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Baker's Ribs is a House of Shame. You Should Come Visit.

Go ahead, make a little piggie of yourself.
Go ahead, make a little piggie of yourself.
Photos by Alice Laussade

"Ooh, fried brisket pie!" exclamation count: 32 Shame level: Red

"I liked the pulled-pork fried pie better than the brisket fried pie." That's you, when you go to Baker's Ribs and order fried pies. Or, maybe you'll be like, "You know what I want to do? On this day, I have decided to order a sausage sandwich plus macaroni and potato salad and a drink, all for around 10 bucks. For dessert, I will pretend it's totally normal to order a fried motherfucking brisket pie. I might even top it with some free soft serve ice cream they're offering up. Because: Amuhricka."

You will be OK with the sausage sandwich, macaroni and cheese and potato salad, even though you will describe them as "Dickey's-ish." You will enjoy your fried pies. "If they don't have these at the State Fair, they should have these at the State Fair! If they do have these at the State Fair, YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!" In this moment, you will even think to yourself, "It's totally reasonable for me to come here tomorrow for breakfast and order the breakfast fried pie with eggs, sausage and cheese in it." You, along with your fellow lunchers, will enjoy your time at Baker's Ribs.

Brisket pie: It's an entree! It's a dessert! It's a kick in your sad, sad nuts, Mr. Calorie Counter Person.
Brisket pie: It's an entree! It's a dessert! It's a kick in your sad, sad nuts, Mr. Calorie Counter Person.

And then, you will walk outside Baker's Ribs. And that's when the reality of your 3,000-calorie meal will hit you square in your sad, sad nuts. If you thought you were in barbecue heaven, you were wrong. Baker's Ribs is a food shame house.

At Baker's Ribs, dark, dark food deeds are done. People walk in pure of heart and mind, but everyone walks out ashamed. "How did I actually take a free sample of fried cherry pie after I'd eaten two fried pies, two sides and a sandwich? Did that really happen?"

Regret, fear, sadness. These will be your only friends when you exit Baker's Ribs. Later this same day, you'll see your fellow lunchers around town. They're the ones quietly crying during penance crunches. They're drinking gallons of water. They're shitting their brains out in the stall next to you and screaming, WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYDIDIEATALLTHAT?!"

If you claim to have the self-control to walk into Baker's Ribs and just order coleslaw and corn salad without calorie-bombing yourself, I laugh at you and call you a dickdouche of the highest order. Let's be real: If you see the words "pulled-pork fried pie" and you don't want to try that, we weren't ever going to be friends anyway, right?


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