I didn’t choose that name for him. It’s really his name. See?
Porky is Poole’s Bar-B-Q resident mechanical pig. He hangs out near the door, atop the pig-stamped concrete floor, greeting customers and bidding them farewell until next time. I have no idea if he actually works anymore–for some reason Husband wasn’t keen on trying it out.
You may have noticed these colored pigs in the previous post. They are all over the property outside the restaurant.
No, really. They are.
I don’t know what one must to do get one’s name on a colored pig: we didn’t go in and talk to anyone. Poole’s was our sixth bbq stop of the day, and by that point even I was a little tired . I’d love to interview Colonel Poole some day. (He’s a Kentucky Colonel, which–for you poor souls who don’t know what that means because you haven’t been blessed by living in the Bluegrass state–is a designation granted by the governor of Kentucky.)
All of this and we’re still not done at Poole’s! Come back tomorrow for the final post!
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