The Greatest Day of My Life

Not every day is a good day. In fact, unless you wake up watching/thinking about your favorite episodes of Romper Room, most days aren’t that great. These days can be the result of poor luck, poor planning, or sheer exhaustion due to staying out too late for absolutely no reason. Said bad days are only ‘enhanced’ further when one is subjected to a stuffy office performing a task a pigeon could endure if a nutritional pellet system could be implemented. Needless to say, my Saturday fell short of the ‘pursuit of happiness’ (Jefferson’s words, not Will Smith’s resume), until I stumbled upon man’s greatest discovery since Uranium.

While running a menial errand in the Burbank area, my vision became skewed by what appeared to be a fire raging from a building. Smoke bellowed across the open street in a manner that cared not for man, nor the Sabbath. From three blocks away, I became quite alarmed as my mind rushed to the previous week’s scenes of firemen engulfed in Griffith Park fires, but as I approached closer, I discovered I was the only one alarmed. This sensation was only further supported when I saw t-shirt clad people heading toward the mouth of the flames.

Though the odds were slim I would have stopped my car in the event of an actual fire, I began to slow down to look concerned. I craned my neck awkwardly around in my automobile so I might catch a glimpse of whatever pagan ritual was being so openly honored, when I discovered the goat they were sacrificing wasn’t a goat at all, but beef. Sweet, sweet beef. Racks upon racks of beef, but they didn’t stop there. I saw pork, chicken, fish, and basically everything than can/should be cooked and drown in BBQ sauce. Upon a further investigation, I realized I had stumbled upon a Saturday tradition known as the Handy Market BBQ.

This holiday I dubbed ‘Christmas Jr.’ happens every Saturday in Burbank, at the Handy Market on Magnolia Blvd. The BBQ offers a wide selection of delicious meats mixed with an eclectic dialogue and subtle puns involving the word ‘meat.’

I, of course, asked for half a chicken drenched so heavily in BBQ, you’d thought it owed money to the mob, which I completely destroyed upon reaching my apartment. The BBQ was incredibly delicious, but more than that, it allowed me to feel at home in a place so far from anything ‘normal,’ that I couldn’t help but smile. That smile was short lived, however, as I became reminded that one shouldn’t eat an entire ½ chicken by him/herself without bracing for the consequences (Rolaids).

Though I’ve learned my lesson this week, anyone free for lunch on Saturday?