Whew-wee! Family Reunion out in the Country!
There are few things that I look forward to as much as family reunion with their nearly de facto barbecuing, old-school 70s funk, and a whole host of rambunctious Black folk that I'm somehow related to. This year was especially exciting because the Webster clan (i.e. those quasi-Texans who have spent the last decade in the DC Metro) have moved out to 20 acres in the middle of no where. Just us, some dirt, trees, and various small game (much to the delight of my currently non-hunting father).
We've named it Dancing Oaks after all of those warbly post oaks on the property. These 20 acres somewhere between Austin and Houston (and about 60 minutes from the nearest Starbucks) will no doubt play host to a variety of family functions in the future. This weekend however was time for a pan-family/friend reunion. Given our naturally social nature my maternal family, paternal family as well as half of Brenham's finest were invited to participate in exercise in a bit of country indulgence.
So as any good Webster, I invited my closest of friends (and in some cases their siblings from California) and we, as any good Texan, ate our weight in barbecue. While the rest of the reunion goes without saying, the laughing, the dominoes, the loud music, those people that you're not quite sure how they are kin to you, I must take some time to describe the barbecue.
This wasn't just any barbecue, this was barbecue à la Wayne. Uncle Wayne in conjunction with the venerable barbecue devotee my father, created an absolutely hypnotically palate-pleasing fare. As evidence here by our syncronous consumption, 
there were few words exchanged out of fear of shattering our gossamer gastronomic euphoria. Tangy, sweet, soft yet crispy, and athoroughly captivating oral, olfactory, and tactile experience. To put it into words is simply an injustice. In short: Hot damn it was good. Bacchus and his crew would have no doubt jettisoned their ambrosia in favor of this addictive Texan delicacy. In an effort to save some of this bovine delight for a listless Houston Med Center evening, I tried to wrap some up and hide it in the crannies of the Frigidaire. My clandestine efforts were in vain! By 5 or so, the only evidence that they existed were bones in the trash and smiles all around. Sigh. Next time.
Aside from this of course were the many hay rides. Now, honestly, recently I've been having a bit of an identity crisis. I of course, grew up nomadically around the US with my formative years being in the environs of our nation's capital. Truth be told, I always considered my Texan parents to be a bit émigrés for a number of reasons. They left their home country of the Lone Star State in the hopes of a better life, they're staunch supporters of all things Texan (sans of course their bumbling political representatives), and I'm always having to explain their customs and foods to my friends. I was first generation East Coast and quite proud. Now, things are a bit different. They're back in their native land with tractors, no less, and THEIR vernacular is the common currency. Hmm...what's a brothah to do?
Not quite sure but for now at least, I'll enjoy some more tractor rides and delicious food.
