The good news is I left my new “toy” at home, the new Panasonic GF1 digital camera given I did not expect to see anything worthy of my carrying the extra weight of the camera on a business trip. Of course I did get my belly full with some decent BBQ and a notable Italian meal last night at a slightly upscale funky Italian restaurant in Downtown Hutch called of all things, “Jillians”. We ate BBQ in Wichita out of convenience at Hog Wild BBQ, a local chain that provided a respectable brisket, but my preference locally would have to be Roy’s “you’ll be in hog heaven” Hickory Pit BBQ in downtown Hutch as they have over 20 different BBQ sauce choices, a more local feel and of course their claim to fame of they are “one of the top 100 BBQ restaurants in America” (http://www.roysbbq.com/). I love this country.

Upon disembarkation from the plane at the “air capital of the world” Wichita airport, I told my colleague that we would be in for an adventure. While my prophesy did not necessarily come true, we thought we might get to invoke our inner storm chaser as we dodged our way through a tornado watch on our way back to the airport this morning. Other than that it was all uneventful just the way we like it, but I learned my lesson as next time I am bringing the camera just in case we do see a tornado forming above Kansas highway 96 or at the very least to take hundreds of pics of haunted grain elevators.

LC’s is extra special because they have a common dish on their menu called “burnt ends”.  It’s pork rib tips basted in LC’s tight spicy K.C. style sauce slow cooked over an open flame fire and smoked to perfection.  Completely sloppy eating and not complete without the requisite couple of pieces of white bread tossed into the take out box where the bread soaks up all the smokiness and flavor that is signature to good slow smoked K.C. BBQ.

I also like Cincinnati style chili.  I just don’t think of it as chili because I grew up on the thicker southern concoction that is usually called Texas style chili.   Whether I order my Cincinnati style chili as a “three way” as in with spaghetti noodles, sauce, 1) onions, 2) cheese and 3) beans, on a coney hot dog or inverted as in the whole boulabaise assembled and then dumped upside down, I simply love the stuff.  I would be remiss not to mention the ongoing chili war between Cincinnati’s two largest chili chains; Skyline and Gold Star.  The amount of money these two spend on slugging it out on billboards and TV commercials is mind boggling.  It is also amazing to what degree this stuff “travels”; as in I have seen it recently in some fairly far flung from Cincinnati places such as central Indiana, given it typically does not settle well on the stomachs and palates of folks not local to Cincinnati.  I was told by a co-worker when I arrived in Cincinnati that it would take “three times” of eating Cincinnati style chili before my system would be fully acclimated (and he was right) to the saucy chili mixture that includes minced meat, cinnamon and chocolate among other things.  In other words its more of a mole sauce with Greek origins than a chili, but no question about it it is a true American classic and I am sure that is part of the reason Camp Washington Chili deservedly has a James Beard Award to prove it!The strong and passionate Cincinnati chili scene is also even more reason why Mr. Gene’s is a real beacon in the Queen City.  First of all they serve the best chili dogs in town.  Better than the Coney’s of Detroit and even better than the gastronomic blip I experienced in 1998 when I visited Brooklyn’s Coney Island and had an original Nathan’s and thought it even tasted light years better than the ones they serve at the Nathan’s in the mall and airport food courts.   I would also venture to say even better than the “papaya” and hot dog joints on almost every corner in Manhattan, where my cousin told me each and every hot dog “tasted different”.  Of course I took him up on that one and could not tell any difference other than they all tasted like hot dog!

