Experiencing the Local Flavor, Both Figuratively And Literally

So I spent a few days in The Poconos recently, which gave me a chance to explore the little town of Stroudsburg and some of its haunts. I stayed in a hotel a few blocks from Main Street, and while the walk didn’t seem dangerous to me, I did pass through a somewhat sketchy neighborhood along the way. The folks at the hotel said it would probably be best to drive, especially late at night, but I thought what the hell. As my late great friend Jigger once said, “It’s always best to experience some of the local flavor.” Jigger was always right, so walking uptown became the norm those few days for me. Because of this I’d spoken to several locals along the way every evening.

Anywho, my last night there I once again forego the car and walked up to Newberry’s Yard of Ale, a cool little establishment where I’d come to know the bartender, a kindred soul named Frank. Frank and I became buds from my first sojourn up to Main Street and he’d been educating me on all things Stroudsburg. He even knew about Mr. Dominick A. Lockwood, a gentlemen I wrote about earlier in the blog entitled A Friend I Never Knew. Frank even supplied me with some anecdotes about him, which I used in my story.

After sampling a couple of Frank’s adult beverages and eating an incredible grilled salmon wrap, I began my walk back to my hotel, just sauntering along and checking out the local architecture. It was after midnight and as I walked down a dark street I was suddenly met with an incredible aroma.

Barbecue.

At 12:45 AM.

And damn, it smelled good. Hey, I’d just eaten but for some reason that grilled salmon hadn’t filled me up.

I stopped at the corner and stared down the narrow street but could see nothing but some wisps of smoke coming from a porch a few houses down, accompanied by some laughter and back-and-forth banter.

On a whim, I headed down the street, and as I approached the house I heard a voice. Then the following conversation ensued:

“You lost? The hotel’s that way.”

“Hah-ha! I know, but I was drawn by that smell.”

“Well hell, come on up and try some.”

I did, and to my delight I joined them on the porch for some of the best damn late night/early morning barbecue I’d ever eaten.

I soon learned that the barbecue was the recipe of Sheldon, who lived in the house attached to the porch I was sitting on, and that he’d gotten it from his grandmother, who he affectionately referred to as Noona.

Or Noomaw.

Or something.

Bottom line? Man, it was good barbecued chicken.

Perhaps the highlight of the evening (morning?) came when a car pulled up and cousin Marlin hopped out with a couple of his friends. They grabbed some chicken and sat down on the porch. It was probably 10-minutes later when they noticed the obviously out-of-place dude on the wicker chair in the corner. It was pretty dark after all. Marlin then leaned forward and asked:

“Who the hell are you?”

Amid much laughter we all realized that nobody knew the answer. I’d never introduced myself. I remedied that quickly, had a few more laughs, and I finally made my way back to my hotel around 2:00 AM, extra covered plate of tasty goodness in tow, courtesy of Marlin and by extension Noona.

When Jigger said “local flavor” I don’t think he meant it literally. But he did mean to not be afraid to experience new things, and that’s exactly what I did that night. And I made some new friends and experienced some great flavors because of it.

And damn, that was good barbecue.