
“Food was bussin,” declares the graffiti on the plywood wall. As the glistening juices from the pork rib I’m devouring trickle down my fingers, I can’t say I disagree. The sweet, sticky pork skin glues itself to my fingertips, while smoke wafts from the drum barbecue outside. Southern accents holler from the kitchen over the radio, while locals banter and the cash till bleeps, signalling another happy customer.
Settled at a pink Formica-top table and on a squeaky brown faux-leather seat, I’m feeling at home at Betty’s Place in the rural town of Indianola, Mississippi. This $15 (£12.65) plate of meat and two sides is proving good value. I quiz my server, Darcia, a cheerful lady in her 50s wearing big hooped earrings and a grease-stained burgundy apron, about what spices are in the rub. She taps her nose and smiles: “The rub is every chef’s secret.”