf Course.

What? You've never heard of Hillbilly Golf?

We hadn't either. Somehow we came across it on The Internets and Bubba managed to put one together with all the leftover bits of our last irrigation project and a bunch of golf balls from Target in about 15 minutes.

As you can see here, when provided with enough PBR, all people (even Silicon Valley folk like ourselves) turn a little red in the neck and have fun throwing golf balls at PVC pipe.

Again, cuh-lassy.

Sadly, the horseshoe pit (as seen in the distance here) didn't get too much attention, but that's probably because it was situated on the barren wasteland in our yard which turned out to be extremely hot and dotted with dog doots.

Thankfully, Bubba had a few moments alone with the pit beforehand to scorch his hands almost completely (thanks to my strategic placement of the shoes in direct sunlight) and provide you with this action shot:

And it's likely that the avoidance of the horseshoes was good for us since it turned out neither of us can pitch a shoe to save our drunk lives. Also, please enjoy this unabashed look at our dooty tundra. Nice isn't it? We love it now and show it off as our Fancy Horseshoe Pit. Who can say shit about that?

No one that's who.

Meanwhile, with the big issue of "What do we do about the dirt yard?" resolved, it was time to create The Menu.

Of course, we do it up Meaty in our house, so off to the butcher went Bubba and off to the garage I went to get all our BBQware washed up and ready to serve the mighty deliciousness of smoked brisket, THE BEST BBQ BEANS EVER AND NO THE RECIPE IS NOT AVAILABLE, smoked chicken, corn on the cob (or carn as we hillbillies call it) slaw and many fine desserts.

Now, I'm sure calling it a Hillbilly BBQ seems a little off when the event is being held in the middle of Not-Hillbilly Silicon Valley, but we managed to convert everyone a little bit. Thankfully some folks came with a little red in their necks (Texans with smaller hair, Indianans with stories of attack farm birds - thank you) and were able to help out others with their latent hickishness. And there were some who came by their inner-hillbilly naturally.

Exhibit A: Napkin Dave

One PBR deep and Dave tucked his napkin into his shorts and declared the afternoon a success. This occurred between brisket sandwich feedings as he was pacing his eating to allow for maximum consumption. And one must not have one's feeding schedule interrupted with napkin holding. NO! Having hands free to swat rabid finches from brisket sandwiches is a must!

Then there was the suspiciously yuppie serveware. Namely; real glasses, plates and the solo Le Creuset crock. But that's ok - we covered them all with enough KC BBQ that they'll never be able to hold their heads high at the Apple Genius Bar again. Shame.


And I'd be lying if I said that my inner-hick didn't want to lick this pot clean when the beans were gone. Good gawd almighty those were some fine bahbeecued beans.

Let's not forget the Junkyard Dogs. Because what is a hillbilly BBQ without some roughhousing mutts? Some dogs took to it naturally:

Jada licks her chops
Some dogs were just overstimulated by the presence of beef.

All in all, we call the Hillbilly BBQ a success. We're barely worried about what people are saying about the dirt yard, my poor social skills or our hickish games AND we now have a wicked good recipe for BBQ beans.

Next BBQ: Movie Night

The next step in WT, where we project a movie on our garage and serve nacho cheese from a fountain. Oh yes, we are living the dream.


  1. Is that one of those compost barrels you spin? do you like it?

    just wondering.

  2. Ha! Only Finny would post humping dogs. God love ya. Your backyard rocks, woman! Wish I lived closer and could join in the drunken games.

  3. Oh, dear God Finny, looks like a trip back to the bel paese is in order, stat. Nacho-cheese fountains have not yet arrived on this side of the ocean. Although I am intrigued...

  4. Just passing thru .....( I think "again" as this looks familiar )....regardless, have to chuckle at:

    " Good gawd almighty those were some fine bahbeecued beans"

    Living like KINGS you are !!!...."Country kings that is"


[2013 update: You can't comment as an anonymous person anymore. Too many douchebags were leaving bullshit SPAM comments and my inbox was getting flooded, but if you're here to comment in a real way like a real person, go to it.]

Look at you commenting, that's fun.

So, here's the thing with commenting, unless you have an email address associated with your own profile, your comment will still post, but I won't have an email address with which to reply to you personally.

Sucks, right?

Anyway, to remedy this, I usually come back to my posts and post replies in the comment field with you.

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