Originally published on September 4, 2013.
Early on a Saturday evening, I drove with my husband along 490, toward West Avenue. The sun was shining, traffic was flowing, and my stomach was growling in anticipation of dinner.
Just prior to crossing the Douglass-Anthony Bridge, the scent of barbecue — a perfume of smoke, meat, and char — wafted through the air. My mouth watered.
“I hope Unkl Moe’s food tastes as good as that smells,” I said. As it turned out, the scent was Unkl Moe’s food. We’d come upon two of their trucks, house-made smoker units in tow, headed back to the restaurant after catering an event.
I’m not generally one for omens, but I took this as a good one. Pressing down on the gas pedal a little more, I urged my car forward, eager to get there, order a plate and dig in.