Thursday, July 05, 2007
Barbeque
BBQ, bar-b-q, bar-b-que, barbecue. You can argue about the spelling just about as seriously as about which is best. For my money, it's slow cooked, smoked (hickory, apple, etc), pork, mutton, beef, or chicken. I'll not argue these are the only choices; if it can be killed and grilled, it can be barbequed. I will posit that you can't really barbeque shrimp; the best you can do is grill 'em and dip 'em whereby they simply serve as a sauce delivery vehicle. The sauce is either tomato- or vinegar-base. It can be thick or thin, hot or mild, injected, basted, sprayed, or applied with a mop. Apparently these arguments reach their zenith in the Carolinas where a barbeque map allows one to pick their favorite style and skip those held inferior. And rubs. Rubs are usually dry and applied before cooking. The point is there is a vast array of often beer-fueled sins and sinful backyard delights that fall under the heading barbeque.
The 4th of July is kind of the holy, high holiday, for barbeque enthusiasts. My quest for barbeque yesterday reminded me of many things. In Madisonville, on McLeod Land, in the corner of the lot behind the VFW was a screened-in shelter. Now, I was young, a barely teen aged lad at the oldest, (meaning it was a while ago and I may not have all the details correct) but upon that shelter centers a fond memory: barbeque. We'd come across the road and queue up for the pint, quart, whatever, of that preparation. I don't know who was the chief cook. I know, however, that there were lots of helpers in red-stained aprons chopping, stirring, stoking the fires, and dispensing the stuff. I'm certainly not revealing any local secrets, but I'm sure there was beer involved even in a dry County.
Down the road, where McLeod Lane intersected with Hwy 41, there was Kyrock's. Kyrock Winstead and his family lived in the brick house next door (all gone now, I think it is a bank branch on the corner). When the wind was out of the west and Kyrock was cooking, the smell would lure us on a walk down the road for ribs and chicken. In my view, Kyrock's specialty was ribs. And that is where I learned to appreciate how barbeque was supposed to be served. All this cole slaw, baked beans, and potato salad stuff just kind of get in the way. Barbeque needs only a piece of white bread (for sopping up), a thick slice of white onion, and a big dill pickle.
The closest I have come to this kind of purity since Kyrocks was down in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, at a place called Dreamland. His was a strictly cash business managed from a cigar box. When you paid (no checks or credit cards accepted), it went into the cigar box. When he paid himself, the help, or for deliveries, cash came out of the cigar box. Dreamland had two things on the menu: a whole order of ribs or a half order. When you were served, each table got wad of paper napkins and a loaf of white bread. For chips or anything to drink (including beer), you had to go to the bar and get it yourself. If sauce wasn't dripping from your chin and elbows at some time during the sittin', you weren't eating it right.
Of course, in Kentucky, the Moonlite in Owensboro is a legendary barbeque place. Their buffet is an altar to conspicuous consumption not to be missed. At the Moonlite, you can find one barbeque delicacy that is so rare as to be labeled "regional cuisine": mutton. Not lamb, but mutton. The stronger flavor of mutton is off-putting to many who were weaned on milder beef and (often nearly tasteless) chicken, but when barbequed mutton is excellent. The cashier sits strategically between the store where you can buy sauce, take out, and t-shirts and the dining hall. Everything from soup to fried okra and banana pudding is available with barbeque in between. They have items on the menu other than the buffet, you can get a sandwich or plate which is all right for lunch. But, eat a light breakfast, skip lunch, and go to the buffet for an early dinner.
I have my own humble entry into the barbeque community. I have been elected the official smoker for the Moore Reunion. O'dell's brother Carl had an old Weber Kettle grill he used to haul down from Chicago for the reunion on July 4. O'dell and I would collect bark from some nearby Shagbark Hickory trees (careful to avoid the poison ivy) and dunk that into a bucket of water to soak. On the day of the reunion, Carl would come over and he and O'dell would fire up that Weber around sunrise and sit in lawn chairs talking. Smoked turkey's were the usual fixin's. One year, that Weber was involved in an accident and the lid was damaged. O'dell hammered it out and welded the tears in the metal and smoking continued. Carl left that grill in Frankfort and I've still got it. It is likely 25 or more years old.
I start with a rub. I'll mix dark brown sugar with just enough bourbon to make a paste. No, I don't use Eagle Rare, Booker's, or Blanton's. This year, I'll probably use Buffalo Trace. I'll season the paste with some fresh, crushed black pepper and a bit of celery salt. I'll coat ribs and pork roast with this concoction and let them sit at least 12 hours. When I put them on to smoke, I'll have a drip pan in the middle of the charcoal grate and move the charcoal and wood chips to the sides. I'll let them smoke for a couple or three hours, wrap them in foil, and cook until the roast reaches the right temperature. I'll take the drippings, the juices trapped by the foil wrap, a little more bourbon, a little commercial barbeque sauce (Jim Beam, Montgomery Inn, or other), and simmer that to serve with the meat.
