So I’m driving up Rt. 13 on a Friday afternoon, en route to a friend’s ordination in New Jersey. It’s two o’clock – past lunchtime. I’m debating if I should stop and eat a real lunch now and skip dinner, load up with junk snacks at the Royal Farms, wait until I get to the hotel and eat a real meal, or subject myself to the culinary self-abuse of fast food at a rest stop on the New Jersey Turnpike.

As I drive through Greenwood, my Durango veers into the left lane and turns into the gravel driveway at the Greenwood BBQ stand, drawn like a heat-seeking missile toward the rich aroma of grilling chicken coming from the cinder block kitchen.

Roadside BBQ stands are one of the glories of Delmarva dining, right up there with crab cakes, Smith Island Cake, and EVO beer. Usually run by a civic group and often operating out of a portable trailer, they fire up on weekends, serving chicken cooked with the group’s special, unique, highly prized, proprietary, we’ain’t-givin’-away-the-recipe sauce.

Most of the places are truly roadside stands, carry-out only. The Greenwood operation is a little more elaborate. For $6, the ladies of VFW Post 7478 fix a carryout box with ½ chicken, roll, and pickle. You also get your choice of a bag of chips. Large dispensers of a couple of sauces are on a side table. There’s a soda machine and picnic tables under a large pavilion. A steady banter of gossip flows between the ladies, the customers, and the cooks (all men. It’s always and only all men, whatever the location). Half of the customer s are regulars; half are casual passers-by. All are united by the finger-lickin’ joy of eating hot, juicy BBQ chicken.

Most of the regular places along Rt. 50/13/11/404 advertise their cooking weekends on marquees. But keep your eyes open for the impromptu stands that fire up at convenient intersections. They fire up early in the morning, sell until the grill is barren, then pack up and vanish – leaving nothing in the wind but the lingering scent of hickory smoke. There’s one on the southbound side of Rt. 50 between Easton and Trappe. I see him early on Saturday mornings sometimes, but he’s always gone by the time I swing by.

I’ll catch up with him sooner or later. In the meantime, there’s the stand in Pocomoke City, the one on Philip Morris Rd. just east of Salisbury, the one just past the railroad tracks in Linkwood…

So many chickens, so little time…