Grilled Tailgate Chicken Sandwiches - Big Dog Holler Barbecue

[@SpacemanScott]

This turned out great! When I was a young man my father used to bounce me on his leg and tell me of the old trail snacks he'd have during his trek across this fine country. I was enthralled by his stories of campfire baked potatoes, Yukon corn dogs, and Sarasota snake kebabs. But of all the frontier fixins' he'd talk about, none interested me more than the Sun Baked Bison Steak. Pa told tale of the meats decadent taste, the way in which it's very flavors seemed to radiate from every bite and swallow. It's herbaceous charm and tender skin could bring a smile to the most cynical of cowboys, as each bite equated to a tender kiss from a lost loved one or a warm embrace from a trusted mentor. To close one's eyes and breathe in the meat's savory scent was an experience similar to nirvana, as every greedy inhale brought with it a comfort and calm that far too many have forgotten. My father told me that he had only tasted the dish once, in a small dive bar northwest of Laredo. It was shortly after his divorce, at a time in which the encroaching waves of doubt seemed to drown any possibility of future happiness. And yet, when he tasted the steak: relief. It was as if a pressure had been lifted, as if the fog of heartache and confusion was all but blown away by the gentle hands of fate. As he savored each and every bite, he swore to me that he heard a soft voice cooing to him from the back of his mind, like a siren in a storm, whispering to him: "This too shall pass." Though, moments later, my father would discover the steak's cruel twist. As he took his final bite of this heavenly cut of meat, and closed his eyes to fully savor it... he felt the world around him shift. In an instant, my father found himself in the middle of the arid desert, a cold chill blowing the final reminders of the steak away in the New Mexican wind. When my father eventually found his way back to the town, the bar and it's patrons were no where to be found. He pleaded with the locals, begging them to believe his rantings of a tavern that never was, and of a steak that offered fulfillment of a kind hitherto undreamt of. Though despite his speech and spittle, my father only earned a collection of confused and annoyed looks. For this was the steaks twist: the meal could only ever be eaten once, before disappearing from the face of the world. The voice was right, this too had passed. To this day he stands by that story, stands by the tale of that Sun Baked Bison Steak that offered shelter from the storm of life. There's a hollowness in his eyes now, though he tries to hide it. I can tell that steak broke him, made him into a version of himself that I'm not even sure he recognizes anymore. Though he claims to have just been grateful to taste it all, I have no doubt that his last moment on this earth will be spent thinking of that meal, stolen away by the New Mexican breeze... You should make pulled pork next!

[@user-xc9xi1zt9b]

Thanks Obama

[@BigDogHollerBarbecue]

That’s on the menu in two weeks!