Every Friday evening I'd drive by the roadside barbecue stand, beep the horn and keep going.
Sherman would wave back amidst the billowing smoke.
Gotta stop and try out what he's got one of these times, I'd tell myself.
Yet I never did.
Until last Friday night
For a change, Sherri and I weren't going shopping at Publix, our usual Friday night date, nor did we know what we'd be having for dinner.
It had been a long week for her anyway.
So as I drove by the familiar BBQ stand I pulled over.
I called my wife, told her where I was, what I had in mind for dinner and she said, "OK!"
After asking how much for a half-a-rack of ribs and a whole chicken and then ordering same, I realized I was a few dollars short.
Story of my life.
Sherman won my undying gratitude.
"Pay me the rest next time," he said.
That half-a-rack of ribs was more like a whole slab and we ended up finishing the rest of the chicken for lunch Saturday.
They were excellent.
When I asked Sherman what he used, he said a couple of things I can't remember at the moment.
But I can't forget the last ingredient.
"A whole lotta love," he said.
We drove back by the BBQ stand Saturday afternoon and paid the man what we owed plus a tip.
Drivers beeped their horns while we were there.
Sherman waved back.
"Could be our Friday night routine," Sherri said as we drove away.
It is now.