Dixie’s BBQ – The Art of Telling a Good Story

Have you met “The Man”?

If you know what I’m talking about, you a) probably live near-abouts Seattle and b) have taken the time to visit Dixie’s BBQ/Porter Automotive in Bellevue.

David over at Marketing Begins at Home chimes in on Seth Godin’s new book theme of it’s not about advertising, or major marketing campaigns – it’s all about telling the story. David’s comment is about a local joint near where they both live, and he asks I wonder if anyone can ever get Stew’s if you haven’t been to Stew’s.

Same goes with Dixie’s. This place is iconic. On a summer afternoon, in a converted garage hidden behind non-descript office and medical buildings, you will see lines of business-types and too expensive cars piled up waiting for some BBQ. It’s impossible to find, and definitely not a place you would unknowingly drive by and think “hey, that looks nice, let’s pop in there for lunch!”

It’s BBQ of the highest order, with a hell of a lot of personality. They have no need for real advertising, because their STORY is so powerful. Gene and Dixie have made some savvy moves – the ubiquitous “I met the Man” bumper stickers, the prime vendor location at Safeco Field. But what makes the place is the story, pure and simple.

If you haven’t been there, it’s hard to “get”. So let me share my first experience there and help spread the Dixie story (photo is from the  Seattle PI story)

Arriving there…and meeting Gene:
First off, I got lost. Lived here 8 years, worked not 3 blocks from the place, still had no clue where it was. Drove around for 20 minutes until I finally figured it out – “THAT is the restaurant everyone’s been yappin’ about? You’re kidding right?”

But I was committed to a lunch date on a summer work day, to help plan a buddy’s bachelor party (there are worse working lunch topics to have, I admit). So I pulled in, behind a line of cars to an impossibly small lot outside an autobody shop (so I thought), and there I met Gene.

Standing out IN THE PARKING LOT in apron, hat, and holding a pot and ladle. I would find out later the pot contained “The Man”, but I’ll share that in a moment. I go for a parking spot…Gene didn’t like my choice. So he whips out the ladle and starts directing traffic in a not-so-subtle commanding voice. This was a man I was going to listen to…park over there? Done. No argument.

Ordering:
20 minutes of standing in line, surrounded by people with every kind of geek-communicator strapped to their hips, next to their secure ID badges of all varietes, many in suits. As I work my way up to the counter, people around me are whispering – “don’t piss Dixie off…know what you want when you get there and order it fast!” What the hell?

At the counter – “beef brisquet please!” I yell, after noticing the guy right in front of me get castigated by this fantastically commanding woman behind the counter (Dixie, far as I could tell…still not sure) for taking more than 5.2 seconds to consider his order choices.

Fire and clear…that’s the advice on ordering. Get your order out, pay, and get the hell out of the way. I saw guys who had to be Corp VP’s running billion dollar businesses look cowed by Dixie. Impressive.

The food…and meeting “The Man”
Grabbed my order, and joined my friends at an outside table, taking the long way around the still traffic-directing and shouting Gene to get there. My luck, Gene decides right then to move to the row of tables and berate people (in an oddly friendly way that inspires a good laugh…you really just have to experience it…) with “Have you met the MAN??!?” I hadn’t, and didn’t want to out of concern for my entire digestive track, so I tried to look inconspicous in the way 6th graders who haven’t done their homework try. Which of course means Gene targets me. He smells fear, I think.

“Have YOU MET THE MAN?!?!?” booms over our table. “Oh s**t!” I say to myself. My friends each go “yep, I met the man…and I was humbled by him” thereby saving themselves. Gene appears to recognize honesty. The Feds should hire this guy for security clearance work. I…I should have said that, but again like a kid getting caught by someone obviously omnipotent, I couldn’t bring myself to lie to him. So I meekly eeked out “ah, no, I haven’t”.

The ladle comes out, loaded with this purplish-red-chunky-Dear-God-what-IS-that “sauce” (aka…”the Man”). A nice glop of it hits the side of my plate. I stare. Gene doesn’t take hesitation well – “Eat it…EAT IT!”

I swear I had only about a pinhead sized portion of it…

Initial Contact (“D-Minute”): “Eh, not bad…a bit spicy, but I’ve had worse. What’s all this talk about The Man anyway?”

D+30 Seconds: “Wow, a bit hot there…kind of hits you in the throat”

D+1 Minute: “Ummm…I think my esophagus just went numb. Is that supposed to happen?”

D+1 Minute 10 Seconds: “I think an incendiary grenade just popped off in my stomach. Kinda tingly in a something’s-going-horribly-wrong sort of way.”

D+ 1 Minute 20 Seconds: “I…need…<GASP>…water…<GASP><COUGH><COUGH>…what…the hell is IN THIS STUFF???”

Gene: Laughing. Nice. I need an ambulance, or at least a firehose inserted down my throat, and he’s laughing.

Needless to say, I was humbled. I met “The Man” and he got the best of me.

1 minute later, I hear a pour soul at the next table proudly tell Gene: “Bring him on…I’ve had worse.”

I still don’t know if he walked out on his own power.

The Story
Dixie’s is a local legend, in humble suburbia Bellevue. As David mentioned when referring to his local place, you just have to experience it in order to “get it.” It thrives based on the story it has built up, which is worth 1,000 ads dropped in local papers. Pure word of mouth and quality of product plus a great story. That is quality marketing, with not a single “statement of work” or “campaign bill of materials” generated.