“Forget baseball, apple pie, and Chevrolet. For a Southerner, it is barbeque.”
Let’s clarify immediately and with great fervor, barbeque is not an event; it is a dish. I don’t care what our Northern neighbors say. It is not a backyard gathering. You don’t go to a backyard “barbeque.” You go to the backyard to eat barbeque. Barbeque is a dish created by the soft whispers of the angels who trod before us and is as close to heaven as I wish to get until death. Good barbeque is a gift from heaven…it is not a place. Be reverent my children.
It is the morning of July 5th and as I write this, I’m in a barbeque coma courtesy of Carolus’ ribs and Jamie’s pulled pork…and potato salad courtesy of Carol Ann. Other significant coma contributors included blueberry cobbler and brown liquor. There were many other contributors and only contributions I would have added would have been mayonnaise and vinegar slaw and hash over white rice but that is a personal choice and not a coma breaker. It is a tip of the hat to my roots where barbeque came with mustard sauce and helpings of hash over rice.
It was the first Bennett family Fourth of July backyard cookout in two years. The Bennetts are our adopted family and I’m not sure who adopted whom. It was good to see folk we hadn’t seen in two years even though there was a bit of “post-Covid” trepidation. Sitting outside under shade trees and swapping stories soon reduced my anxieties…or maybe it was the brown liquor.
Backyard cookout. See how I said that? A backyard cookout. You go to a cookout…not to a barbeque. You don’t even have to serve barbeque at a cookout, you can grill things like pork, chicken, beef, roadkill, or tofu. But grillin’ ain’t barbequin’. Barbeque is slowly cooked animal parts, pork in my part of the world, over wood coals. Slow-cooked until the meat just gives up and shreds easily with two forks or falls off of the bone without any help from anything other than gravity. Sometimes eating high on the hog involves parts found low on the hog.
There is a certain barbeque etiquette. None etched in stone, and it varies from place to place but it would behoove you to learn the area’s rules before attending a cookout serving barbeque. See how I said that?
Generally, the rules involve sauces, rubs, or sides. It can involve the meat, Texas is mainly beef, for instance, other areas might be a goat or lamb, yuck, but here in South Carolina, it is pork. I reckon we all eat chicken and you can slow cook yard bird.
There are sauces and then there are sauces. Nothing to argue over. Pick one or experiment. Sauce varies here in South Carolina. Vinegar base, pepper base, both together. Mustard base, light tomato base, heavy tomato base, depending on the area. In the home of my mother, the general rule was a mustard sauce with pork, tomato sauce with chicken.
The mustard base is considered by many to be truly South Carolina’s sauce…may be. German immigrants brought it from the Fatherland to the midlands. Our new visitors told the older inhabitants they were from Deutschland, which was mistaken as Dutchland, and the reason the fork between the Broad and Saluda Rivers became known as the Dutch Fork. Dutch Fork…Deutsch Fork…”You say toe-may-toe, I say toe-mah-toe.”
The mustard sauce changes to vinegar and pepper sauces on the coast, light tomato, which is vinegar and pepper with tomato added, in the Pee Dee area, heavy tomato in the West and Northwest portions of the state…with a bit of brown sugar, root beer, or brown liquor added…sometimes. People are mostly steadfast in their allegiance to one sauce although I admit to experimentation on occasion. If a person serves you an exotic barbeque sauce like that Alabama White Sauce, thank them even if you don’t like it. It is the Southern way and good etiquette.
Steadfast allegiance but I’m not willin’ to fight a Civil War over it. No one should argue over sauces. It is almost like arguing about politics except with politics no one wins. With barbeque, everybody wins. Just don’t drown the meat in the sauce. It is meant to enhance the flavor, not cover it up…unless it is bad barbeque. One rule etched in stone: Never pre-sauce a sandwich. The amount of sauce is a personal choice.
Sides? I’m guessing we could argue all day. In the South, potato salad is a must. Corn on the cob, fried okra, baked beans, and dill pickles are quite acceptable. I fancy the pickled medley that includes pickled cauliflower and pearl onions. Just don’t call it giardiniera. Sounds too fancy for barbeque and you can leave the pickled carrots out of mine.
To slaw or not to slaw, that might be the question? I think slaw is a genetic thing. You are born to put slaw on your pulled pork sandwich, or you are not. Kind of like sugar or vinegar or mayonnaise in your slaw. Me…vinegar and mayonnaise and yes, I want it on my sandwich.
Hash or Brunswick stew? It is pretty much Brunswick stew everywhere other than the Carolinas. Once again, everywhere else is wrong. It’s hash always. Unrecognizable pig products cooked with potatoes and onions until they meld together with certain spices passed down by the ghostly hands of our past. Served over rice…white rice of course.
What is not up for debate, fellowship. You shouldn’t eat barbeque with someone you don’t like which brings me back to the Bennett clan. I like the Bennett clan. I taught with the patriarch, Carol Ann, and coached and taught her two sons Jamie and Carolus. Through them, my bride and I have become members of their extended family. I’m honored to have been invited to their July 4th celebration. Barbeque reminds me of home and the Bennett clan reminds me of family. It just doesn’t get much better than that.
I need to take a nap. My barbeque coma is about to win out.
Barbecue or Barbeque. I spelled it barbeque because it is a bit archaic, like me, and because it was spelled that way where I grew up.