Garner once said: no commerical establishment is ever going to win a face off with any local fire department.
That's prolly an exaggeration, but the Lumberton Rescue Team's fundraising barbecue doesn't suck (else they'd have run out of funds long ago). Cars lined up down the block; you handed them five bucks, they handed you a styrofoam box--two in my case, a barbecue plate and a fried chicken plate.
Inside was unusually spicy cole slaw, white bread (remarkable stuff; like a sheet of softest cotton with a leather border sewn in); a generous pile of decent gas-grilled, hickory-chip-smoked barbecue, prolly the best the little town has to offer--chewy, juicy salty, only the slightest hint of tang. The chicken plate was even better, with a tart potato salad, some kind of pink pound cake (strawberry flavored, I think which the wife liked very much--but she's expecting, so I'm not too sure of her tastes); and juicy chicken with crisp skin and an indefinable, unforgettble flavor--when I asked one fireman the secret he pointed me to a meat shop in Martin Luther King Drive that sold the mix. Having visited several North Carolinian cities I couldn't help noticing that avenues named after Mr. King aren't in the best of shape. I'll still have to visit, if I want that mix...and I think I want that mix.