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
Glad, too.
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!"
One problem.
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.
And business.
"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.
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