Barbecue and Biscuit

Sunday's first Texas Barbecue Festival turned out to be a victim of its own success. Owing to good promotion and beautiful weather, the normally-docile Farmer's Market was jam-packed. Meanwhile, the surrounding streets were crawling with gas-sucking land yachts clumsiliy trying to navigate their way around pedestrians.

As much as I liked seeing the market brimming with activity, it seemed like the festival had already outgrown the location. I didn't even bother eating barbecue because the lines were too insane. I walked across Burnet to Taqueria Arandas #3 and had some tacos al pastor instead.

The Randy "Biscuit" Turner Benefit at Emo's was right on. Lotsa friends and good music. I finally got to see the reunited Dicks play and they sounded like a giant fascist-killing machine. From "Dead in a Motel Room" to "Rich Daddy" to "Dicks Hate Police," it was pure visceral growl. A few more beers and I would've been in the pit (and probably writing this from a prone position in a Vicodin haze).

As it was, I had to maintain near-complete sobriety so I could make it into work this morning. I compensated by drinking approximately 12 cups of water, which has its own set of rewards (no hangover) and risks (multiple trips to the nationally-renowned Emo's bathroom).