I’ve come to realize my physical limits during this trip.
On the fifth day of my journey, at 2:30 AM, I found myself in the lobby of the Hampton Inn in Marion, staring at a green banana and sipping on a Vitamin Water, while my feet throbbed with cramps. It dawned on me that I had finally hit my limit.
With five days spent in the Delta, temperatures soaring above 80 degrees, and a staggering 24 restaurants already photographed, I was wide awake and exhausted—all at once.
I kept telling myself, “This isn’t that hard; I’ve accomplished so much more before.” After all, I had visited several dairy bars, shooting at seven or eight locations daily, sometimes while working on a documentary. I’ve tackled pie research several times, including an intense day in 2018 when I went to 22 restaurants in one day.
But barbecue? That’s an entirely different beast.
Perhaps part of my exhaustion stemmed from the interviews I conducted. Some were brief, lasting about 20 minutes, while others absorbed my time. Just the day before, I had woken up at 5 AM to prepare and pack up from a camper cabin at Mississippi River State Park. I arrived at Jones Barbecue Diner around 7:15 AM and spent two hours in a deep conversation with Mr. James Harold Jones about his life, his restaurant, and the diverse clientele—from Japan, Russia, and Yemen—that now frequents his establishment.
My previous day had been filled with eight shoots, several in-depth interviews, and a casual visit to my friend Joe at Pasquale’s Tamales. I wrapped up my last interview around 7 PM at Stumpy’s Backyard BBQ in Marion before bringing my luggage and equipment upstairs to begin transcribing notes and uploading photos to the cloud. I struggled to stay awake as my notes dwindled by 11 PM, eventually collapsing onto my laptop. I was usually out cold until the fear of missing out jolted me awake around 6 AM to start anew.
Muscle cramps were not part of my plan. Gradually waking up, I pondered why I was sitting in a Hampton Inn lobby sipping Vitamin Water while cramps plagued my calves, thighs, and back.
All I could think about was whether I would manage to photograph the seven remaining restaurants I aimed to visit before heading home the following night. And now I was questioning what had led me to this moment.
Despite the fatigue, Friday had been wonderful. I engaged with so many people, learning about their motivations for opening barbecue restaurants, the ingredients they use, and their connections to the community. For instance, Fred Clancy shared insights about the three sauces at Biscuit Row in Helena, even explaining the origin of their creative name, Delta Shine, which came from a band rather than moonshine, all while I was merely a customer.
While getting a sandwich at Dee’s BBQ near the Barton-Lexa area, I took my time to explore the place—an old convenience store and meat market. The walls were imbued with decades of smoke, creating a nostalgic atmosphere. I spotted an aged Budweiser sign and an old mauve phone, each telling a story of a bygone era. The first thing I ate that day, around 11 AM, was a delightful sloppy hot beef sandwich, enjoyed while resting in the parking lot of a local food bank.
I haven’t made it a point to interview everyone I encounter. Doing that would require a very long book, and frankly, time simply doesn’t allow for it, especially with many already eager for me to complete my work. Back in 2019, I started writing a book about my favorite restaurants across the state, completing it in just a couple of months. I was younger then, and life had not yet thrown the pandemic our way. Each food journey had been unique; writing Dairy Bars happened alongside a documentary, a task that spanned several months during a quieter time in my life. Similarly, Another Slice of Arkansas Pie came about under pressure, as I needed to produce content for an accompanying documentary.
Now, I have the liberty of taking my time with this endeavor.
Starting in May 2023, shortly after The Great Arkansas Pie Book went to print, I dove into understanding what defines barbecue in this state. Ironically, the initial post-pie plan was to explore the catfish scene instead, confident that someone else would tackle barbecue—a way to share the spotlight. I anticipated a solid six-month research phase dedicated to barbecue.
However, life had its own plans. Juggling responsibilities as a parent, homeowner, and business owner required my attention as my son struggled to navigate life changes. Meanwhile, my house faced complications that demanded expensive repairs. I found myself writing articles, columns, and managing various commitments with no break in sight.
