Where there’s smoke….

The standard second part to this saying is, of course, THERE’S FIRE.

In Memphis, a more appropriate conclusion would be…There must be barbecue….

I just returned from a long weekend in this city on the Mississippi. Yes, of course, I made a pilgrimage to Graceland. I saw Isaac Hayes’s peacock blue Cadillac spinning on a revolving turntable-like floor at the Stax Records Museum. I walked by the infamous balcony at the Lorraine Hotel where Dr. King was gunned down. I mingled with other blues loving revelers on Beale Street and caught an incredible sunset over the great river, rendering Arkansas as golden as the Promised Land in a Charlton Heston movie.

But the most memorable thing about my trip was that the smell of barbecue was everywhere. Like lingering over one of the fine Bloody Marys they serve at the lobby bar of the Peabody Hotel, I’m in no hurry now to throw my clothes in the washer and remove that sweet, smoky smell.

I relish the experience of travel, of going to a new city or country and wandering around.

I’ll usually do a little research before a trip and think about things I want to do in my limited time (sort of like making a bucket list for one’s life but not as serious). And I’ll usually leave a lot of unscheduled time in my itinerary so I can follow in-the-moment impulses.

I researched Memphis barbecue as soon as reservations were made. I consulted Top 10 lists online as well as TripAdvisor and asked friends who had spent time there.

After spending my morning at Graceland, I dragged my traveling companion to the original Central BBQ. As they explained on their website, “It’s where the locals go.”

Open since 2002, their meats are dry rubbed, then marinated for 24 hours, then slow smoked with hickory and pecan woods. Their meats are never sauced in the pit.

It was well after 1:00 when we drove up. The lunch line was still trailing out the door. While my friend saved our spot in line and started to ask regulars about their favorite menu items, I parked the car and approached the diner from the back.

There, I saw it. The place where the magic happens. The smoker. It had a homemade look, like something a twelve year-old would put together for the science fair. Small pieces of wood were piled up to the side.

And I thought about all the rushing around I did in the days leading up to my trip. I thought about all the attention I’ll give to making a To Do list and cramming in as much as I can in a day.

And I remember taking some time to study the smoker behind the kitchen of Central BBQ. I thought about how much I enjoyed talking to the other people waiting in line. I loved how no one rushed me when I discussed choices of side dishes with the counter staff. And I took my time to enjoy my ‘cue sitting on the patio sipping sweet tea under a gentle April breeze.

Fully committing to go SLOW is no small thing.