Monika Blogwell

On our recent trip back to Nashville, Patrick and I toted an entire brisket in a cooler to take to a Vandy tailgate. Patrick had taken his parents to Rudy’s barbecue, a local favorite here in College Station, during their visit earlier this summer.

They were smitten. I, on the other hand, ate a smuggled-in veggie sandwich.

Prior to hitting the road, Patrick stopped in at Rudy’s with a cooler and left with a giant piece of meat. When tailgate time arrived, he relished the opportunity to eat a non-vegetarian meal for a change. As tempting as my not-dog was, he opted for a brisket sandwich. Enjoying his meal wasn’t in the cards for him, though. The temporary crown on one of his lower teeth couldn’t stand up to the power of the brisket. Poor Patrick, my Alabama boy, felt like a southern stereotype all weekend. All the photos he took at the wedding we attended involved a tight-lipped smile.

I told him we should make up a story about how he got socked at the football game. But really, he got beat up by some brisket. I guess when it comes to meat, karma’s a brisket.