The reason Mr. Gene’s dog’s are the best is simple.  It begins with the dog itself.  It is not just any simple dog, it really has a good flavor with a very small hint of garlic (could it be a Nathan’s wiener?) and a nice snap in every bite.  Next up is the bun.  I love Mr. Gene’s hot dog buns as they have always been full, soft and fresh on every visit.  Consistency.  God I love consistency in good food!  They also have those buns with the little sesame seeds which adds a bit of panache.  The chili is a simple sauce that is similar in flavor and texture to what you would find at any chili dog establishment that takes itself seriously.Add to all of the above and Mr. Gene does not stop at the chili dog, he also has a Chicago dog on the menu and a pretty good one to boot!  I also like the fact that Mr. Gene’s is a true road side stand. There is not any indoor seating what so ever.  Simply walk up to the window, order and either return to yon car or make yourself at home at one of several picnic tables situated behind the building.Mr. Gene’s also attracts a diverse crowd as it is in a urban neighborhood not far from downtown Cincinnati.  I overheard a conversation when I was last there from two gentlemen talking about the tough the economy.  One stated he had recently went to the bank and noticed someone had left their deposit receipt on the ATM counter and he exclaimed, “it had $14000 on it…I have never had $14000 in my bank account and can you imagine the person who would”.  I could because he or she was just as likely to be standing in line with me at Mr. Gene’s Doghouse as was the guy with fifty dollars in his bank account because they both know a good value when they see one.  You too can experience Mr. Gene’s the next time you are passing through the Queen City of Cincinnati exit 1 off of I-74 and make the first three right turns and hang a left on to Beekman St. and you will almost immediately see Mr. Gene’s on the right (closed on Sundays).

“Shame” on me some of you would say, particularly those of you whom consider yourselves the proper urban pioneer types.  That’s ok too because I am as comfortable in my skin as I am sure you are in yours. You see given my wife and I are able to sell our home in the Cincinnati mega suburb of West Chester we will relocate to a different kind of “suburb” in the inner I-275 loop/beltway historical village of Glendale.   This concerns me as Glendale is technically supposed to be more of an “urban like” suburb if you know what I mean.  My wife assures me its all about being able to walk every where and being able to get the kids to school, soccer, and “calculating minds” sooner and in shorter distances and let us not forget it will be a shorter commute to work for myself.  I don’t buy it.  Don’t get me wrong Glendale is a great community and I am looking forward to moving there, but I struggle with all the burdens we place on where we live.  I am furthest from being one of those folks who actually believes that if you move somewhere it will change you.  I am the exact opposite.  My belief is you make the place (through community involvement and support) and the place does not make you.

The whole suburbia itch began for me when I was in pre-K and growing up in Park Forest, IL.   Back in the early seventies Park Forest was the ideal suburb to raise kids.  I knew this not only because I heard my parents repeat it all the time, but I felt it every time I set foot on one of the numerous playgrounds, climbed its crab apple trees, and swam in its Aqua Center.  It was safe clean and yes you could “walk” everywhere unencumbered by the fear that you could get hit by a car as all the sidewalks practically connected with minimal street crossings.  I spent most days there like a modern day Huck Finn, the only difference was that I did all my exploring via my ninety eight percent plastic big wheel tricycle.  Now I too look forward to seeing my two kids experience their own form of urban Huckleberryism in the urbanist surburban confines of Glendale.

Glendale, OH a mere eight miles distanced.  I awoke today with an epiphany realizing there is a greater expose story here centered around how the unassuming suburban village of Glendale has played an even greater role in helping to nearly resolve my conflicted war mongering mindset!  I had an epiphany about a weed.I have been in an on-going seven year battle to rid the planet of the vicious wild honeysuckle plant.  This invasive plant has been rumored to have its origins as a souvenir brought home from a vacation to the Orient by a certain senior citizen from Cincinnati.  She apparently loved it for its ornamental landscape nature and planted it in her upscale Hyde Park neighborhood backyard in the 1930s.  From there it grew like a giant green monster spreading across Hamilton County in the 1950s and now it is reported to be found as far away as New York and California!  I become tense and angry whenever I drive the freeways of the region and notice it marching along the right of ways taunting me like some evil green spectre.

