If you leave the OKC metro area and head south on I-35, after about an hour you’ll be in the middle of the Arbuckle Mountains. Down there just south of Highway 7 running through Davis, is a little place surrounded by vehicles. At least, I haven’t figured out a time to visit that it’s not surrounded. Officially known as Smokin’ Joe’s Rib Ranch & RV Park, but more affectionately referred to by its many patrons as Smokin’ Joe’s or just plain “Joe’s.”
I’ve never been much of a barbeque person. That’s got to be a surprise to some people, given my upbringing. It’s not the barbeque itself that I don’t like, it’s the nasty sauce that often accompanies it. It takes a very special barbeque sauce for me to put it on what I’m eating. Nothing too sweet, nothing to vinegary. Joe’s has some that I really like even if it isn’t my favorite.
But it’s not the sauce that’s so special — it’s their food. Joe’s is the first local place that I’ve really liked. And I like it. A lot. You won’t go wrong with their chopped brisket (though you might want to skip it if little puddles of orange grease frighten you), the ribs, or the sliced brisket. I’ve seen someone order the smoked bologna, but if you know my history with that then you know I won’t be having it any time soon. My dad enjoys the smoked chicken (which I’m thinking of trying this weekend) and he and my mom usually split one of the 2- or 3-meat dinners. You’re still going to bring home 1-2 lbs of food, so be prepared. The portions are huge.
Don’t go during peak hours unless you’re willing to wait and battle a crowd. Twelve to 2 and 5 to 7 you’re looking at a decent little wait and the possibility that there’s no place to sit. Go on a nice day when you might not mind sitting on their front porch or in the bed of your pickup.
(Did I really just suggest that?)
There’s another thing you need to be prepared for — the table stake out. My mom sure enough doesn’t want to sit outside in the heat when we visit Joe’s, so as soon as we order, we start watching. It’s all in the body language. And the amount of visible plate. You can tell when someone’s close to being done. And the minute they start to move it’s VITAL that you get close to that table.

Laughing, talking, having a big time? Nope. Staking out a table.

Then you have to be ready to be neighborly. In a place like this you can’t sit down with a group of four at a table that seats six and expect no one to join you. On this particular visit we were joined by a couple (the gentleman half of the couple is the man at the end of the table in the above photo) that used to go to church with my aunt and uncle 30 minutes away from our hometown. While this restaurant is 30 minutes in the other direction. Of course, didn’t know who they were until we got out to the truck and finally asked my mom. Because that’s how I roll.
Smokin’ Joe’s — bringing folks together.
And, hey, Ree? I know your farm is in southern Oklahoma and you’ve mentioned the county a time or two. So, by my calculation, this lovely little spot could be right on your way…or a small detour out of your way. I’m thinking since Marlboro Man is a guy and he’s from Oklahoma, this could be right up his alley. Once you’ve eaten just hop back on 7, head on over to 81, and you should be back on track in no time. And you can call me Tom-Tom.
So, the next time you’re down in Davis, tell them I sent you. And then they’ll give you a funny look because the good people of Joe’s have no idea who I am.
I have no idea how many ounces this thing is, but it’s too much, too late at night.
Pretty sure the rules of blogging say that 10:38 on a Tuesday night is the worst time to publish a post, but I’m doing this for the people. Not for whoever makes up those rules.
Oh, and Clare got a haircut!

Back home with my coffee. But I haven’t been to the grocery store yet so we don’t have any cream *pout*
Rose tagged me to answer a few questions so I thought I would include them here.
This week, my cousin (who I have never met and only recently found online…turns out blogging is in our blood) and his wife lost their dear, sweet baby girl, Ashleigh. As I mentioned a few months ago, she was born at 26 weeks and was a real miracle. I was shocked to learn this week that she had passed after spending almost 4 months in the hospital.
Please keep this family in your prayers. I cannot imagine the heartache they are experiencing, as it looked like Ashleigh was doing so well and would be going home soon. Please remember Curtis, Stephanie, and big sister Zoe in your prayers.
Then shall thy light break forth as the morning,
and thine health shall spring forth speedily: and thy righteousness shall go before thee;
the glory of the LORD shall be thy reward.
Isaiah 58:8
Last night I went to my first baseball game. Ever. In my life. I didn’t really watch any baseball. What I did do was eat popcorn, nachos, and 3 hotdogs. Mission accomplished. (We had all-you-can-eat tickets.)
You know what else was accomplished? Tummy ache. UGH.
You guys know I can get crazy with the water consumption.
I just finished jogging and I still need to get a few more steps in today. We (Kevin and me) are in a competition at our work place against other teams around the community to see who can log the most steps over a 6 week period. So far, we’re doing really good. But it’s 10:46 and I’m tired and I don’t know if those additional steps are happening.
Edited to add:
Ladies and gents, I am back on The FlyLady bandwagon. Don’t worry, I’m not crazed or judgmental towards unshiny sinks. My sink is currently full on both sides, but so much better than it was yesterday it’s not EVEN funny.
Here’s what I’ve been thinking. In a couple of years, Kevin and I plan on having a baby. It’s not in the near future, but it’s not that distant either. And can anyone remember what you were doing 5 years ago? Five years ago, I was lamenting a non-relationship with a guy who strung (strewed? strang? usheilkd? WHAT?) me along for months. (Hello, roommate and dorm friends — does anyone remember this?) If all goes as planned (and it never does, but whatever) we will have a 2-year-old in 5 years.
TIMEOUT.
Let’s stop and think about that for a minute. In a few years, we’re going to have a baby. (Sorry for all the italics. I get very “Rilla Blythe” when I think about the future and babies and AHH!) That’s insanity. How life changes so quickly. Now I’m married and it feels like I’ve always been married. Nine months down and it feels like forever. In a good way. And while I was thinking about having babies I was looking at my toes. Because toes kind of remind me of babies. They are little and cute. Well, some people’s are. And then I was looking at my tiny toe on my left foot. On the inside part of that toenail, it grows at a perfect right angle, creating a dangerously sharp point (and they don’t even need clipping right now). And because I am all hippy at heart, I’ve already started working on a birth plan (I did this like 2 years ago, it’s changed as I have). Now, I know how to make sure hospital staff doesn’t go against my wishes.
I threaten them with my razor-sharp left pinky-toenail.
Brilliant, right? I know! With feet up in the air like that I should have a clear shot at somebody’s jugular.
Then, I started thinking, which led me to ask this question of you all. Seriously. Who does that? You can’t give prisoners (the hardcore kind) nail clippers. And in a situation like mine, you definitely can’t let them go unclipped. If the need presented itself, I would use this thing as a shiv. No one would see it coming.
I’m going to have to work on that left roundhouse kick though.
Okay, back to the original topic.
That. That is a little frightening. And what I have come to realize is that if I can’t get my housekeeping under control when there are just two of us, there’s no way I’m going to know what to do when there are suddenly 3 and I’m faced with about 1000x the responsibilities that I have right now.
So, in the words of Barney Fife (who I am referencing for the 2nd time this week*), I’m nipping it in the bud.
I’ll keep you updated on my progress. Now, links!
*The first time was in regard to the “shooting” at Oklahoma City Community College.
Apparently kids today do not know who Barney Fife is. This makes me sad.