Even with my hectic schedule, the work on the book never ceased; it merely faced delays. I explored new restaurants, identifying places for interviews and seeking a comprehensive understanding of their business motivations. A snowed-in January day saw me immersed in over a hundred Arkansas cookbooks, searching for insights on smoking meat and crafting barbecue sauces.
Twice, my son Grav encouraged me to fully immerse myself in the world of barbecue research. The first time in March, my finances were secure, and I thought I had saved $8K for my project. But shortly after, I learned our home insurance was at risk unless I invested an immediate $10K in crucial repairs. After quickly responding to that crisis, Grav prompted me again. He recognizes when I’m in the zone, eagerly absorbing every detail of my research.
The process is nerve-wracking. I’m operating on a tight budget. Thankfully, some generous friends have offered financial help along the way. Asking others for assistance was one of the toughest things to do. I’ve taken on courier work, slept in my car on occasion, and trimmed my expenses to the bone—eliminating unnecessary adventures, even going without satellite radio.
But through all of this, I’ve gained valuable insights. Right now, I feel like that meme showcasing a person with a head exploding from excitement. You see…
You might think you understand Arkansas barbecue, but chances are, you’re only familiar with a specific region, family traditions, or perhaps you’ve learned from culinary school or renowned pitmasters from outside the state. I thought I understood it too, but the truth is, none of us truly do—not completely.
I’m on the path to discovery. My recent days spent in East Arkansas focused on a significant aspect of Arkansas barbecue history, rooted not in Memphis but in the experiences of tenant farmers after the Civil War. It’s a history steeped in struggle and regional flavor—the Delta—filled with memories, family stories, and traditions that are quickly fading. This narrative is on the brink of transformation within the next couple of decades.
Fortunately, I was in a hotel lobby when those debilitating leg cramps struck. I can’t recall how I ended up there or how I managed to get the drink, although it was charged to my account. For weeks, my diet had been measured, relying heavily on rich, fatty meats that characterize barbecue, coupled with a supply of black gas station coffee. The toll it has taken on my body showed; my hair turned coarse, my fingers became wrinkled.
I must complete this project.
As I planned to return to my room, I realized in my dazed state that I had forgotten my door key. My digital key on the phone showed I was already checked out, which coincidentally mirrored my mental state. I went back to the front desk for a spare key and caught a glimpse of myself in the glass doors—short shorts and a well-loved Rock City Outfitters shirt, unbrushed hair looking wild from a long day of work.
At that moment, all I wanted was a hot shower, a few hours for writing, and to head home.
I couldn’t help but wonder if Andy Zimmern ever faced a week like this or if Alton Brown experienced anything similar while producing Feasting on Asphalt—if he ever found himself in a hotel lobby at 2:30 AM, nursing a Vitamin Water, sporting messy hair, and soaking in the ambiance around him.
It’s amusing when you think about it. These men have crews to support them, while I’m a one-person show. I’m the producer, editor, photographer, writer, marketer, and social media guru—all while ensuring tunes play on my rural Delta road trips, driving beneath a clear sky, singing along to Tom Petty tunes and marveling at the vibrant greens around me.
Eventually, I managed to catch a few hours of sleep, but the cramps returned at 4:30 and again at 6:30 AM. I discovered rice on the breakfast counter, a rice cooker nestled among cereals and oatmeal. When I inquired about it, the attendant smiled and said, “We are in the DELTA, ma’am,” which brought me unexpected joy. Eventually, I hit the road again, making my way through Earle, Parkin, McCrory, Augusta, Des Arc, and Hazen, before finally heading home around 8 PM.
Sunday is my writing day. After that, I’ll be back at it, venturing out into the state to follow my instincts, converse with locals, photograph experiences, and soak in even more knowledge. I don’t fully grasp Arkansas barbecue just yet, but I will soon—enough to share the insights I believe our culinary community values.
