Elvis and Barbecue Have Never Let Me Down

If I had to make a list of the most dependable things in my life, it would be a pretty short list. I’ve lost a ton of faith in humanity over the years, my favorite TV shows keep getting cancelled, and I’m pretty sure my smartphone is plotting against me. But there are two things that have never, ever let me down: Elvis Presley and barbecue.

Odd pairing? Maybe. But in a year when life felt like it was being written by John Steinbeck and directed by Tim Burton, they’ve been my lifelines. And what I’ve come to realize is that we all need something—some small, dependable comforting go-to— that can anchor us when everything else goes sideways.

This weekend, my dad and I made our third pilgrimage to a barbecue restaurant since my mom passed away. It’s become our thing, I suppose – two guys who’ve been through the wringer, seeking solace in pulled pork and brisket. After losing my Mom and then having a stillborn daughter, if ever a family was searching for comfort, it’s us. Barbecue is there for you when you don’t have words. Sure, we made small talk and shared a few things that had been on our minds, but mostly, we just paused, took a breath, and had a light moment to enjoy something during a year that has been filled with darkness and sadness.

I’m convinced barbecue is the ultimate comfort food. When life decides to use you as a punching bag, barbecue doesn’t judge. It doesn’t offer unsolicited advice or tell you everything happens for a reason. It just sits there on your plate, reliable as sunrise, ready to remind you that some things in this world are still good and right.

Whether you’re celebrating a promotion or mourning a loss, barbecue shows up. It’s the friend who brings casseroles during tough times, except it’s better because it’s an older friend and it’s much heartier. It shows up in the smokey, tangy, finger-licking moments that quietly insist, “You’re still here. Keep going.”

And then there’s Elvis.

I’ve loved Elvis since second grade, when I discovered that sequins and pajamas make an excellent concert outfit for living room performances. My poor parents endured countless renditions of “Love Me Tender” and “Suspicious Minds” delivered with all the dramatic flair a seven-year-old could muster.

The first concert I ever attended was technically Elvis, despite the minor detail that he’d already been dead for a while before I was even born. It was one of those biographical shows at The Fox Theatre with impersonators singing his greatest hits. Sure, it wasn’t the real deal, but when you’re nine years old and hearing “Hound Dog” performed by a guy in a rhinestone jumpsuit, authenticity takes a backseat to pure entertainment.

I’ve always preferred the later Elvis – the one who’d been through a divorce, gained some weight, and could take any song and make a cover that sounded like he’d written it himself.

They say music is always more beautiful coming from a broken heart, and I’m a firm believer in that theory. Nothing has ever soothed my soul during tough times quite like listening to Elvis when he was clearly soothing his own.

There’s something comforting about knowing that even the King of Rock and Roll had his struggles. When I’m having a rough day, I can put on “You Gave Me a Mountain” or “My Way” and know that Elvis gets it. He’s been there, done that, and bought the jumpsuit.

In the chaos of grief, when words fail and well-meaning people say all the wrong things, Elvis croons what I can’t express. And brisket speaks the language of stubborn, delicious survival. Together, they’ve become my unofficial emotional support system.

So here’s to Elvis and barbecue – two constants that have carried me through life’s most challenging periods. They may not solve all my problems, but they sure make them easier to swallow. And in a world where nothing seems certain anymore, I’ll take all the reliability I can get.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go practice my Elvis moves. These sequined pajamas aren’t going to wear themselves.