When we bought our suburban modified tract home in West Chester in January 2001, it was unbeknownst to me that lurking under the frost and one inch of snow cover in my backyard there was a sleeping troll.   When we sold our previous home in Connecticut, we were left melancholy and longing for a home with a similarly wooded back yard view.  Unfortunately we moved to Cincinnati during the winter in a down market and our choices of “wooded lots” was severely limited, thus we settled on a almost half acre lot with one third of the lot left undeveloped in a sort of mass of what I described as a large cluster of “bushes with occasional trees”.

It was only after our first spring sprang eternal that I realized these bushes were something more than what they seemed.  On the surface I actually quite liked them as they gave off a slightly sweet honey like aroma and were the first plants to sprout leaves in the spring and the last to lose the leaves in the winter (all the way until the week prior to Christmas!).

Yet something was helter skelter about this plant.  The limbs created a cathedral like canopy over the “wooded” area.  The only problem was there was nothing growing under this canopy, save an occasional scrub weed and dirt almost to the degree of being a desert.  This is what set me off to researching, asking neighbors and checking on the internet led me to find out this was an invasive weed of the cruelest nature.You see this plant evolved into what I would describe as the most advanced specialist species on the planet.  Long after the bombs drop and the plague kills us all off and the roaches and rats eventually march into extinction, all that will be left of our beloved planet will be honeysuckle plants growing and “crawling” over every inch of it.  I have a vision of when the aliens finally do come there will not be any place to land and they will simply turn back as the planet will be covered honeysuckle.  Be damned its even too tough for Martians!

I am firmly convinced wild honeysuckle will live on into eternity billions of years from now when our sun burns out into a spec of dust because the honeysuckle actually has outfitted itself to survive anything.  It poisons the earth with a toxin that kills off all other native grass and plants.  Thus that is why the undeveloped “wooded” portion of my backyard lacked any trees.  Only the hardiest and most stoudt seedlings can survive its onslaught of toxins and perpetual shade.  The honeysuckle kills off all competitive plant species!  In the winter the plant produces a sweet berry loved by birds.  They eat it and poop it all over the land, thus spreading the vicious plant hither tither.

The other part of the equation is this plant can’t be simply killed.  I had tried everything that first year we moved to West Chester from sawing, pulling and plucking.  I actually found a pleasure in pulling the small seedlings by hand and I thought, “well this is going to be easy”.  I found the folly of my ways the following spring when all of these plants had not only replaced themselves, but the wild honeysuckle has a troll like way of replacing spent limbs with exponential factors of limbs.  In other words you cut one branch or trunk and in months you will twenty new branchlings sprouting up in all directions.  Soon my pleasure in plucking seedlings became a sick sadistic pleasure in killing and destroying honeysuckle at all cost.  I rented chainsaws and trucks to haul it away and it always grew back. Eventually after six summers I found a suitable solution to killing off the weed (of course we moved a year later) and that was cutting it within inches of the ground and drowning the stump in the herbicide “Roundup”.

Armageddon came one blustery November day in 2008 when I rented a Home Depot truck and armed myself with all manner of machetes, axes and saws.  I spent the day hacking and sawing like a whirling dervish.  I went all out Jedi master on the botanical menace.  The worst part is honeysuckle limbs are sinewy and rubbery, so straight hacking won’t work or else you risk losing limbs from the kick back of your axe or machete.  As a result you have to attack the bigger plants with a saw.  I almost lost a toe in all the hacking and was saved by my steel toed wolverine boots, but I could not escape the numerous scrapes and scratches from the limbs bouncing back at me in a sequenced revenge.  I even lost a good Suunto watch as one of the gaping branches reached for my arm and ripped it clean off my wrist breaking the metal band!  The finale came as I was readying my fourth trip to truck the wasted limbs to the scrap heap when it seemed the honeysuckle called one last favor from mother nature.  The heavens opened up in sheets of rain that came battering down on my last stand.  Eventually on my last trip to the compost site, my twenty dollar an hour Home Depot truck now in its seventh hour got stuck in the mud.  I fortunately found solace in several rogue honeysuckle branches I was able to use under the tire to help get it free.  In the end I stood in front of the cab of the truck looking through the windshield wipers squeaking back and forth as my kids looked on at my mud caked effigy in a gaping awe trying to figure out “is that my dad?”  At that moment I knew I would be a warrior for life fighting to rid the earth of the viral wild honeysuckle and clearing the local land for native species to excel.