It's not July 4, but the Moore Reunion is coming up. Carl has already commissioned me to prepare the smoked entree. I'm ready.
BTW, I found bar-b-que yesterday in Lawrenceburg. Very good. Beverly had steak.
The 4th of July is kind of the holy, high holiday, for barbeque enthusiasts. My quest for barbeque yesterday reminded me of many things. In Madisonville, on McLeod Land, in the corner of the lot behind the VFW was a screened-in shelter. Now, I was young, a barely teen aged lad at the oldest, (meaning it was a while ago and I may not have all the details correct) but upon that shelter centers a fond memory: barbeque. We'd come across the road and queue up for the pint, quart, whatever, of that preparation. I don't know who was the chief cook. I know, however, that there were lots of helpers in red-stained aprons chopping, stirring, stoking the fires, and dispensing the stuff. I'm certainly not revealing any local secrets, but I'm sure there was beer involved even in a dry County.
Down the road, where McLeod Lane intersected with Hwy 41, there was Kyrock's. Kyrock Winstead and his family lived in the brick house next door (all gone now, I think it is a bank branch on the corner). When the wind was out of the west and Kyrock was cooking, the smell would lure us on a walk down the road for ribs and chicken. In my view, Kyrock's specialty was ribs. And that is where I learned to appreciate how barbeque was supposed to be served. All this cole slaw, baked beans, and potato salad stuff just kind of get in the way. Barbeque needs only a piece of white bread (for sopping up), a thick slice of white onion, and a big dill pickle.
The closest I have come to this kind of purity since Kyrocks was down in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, at a place called Dreamland. His was a strictly cash business managed from a cigar box. When you paid (no checks or credit cards accepted), it went into the cigar box. When he paid himself, the help, or for deliveries, cash came out of the cigar box. Dreamland had two things on the menu: a whole order of ribs or a half order. When you were served, each table got wad of paper napkins and a loaf of white bread. For chips or anything to drink (including beer), you had to go to the bar and get it yourself. If sauce wasn't dripping from your chin and elbows at some time during the sittin', you weren't eating it right.
Of course, in Kentucky, the Moonlite in Owensboro is a legendary barbeque place. Their buffet is an altar to conspicuous consumption not to be missed. At the Moonlite, you can find one barbeque delicacy that is so rare as to be labeled "regional cuisine": mutton. Not lamb, but mutton. The stronger flavor of mutton is off-putting to many who were weaned on milder beef and (often nearly tasteless) chicken, but when barbequed mutton is excellent. The cashier sits strategically between the store where you can buy sauce, take out, and t-shirts and the dining hall. Everything from soup to fried okra and banana pudding is available with barbeque in between. They have items on the menu other than the buffet, you can get a sandwich or plate which is all right for lunch. But, eat a light breakfast, skip lunch, and go to the buffet for an early dinner.
I have my own humble entry into the barbeque community. I have been elected the official smoker for the Moore Reunion. O'dell's brother Carl had an old Weber Kettle grill he used to haul down from Chicago for the reunion on July 4. O'dell and I would collect bark from some nearby Shagbark Hickory trees (careful to avoid the poison ivy) and dunk that into a bucket of water to soak. On the day of the reunion, Carl would come over and he and O'dell would fire up that Weber around sunrise and sit in lawn chairs talking. Smoked turkey's were the usual fixin's. One year, that Weber was involved in an accident and the lid was damaged. O'dell hammered it out and welded the tears in the metal and smoking continued. Carl left that grill in Frankfort and I've still got it. It is likely 25 or more years old.
I start with a rub. I'll mix dark brown sugar with just enough bourbon to make a paste. No, I don't use Eagle Rare, Booker's, or Blanton's. This year, I'll probably use Buffalo Trace. I'll season the paste with some fresh, crushed black pepper and a bit of celery salt. I'll coat ribs and pork roast with this concoction and let them sit at least 12 hours. When I put them on to smoke, I'll have a drip pan in the middle of the charcoal grate and move the charcoal and wood chips to the sides. I'll let them smoke for a couple or three hours, wrap them in foil, and cook until the roast reaches the right temperature. I'll take the drippings, the juices trapped by the foil wrap, a little more bourbon, a little commercial barbeque sauce (Jim Beam, Montgomery Inn, or other), and simmer that to serve with the meat.
It's not July 4, but the Moore Reunion is coming up. Carl has already commissioned me to prepare the smoked entree. I'm ready.
BTW, I found bar-b-que yesterday in Lawrenceburg. Very good. Beverly had steak.
