Happy pigs?!

Behold, the Israelites traversed the desert for 40 years, sustained by manna from heaven and the vision of the promised land.

Meanwhile, Memphians spend their whole lives traversing the city in search of the perfect pork barbecue. Is it Corky's, Interstate, Gridley's, Neely's? Or maybe Pig 'n' Whistle? Mama's? Tops? Rendezvous? Well, if the masses are split on the *best*, at least there are innumerable places that serve passable barbecue, where a Memphis resident can get a quick fix in the form of pulled pork slathered in spicy goodness.

This is why we're the fattest city on earth. But it tastes so damn good that all the skinny cities don't know what they're missing out on.

But Memphis barbecue restaurants have a vibe all their own, one I've never picked up in a barbecue shop anywhere in the country. What is this phenomenon? It's happy pigs.

Click on the link in the title bar above. This goes to a RoadFood.com review of a typical Memphis barbecue dive. And what's that painted on the wall? A pig who's smiling so big he looks nearly orgasmic. You can practically hear him screaming: "You just ate my family, fatso! And if you're lucky, Aunt Gertrude's gonna give you a helluva case of heartburn!"

Without exception, Memphis barbecue restaurants are covered in decor that constantly reminds you exactly what you're eating. And it's not like paintings of the family hog, either. No, it's usually cute cartoons reminiscent of the three little pigs.

In fact, my parents took me to a restaurant called Three Little Pigs when I was a child. Smiling caricatures of the three pigs (sans wolf) donned the outside of the building, filling my eight-year-old heart with a guilt that would stay with me for years. I ordered chicken.

I don't know whose idea it was to fill barbecue restaurants with cute pictures of pigs. It certainly can't be the brightest marketing ploy. I mean, hell, even Chik-Fil-A doesn't make cute chickens. Instead they make cute, sentient cows that help you forget you're eating a dead bird. Make cute dead birds, and Wall Street thinks you've flipped your lid.

Anyway, I think they're trying for the notion that happy pigs make happy barbecue, and happy barbecue is yummy barbecue that you want to shove in your mouth between bites of cole slaw and fried pickles. But, at least in my eyes, the idea totally fails. When I see a smiling pig, I think he's got something to hide. I think he's trying to tell you this:

"Hey buddy! You know what a Boston butt is? That's right, man. It's my ASS. Keep that in mind the next time the wife fries you up some bacon. You may be thinking 'tasty treat,' but I'm still thinking ASS. Bwahahaha."