This morning I attended a doctor's deposition on 20th, near Mission. I'm rarely in the Mission during a weekday, so I figured this would be a good opportunity to try a lot of things from places that are closed in the evenings. About five minutes into the proceedings the unmistakable aroma of rotisseried meats comes wafting through the office window and I'm in heaven. I see that the doctor can more than hold his own against the creampuff opposing counsel, and I really don't have any questions of him, so I sit back, relax and enjoy the tantalizing smell of roasting meats, imagining platters full of tender beef, chicken, pork or whatever it was these wizards were cooking. But, who are they? Where are they? They must be near, but I also know that the olfactory nerves can play tricks, especially when you're half asleep like me....
-- Counselor? Mr. Georgopoulos?
-- Zzzz,Hrmph,Snork -- Huh? Wha? Where? Objection! OBJECTION! Incompetent, Irrelevant and Immaterial! (that'll throw him off, lousy punk)
-- I was simply asking, do you want to break for lunch?
-- Lunch? Ahem. Well, of course counsel, that is if you don't have the stamina to continue, then I will withdraw my objection (I think it was at this point that the doctor lost all respect for me, or maybe it was when I was snoring and drooling on my tie. It's hard to tell).
So, back on the street I sniff my way around the corner to Pete's Bar-B-Q, right there on Mission and 20th. Whoa! I don't know why they call this a barbecue, as it is quite clearly a rotisserie, but I'll forgive them the transgression. On the spits are whole chickens, entire beef roasts, and slabs of spare ribs turning and turning to golden brown perfection. Lined up behind them are more spits with raw seasoned meats ready to take their place. Behind the counter, the same fare rests in steam platters next to prodigious quantities of assorted salads (and oddly, some spaghetti with large sausages). I've never met a slab of ribs I didn't like, and though I was a bit leery at the idea of rotisseried ribs, I went ahead and ordered them. I needn't have been leery -- the ribs were slathered in a rather sweet but tangy barbecue sauce, and the meat was tender, juicy and plentiful. The ribs, a full baked potato, salad of my choice (slaw), a huge hunk of fresh french bread, and a Coke set me back $9.50 and was well worth it. The slaw was slaw, and the potato was a potato, but the meat was everything I had been dreaming of up in the doctor's office. I noticed that the folks behind the counter were speaking Greek (it's times like this I can be proud of my countrymen), and though I was completely full, I prevailed upon them to let me try some chicken as well -- also excellent, with a hint of oregano and lemon, not too moist not too dry. While I was talking to the owner about the old country, why on earth he calls this place a barbecue, etc..., he pulled out a huge roast from the rotisserie and offered me a slice, but at this point I could eat no more. I must return.
Back at the doctor's office, now with barbecue sauce all over my tie, I endured the scornful, reproachful looks of the good doctor, the court reporter, and the shyster who had so rudely interrupted my reveries. But I was happy. Happier than a pig on a spit...
Oh, turns out Pete's is open at night, up till 8:00. It's right next to Bruno's. Can't figure out why I'd never noticed it before.
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