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Beyond Grits & Gravy B Y J O H N S H E LT O N R E E D A whiff of hardwood smoke will lead you to a purposely unprepossessing barbecue joint next to the almost-as-shabby Café Mediterraneo. A large sign announces that this is the Arkansas Café. Photograph courtesy of John Shelton Reed and Dale Volberg Reed. Southerners don't go to London to eat barbecue. At least we shouldn't. But after we've been there awhile, it's understandable if we get a craving flung on us, as Jerry Clower used to say. When that happens, there's a solution. As lunchtime approaches, take the tube to Liverpool Street Station. Go outside, cross busy Bishopsgate (be sure to look right), and turn to your left. You're on the edge of the City of London, so if it's a weekday you'll be surrounded by scurrying yuppie bankers and brokers. Walk a block or so, past Artillery Lane, and turn right into Brushfield Street. (If you see the ostentatious new European Bank for Reconstruction and Development across the street on your left, you've gone too far.) Now you're entering Spitalfields, in London's East End. Ahead is Nicholas Hawksmoor's eighteenth-century Christ
Southern Cultures – University of North Carolina Press
Published: Aug 29, 2005
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