I’m not sure where that “darling of the New York BBQ scene” bit came from. Some press person in the UK edition coined that. For the record, I’m not even a recent, short darling of the NY bbq scene. The NY BBQ scene isn’t even old enough to be considered “long.” Dinosaur kept up its lonely vigil defending the city against Dallas BBQ until, I dunno, Pies & Thighs was founded. Now we enjoy Fette Sau and Mabel’s (where we held the release party for the US edition of The Man’s Book of the BBQ) and that joint on the corner of Houston, and a few others, but man…NYC was not a barbecue town when I arrived here. And at no point has it been my custody. Oh, to be a darling of that scene–! I should arrive at the barbecue wearing finest gingham, calico and taffeta, with my dandy buckle-shoes a’step-step-stepping to a lively cantata, and gentlemen of all good manner will compete for my favour to fall upon their barbecued workings.
…yeah, that’d be a swell time.