Another Trailhead Goes Electric, We Bring Grist For The Mill, And Pig Out At Fox Bros. Brookhaven.
In a week when Trump proclaimed “artificial intelligence” be called super intelligence, and then asked a gang of billionaire tech oligarchs to regulate themselves so their SI doesn’t wipe out humanity…
… and a U.S. Senator somehow confused the Atlanta Hawks with the Iowa Hawkeyes--overlooking these famous Hawkeyes altogether— something even more surprising happened: Patrick went electric.
It was almost as shocking as when Dylan went electric at the Newport Folk Festival on July 24, 1965. The folkie crowd was outraged when he plugged in his Fender Stratocaster and began shredding “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”
Patrick traded in his old-school gas-powered hybrid Corolla for a Kia Niro EV. He’s no longer tethered to the pump and fluctuating Straits of Hormuz gas prices but will instead depend on the power grid, hoping data centers don’t jack up electric rates, or AI doesn’t take it all down when Starlink goes sentient.
Brad, who has been an electric car man for years, approved of Patrick’s purchase, while the other Trailheads chanted, “We need an oil fix. Drill, baby, drill, NOW!” They like to flaunt their deep pockets at the Chevron.
Fortunately, the only fuel required on our hike at the Vickery Creek Trail from Oxbo Road was foot power (and intermittent flashes of will power). Trail Master Guy, Steve, Brad, and Patrick laced up their boots and prepared to go. Patrick and Brad insisted they would need a recharge halfway through the hike since they have limited range.
Before we hit the trail, we explored down the river on a boardwalk that was being painted. Curious Brad touched the wood surface to see if the paint was still wet, and his brown fingers told him the answer.
We walked to the end of the line. When we backtracked, two painters were free touching up the place where Brad had messed up their pristine paint job.
The painters were surprised to see us since they had sectioned off the area with Caution plastic tape and a CLOSED sign. Of course, exploring forbidden zones is what Guy lives for. He’s a bad boy.
The Vickery Creek Trail in Roswell reeks of history. During the Civil War, the mill manufactured fabric for Confederate Army tents. Union soldiers burned it down as sad locals sang, Burning Down the House. For a more accurate history lesson, read this dispatch from an earlier hike.
Another mill was built in this area, and you can still see some of its remains. Mills were like the data centers of olden days. We're sure there were not-in-my-backyard protests constantly.
Time for a selfie with the waterfalls in the background. Click
And a dog encounter. Look- Brad’s in love. The lady is wondering if Brad has had his shots.
And how about another selfie on the wooden bridge? Indulge us, please. We’re needy.
And here’s the natural beauty without our mugs photo-bombing Mother Nature’s glory.
Enough with the proof that we actually went on a hike.
It was getting to be our feeding time, and since it was Thursday, we selected Fox Bros. in Brookhaven for its chicken fried steak special. Roy joined us. He needed sustenance for his upcoming guitar lesson, where he’d attempt playing Stray Cat Strut like Brian Setzer. Maybe better?
We wished him luck on that.
This Fox Bros. location is a beautiful space. It used to have the “Texas ordering system,” meaning you stood in line, and the carvers cut your selected smoked meats, and you ordered sides as your platter was built.
The barbecue joint dropped that Texas approach (Don’t mess with Georgia), and returned to traditional table service, which we’re happy about.
Especially when our server was the lovely Michelle. She was very attentive to our demanding needs, including a round of Arnie Palmers and a variety of smoked fare and sides. She even brought Steve a pitcher of Arnies which he generously shared. Michelle also delivered a large pan of water for the dogs, who said they’d rather have scotch and waters.
Guy and Patrick ordered chicken fried steaks. The flavor was sublime and heart-stopping pepper gravy-drenched deliciousness. Never has brown and tan on a plate tasted so good.
Steve and Roy ate the Texas turkey sandwiches and both men were delighted. They said the turkey was incredibly tender, and the smoky flavor was like a gentle kiss from campfire embers (ouch!). And the peppered bacon was crispy manna from heaven. Well, they didn't really say that. "Manna" doesn't roll off the tongue at a Trailheads table.
Electric Brad ordered six extra crispy smoked wings; Fox Bros. smokes the best flappers in the business. He also devoured a bowl of their famed brisket chili, another Trailheads’ barbecue hall-of-fame dish.
The mashed spuds were classic. Grab your fork and get going. Their pale whiteness went well with the tan gravy and golden tan steak.
The coleslaw was a crisp, cool, sweet palate cleanser.
A tossed green salad looked like healthy fare (what?). It’s the perfect counterbalance to a chicken fried steak.
And the hearty Fox Bros. Brunswick Stew was tasty as can be, even though we’re not fans of the lima bean.
We had so much extra food that we asked for boxes to take home for a later taste. As we sat and talked, Michelle kindly snapped our picture.
Trailheads decided that no matter how good AI gets, it will never replace the inane conversations we have, or the smoky goodness of 16-hour smoked meats. And on that positive note, we scattered… although we did have concerns about Tommy Tuberville exposing the pilots and flight attendants’ “furries scandal.” The mile-high club looks like a trip to the zoo. Should Trailheads take the Furry route?
Rating: Four Ribs*
Fox Bros. Bar-B-Q
4058 Peachtree Road NE
Brookhaven, GA 30319
470-450-0305
*About Our Barbecue Rating System
Trailheads do not claim to be food experts, epicureans, or sophisticated palates. We are hungry hikers who attack a selected barbecue venue and ravage our way through whatever smoked fare and fixings they're dishing out.
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Ounr reviews feature what we believe are the highlights of the menu we sampled. So our intent is not to trash talk the saintly folks who tend to smoldering smokers on hot, humid summer days. They are sacrificing themselves in the noble art of smoking meats and feeding the drooling masses. Many are independent entrepreneurs who are the backbone of this humming American economy.
Now that you know our standards, you may wonder why every barbecue place gets a four-ribs rating. The answer is easy: our group has acclaimed designers, and they think the ribs graphic looks cool.
Who are we to argue? Enjoy.
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