Although Roy didn’t hike this week, we had his face. Trail Master Guy is our selfie shutterbug, so his head is usually prominent (plus, it’s an enormous noggin to begin with). Because Roy razzes him about this, Guy acquired a Sigmund Freud face pillow that resembles Roy’s mug.
Or perhaps it's a Roy Trimble face pillow that resembles Sigmund Freud. Curiously, the pillow kept asking us how we felt about every little thing and considered an hour to be only 50 minutes. The pillow charged each of us $200 and suggested we schedule many more sessions in the future “to sort things out.”
We took a selfie with Freud substituting for Roy. His soft, large head dwarfs Trail Master’s. Guy threw the pillow back into his Jeep and led the hike with George, Brad, Steve, and Patrick. If we were to psychoanalyze Guy's vindictive actions with the pillow, we’d get a clearer picture of his relationship with Roy and his view of his own self-worth. This is deep stuff and maybe we should let the pillow get to the bottom of it.
Meanwhile, Flesh Roy was home waiting for a dishwasher repairman and being hopeful about joining us for food. Missing a hike is fine, but missing a barbecue lunch is tragic.
Although the Bull Sluice Lake Trail is short, its excellent elevations force your heart to work and earn its keep. The view is also mighty pretty.
Remember when the little mop-top Annie sang, "The sun will come up tomorrow”? She was a liar. It had been cloudy all week, and there was no sunshine, which we love when hiking. Direct sunlight burns us to a crisp and drains our batteries fast (and we don’t have full charges to begin with). The autumn colors were beautiful. Mother Nature was flexing.
Patrick announced that he had scheduled robotic-assisted knee replacement surgery. In the past 15 years, his arthritic body has suffered four hip operations (the first two were with bogus equipment and had to be redone again––OUCH!). His right knee was replaced six years ago, and now the left one is shot, so he’ll be getting surgery on December 27th. Happy Holidays, Patrick! Santa’s got a new fake knee in his bag for the limping Trailhead!
When finished, Patrick will be the Six Million Dollar Man. According to The Google, that would be an astronomical 28 billion dollars today. We wondered if Patrick was truly worth $28 billion. We like him and all, but you know, do we like him that much? He may single-handedly bust Medicare, so get your healthcare licks in while you can, America.
The other five Trailheads are all running on their original joint equipment (lucky stiffs). While they claimed they’ll miss Patrick when he’s out recuperating, Guy will scour the internet for a pillow face that resembles him and writes better. It shouldn’t be too difficult. Pillows may eventually do all our hiking. Roy's cool with that.
On the trail, we met Cliff, originally from Long Island, walking his dog. The dogs introduced themselves and played. Cliff was such a nice fellow that we asked him to substitute for Roy and the Freud pillow.
He did, and he performed a great job. He’s a natural. Roy is fearful (or relieved) that someone is warming up in the bullpen. Cliff was taken aback when he learned how many t-shirts, hoodies, and caps he would have to buy to replace Roy. You can get yours here––ALL profits go to Chattahoochee National Park Conservancy. Do good, look great.
Later, we met another Long Islander, Stuart, with his dog. Guy talked with Stuart about UGA football because all Long Islanders follow Georgia football. Although Stuart’s dog is an Auburn fan, remarkably, Fio got along with it.
Wrapping up the trail, we continued walking on a winding, wide sidewalk along the lake. It had that fresh concrete smell with no guardrails to restrain from a misstep that would plunge one into the water. There was also no cover overhead. This would be a death march on a hot sunny day, but it was perfect with clouds and cool temps.
The dogs went for a dip, and a drink (Grey Goose martinis, up-chilled with olives), and Trail Master instructed his troops about what was “over yonder in these parts.” He knows his Sandy Springs community.
Brad went to fish Elvis out of the water, and we continued hiking, texting Roy our lunch plans. He said he’d join us to eat. The man has his priorities straight.
Our barbecue destination was Morty’s Meat & Supply, a terrific barbecue joint in Dunwoody. We last visited Morty almost a year ago (read about it here). The friendly day manager, Tyler, remembered our motley crew. He even forgave us for getting his name wrong in our first review, which we’ve since corrected. Our memories are not what they once were. Or ever were. What were we talking about again?
A bright neon sign on the wall proclaims Smokin’ The Good Stuff, which we attest is accurate. We’re impressed with the food and service here.
Morty's name does not scream barbecue. But it's their thing, and they do it all very well.
Roy joined us for lunch, which was good since the Freud pillow is not a great conversationalist. Tyler now had a complete set of human Trailheads. God help him. We placed our orders.
We love the patio and courtyard outside Morty’s. There is lots of space and a TV with a screen big enough to be seen from Mars. When our food arrived, we dug in greedily, a fork in one hand, and the other arm’s elbow lifted to block sneak attacks on our food.
The brisket here is a knockout. It’s fork-tender and suffused with a delectable smoky flavor. It's moist but not too fatty. Do not miss the brisket. And if you do, get some to go.
The pulled pork is terrific. Steve, our PP expert, proclaimed Morty’s version a winner: “Great flavor, a kiss of smoke, and tender as anything.” We looked at each other and wondered what "anything" signified, but we decided only Freud could tease that out of Steve.
The chicken wings are also wonderful. They’re meaty and seasoned with a savory dash of seasonings that make the wings take flight. Watch how fast they land on the plates as bones.
Then there are the amazing spareribs. While these are not the biggest ribs in the barbecue business, they are some of the most flavorful. Morty’s ribs are meaty, smoky, and delectable. The meat-to-bone ratio is excellent. Yum-yum, eat ‘em up! We did.
Roy sampled the pre-Thanksgiving smoked turkey. Thick slabs of lean, smoky gobbler arrived and soon departed.
Brad enjoyed the daily sausage special, which soon became the missing link. Did we really say that? Or did Patrick ask ChatGPT to offer up some Dad-worthy lines?
The sides are also stellar. The fries are shaped like potato waves with curls, fried crisp, and dusted with a combo of delicious spices. Morty transforms ordinary spuds into flavor sensations. Guy offered to share them and regretted it when hands attacked from all sides.
Creamed corn is the ultimate comfort food, and this version is creamy, sweet, belly love.
The slaw is also first-rate. Morty makes cabbage magic, and you’ll make it vanish.
Brussels Sprouts are charred balls of glory seasoned with a sweet little something that makes them delectable—and maybe even nutritious. Why not?
Roy thought he ordered Brussels Sprouts but got broccoli casserole instead. Who knows–– they're both green. This dish was cheese and tasty.
We sat around and gave the appreciative dogs our scraps. Tyler came by with one of those gizmos that gives you the check, and you insert your credit card into it for payment. This seemed a little extreme. “You mean we have to pay for our food?” we asked.
He replied it was a Dunwoody custom, so we paid happily. It was well worth it.
We relaxed, and some of us got boxes for leftovers. Trailheads considered solving all the world’s problems, but we only did a few. It’s always good to leave some meat on the bone for next time. And there's plenty of meat to go around these days.
Get yourself to Morty’s Meat & Supply soon. They smoke the good stuff. Ask for Tyler. He’ll
deny knowing us. Smart man.
Rating: Four Ribs*
Morty's Meat & Supply
5509 Chamblee-Dunwoody Road
Dunwoody, GA 30338
(770) 525-3443
*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.
Our 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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