The state line runs down the middle of Kansas City, one part in Kansas,
one in Missouri. And even though most of the famous barbecue joints
are in Missouri, because of the proximity, you can easily vote in
Kansas and eat barbecue for lunch in Missouri, or visa versa. A little
thing like the state line doesn’'t divide barbecue lovers. Here then,
is a quick run down of my favorite barbecue joints in two states and
one metropolitan area.
Travel
Travel
My Dinner with Lawrence and David
We were going to take a cab to Damascus for dinner, but we couldn’t get
our visas, so we headed south. I was in Jordan, the Middle Eastern
Sundance Lab had ended. The aspiring filmmakers and their mentors were
dispersing back home to Cairo, Beruit, Ramallah and Casablanca.
With time on our hands – the writer’s strike had been called 24 hours
before – a fellow mentor and I headed south with our guide, Mohammad
Gabaah, to the desert of the Wadi Rum (The Valley of the Mountains, in
southern Jordan.) You’ve all seen it – yes, you have – even though
you don’t realize it. It’s the last leg of the journey T.E. Lawrence
took, when he crossed on camel to get to Aqaba, 45 miles west. (The
guns are no longer facing the wrong direction.) And where David Lean
spent nine months shooting his hagiographic biopic.
Who Were the Caaninites
Stuffed with dates, bloated with tea, and in the midst of a pitched
battle about Israel’s right to exist, I blurted: "Look, I can’t have
the discussion about the Canaanites, again!" (To wit: who was stomping
around the Holy Land first, 3,500 years ago!) "Tell me the name of the
great fish restaurant around here, Al, something you mentioned it
earlier?"
It was New Year’s Eve – the Western one. Saudi Arabia uses the Hijra calendar, which is 11 days shorter than the Gregorian, in case you want to book ahead for next year. I had come to research a Hilary Mantel novel I’m adapting for a film. I was in Jeddah, on the Red Sea. There are two Saudi Arabias. The liberal progressive folks in Jeddah, and cities along the coast, known as the The Hijaz, who summer in Europe and Beruit, read the New York Times on line, whose kids go to schools abroad, decry the religious conservatives, and those in Riyadh, the capital, in the middle of the country and the Eastern Provinces. Blue states, red states.
A Magical Hidden Kitchen
We had reservations for a "secret dinner" at an undisclosed location for the last 2 weeks that I sadly can't disclose to anyone. To say that I was very excited would be an understatement as I have always fantasized about what it would be like to have my own private dinner club, but that is a whole other story.
This saturday night in Maine it was very cold and clear, the sky was full of stars and just a perfect half moon guided our way as we barreled down country roads riddled with frost heaves for over an hour-heading for a small coastal "unnamed" town. We are instructed by an email sent just 2 days before to arrive at 6 sharp, but we arrived a half hour early and parked in front of the still dark location. We look at the facade of the old brick building for any sign of activity but there is none, just a soft light coming from the shuttered second floor windows. Our vehicle is one of only 3 cars parked on the whole of Main Street, every car that passes slows down and notices our presence. Do they know that we are waiting outside a underground dinner club or is it just something one does automatically when they live in a small Maine town. We feel a bit anxious – will dinner be good? Will the company be interesting?
When in Rome - Or New York - Do As the Romans Do
New York’s Café Buloud is a divine restaurant, and it is nearly impossible to order an ordinary meal. We were there the other night – our feast before the simpler joys of summer in Martha’s Vineyard. Saltimbocca Alla Romana was on the menu. Oh Boy! I haven’t seen that on a menu in years! What we received was delicious - stew sized chunks of veal in a thick, dark brown sauce with sweetbread tidbits and a small piece of prosciutto off to the side as an afterthought.
A few tiny green specks, which I fantasized to be sage, were stirred in the gravy… Delicious but disappointing! Time to go back to the 1960’s and a summer spent in Roma living in my painter’s studio just off the Piazza del Popolo, where Marcello Mastroianni would come for his espresso and we all lived La Dolce Vita! “Living” meant buying groceries in the Italian style – Every morning, going from shop to shop fingering the produce, chatting up the butcher, and bargaining in Italian.
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