Years ago Carrie and I walked into a old, family-owned BBQ restaurant in a small town in North Carolina. As we entered the door every person inside turned their heads ever so slightly toward us. That split-second encounter seemed to last for three minutes. It felt like an old western movie when the city slicker walks through the swinging saloon doors, the piano player stops playing, everybody stops talking, and then one person says, “You ain’t from around here, are ya? Even though I live right near that restaurant, I still felt… Read More