So it was not until after moving to Glendale that I was talking to neighbor Jackie Saunders and she explained to me that I had to “let the yard come to me, let it grow and it will tell you what it needs”.  Then I got into an ugly honeysuckle debate with Jackie.  We had honeysuckle plants growing along the fence line bordering our yards.  She defended and I offended.   Not much unlike my wife, Jackie loves honeysuckle.  I tried to tell her what I tell my wife and that is you do not know this plant until you have to actually try to trim it back on a regular basis.  Of course she has been doing this for thirty years.  Jackie tried to make peace on our debate by walking me down the fence line to show me where she actually had “jumped the fence” a year earlier and killed off an infestation of the forerunner to honeysuckle, poison ivy.  Poison ivy is easy.What I have realized since moving to Glendale is that there is a sinister soft underbelly to this otherwise unassuming Mayberry like village of old victorian homes with wide porches.  An ugly secret had been festering here for years.  The villagers embrace honeysuckle.  So much so have the village people of Glendale embraced it that I at first had not noticed it at all until Jackie told shared, “they even maintain honeysuckle as a border along the grounds of the historical homes in the village (center)”.  The next day I drove beyond my cul-de-suc of newer mcmansions and ventured into Glendale proper and yes there it was almost everywhere I looked, along side walks, making borders between homes honeysuckle grown and maintained as a border.  Yes, it did taunt me and flaunt the fact that while I had nearly cleared it all from my West Chester property to the point of pride in all of the new native growth tree saplings, I know had to face the reality that I was living amongst the “enemy”.   After a time I gave in and even began to have the trappings of starting my own committee to petition the village hall to start a new festival every April as a rite of spring passage.  I envisioned the big banner over main street shouting out the “Great Glendale Honeysuckle Fest”.   We would have honeysuckle shucking contest and the “who could find the most uses” for this durable plant specimen.  The winner would probably an eighty year old woman weaving “infinity” baskets made of the venerable honeysuckle plant.  Miss Honeysuckle beauty contest anyone? That was the pinnacle of my madness as alas it all seemed so simple until one recent evening at dusk I reawakened my epiphany and slipped into my backyard along the fence bordering my property and my neighbor and quietly snipped and sawed away several branches of honeysuckle that had gotten out of hand and grown on my side of the fence and I then bathed the stumps in Roundup.  I eventually allowed a peace offering in the form of three individual honeysuckle plants that I have allowed to live along the fence line bordering my neighbor’s property.

Okay I admit I am not a food critic and your life could be fairly complete whether you’ve eaten at anyone of these places or not, but in my opinion these are some pretty damn good choices for budget eats given you are in the vicinity of any one of these establishments.

• “Burnt Ends” LC’s BBQ – Kansas City, MO. – Succulent and smokey melt in your mouth BBQ”Garlic Chicken”
• “Garlic Chicken” Vie’s Snack Shack – Cruz Bay, St. John, USVI – Chicken fried and seasoned to perfection and every bite bursting with juicy flavor!
• “The Buffet” Lady and Son’s – Savannah, GA.  - Can you say butter?  The best southern fried chicken I have ever tasted hands down.
• “Catfish Acadiana” Walk-Ons – Baton Rouge, LA. – Down home cajun cooking at its best.
• “Fried Catfish Filet Basket” The Flying Fish – Little Rock, AR – A no frills fresh version of a southern classic.
• “Shrimp Po-Boy” We Never Close – New Orleans, LA. Worth the out of the way trip and you won’t regret it!