As I have recanted an inordinate amount of time, I am a country boy. I’m proud to be a country boy and from flip flops and socks, to wearing my hair in Plats, I personify that pick-up truck driving, wild boar throat cutting while its live, Jones who owns throwing axes, rifles and 11 acres to personification.This weekend, in-between auto junkyards looking for some parts to fix my truck, or get it fixed, I stopped by an associate of mine Birthday party. His woman had asked me to come through. Now this not one of my real folk but he my folk and I see him regularly at this little Jamaican redneck joint in Fairburn, Georgia called Latitudes. Now I’m in Palmetto, and to put into perspective it is about six miles down Roosevelt Highway from my spread.
The bar, well, they serve Jamaican food, is owned by this kat named Les who is originally from Negril, Jamaica. Like I say, he a cool kat, and a real Rum dranker. The catch is that since it is in the country, half the clientele are NASCAR, bud-drinking rednecks. And they my folk and I love them.
While at the party, one of the bartender, all of which are women, Miss Anne, had added a dish to the buffet – Brunswick stew. If you all aint never heard or tried it, let me tell you it’s the bomb. Again, from me, this country boy, for if anything, you all should know I love sports, getting head, sex, Tequila and Food.
Miss Anne is my girl, she an ole white woman that legend tells us, can cook her ass off, like all of the other r bartenders according to patrons. And I’m glad to be one. The bar is better than Cheers, I mean everybody knows your name and what you drinking. Not to mention the pool tables and DJ that be dropping the best cuts from the ATL to Memphis, as well as country music. Everybody needs a placed like this to go too. And if any yawl in town, best believes I’m gone take yawl there. Now back to this stew. The bomb in one word. And to show how country I am, it was made with pork, possum, Rabbit, Chicken and squirrel. All I could recognize was the squirrel.
