RE: I have sinned...BBQ in an oven
Sat, 12/17/05 8:48 AM
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permalink)
I used to run a BBQ message board based on Carolina Q. Here's something I wrote about my first experience on our church's homecoming BBQ.
Two days after Christmas, 1975, my family moved from a tiny, Mayberry-like town in the foothills of North Carolina’s Brushy mountains to the Queen City: Charlotte. My father was a Presbyterian minister. I think one of the reasons he felt comfortable moving our family from a small town to the big city was the unusual quality of our church. St. John’s Presbyterian was located in northeast
Charlotte, but it was small church, populated by a decidedly rural congregation. The church sat on a huge plot of land, with a front yard that could easily handle 2 softball games at once. Behind the church was acres of forestland, perfect for our Boy Scout troop to camp out in. These big city folks were just like us!
After enjoying the spring and summer, the church began preparing for Homecoming, a special Sunday service that hopefully attracted former members. After the service, the time honored tradition of “Dinner on the Grounds” was held. Our previous church had not done had a Homecoming Sunday, perhaps because people don’t seem to leave small towns as much.
On a September Saturday, a large part of the congregation, including my family for the first time, assembled at the church. The women tackled the interior, scrubbing, mopping and making sure everything was sparkling for the next day. The men went to work outside, mowing and raking, and anything else that needed to be done.
This once a year “fall cleaning” took the better part of the day, and after all the hard work, there was a cookout on the grounds. Fish fryers were filled with oil, and then with fish and hushpuppies. Grills were set up for burgers and dogs. There was a big pot of Brunswick stew, which I had never tasted, but it was good. Coffee pots were started, enough to last all through the night. A large fire was built on an iron grate suspended over a ring of rocks. And we filled up on great food and fellowship, watching sparks from the fire dance into the
night sky. Most folks left around 9 pm, went home to sleep and get ready for the church’s biggest crowd of the year, except for maybe
Easter and Christmas.
But a group of men stayed, and I stayed with them. A short distance away from the campfire was a row on concrete blocks
In the form of a “U”. It was about 4 feet high, and there was a large piece of plywood on top, serving as a roof. Harry Litaker took a shovel, and scooped out some of the coals that had fallen through the grate in the campfire, and moved toward the concrete u. I watched as
threw the coals under the plywood roof. In the glow of the coals, I could see there was a piece of wire fencing about a foot and a half off the ground. And on that fencing, there was the biggest pig I had ever seen in my life, split open and spread out. As I stood staring at this bizarre site, Mr. Litaker came back with a shovel full of coals. After the ground below the pig was covered with red and orange embers,
he placed another piece of plywood over the mouth of the concrete u.
Smoke begin seeping out of the top.
We went back to campfire, got a cup of coffee, and I sat and listened as the men talked. And talked. All through the night, about all sorts of things. Every so often, one would get up and throw some more oak logs on the fire, and every so often, someone would scoop up the coals and put them under the pig.
When the sun rose in the morning, I went home to take a nap, shower, and put on my Sunday suit. When I got back to the church around 9:30, the men around the campfire were making a sauce for the pig. After Sunday school, I ran back out to see what was happening. They were chopping the pig with two big meat cleavers,
and scooping the meat into trays.
I couldn’t wait for that sermon to be over. As soon as it ended, tables were brought out and set up on the front lawn. Long lines of tables, covered in flowing white cloths…and then they began filling up
with bowls and plates of every imaginable delight…fried chicken, ham,
green beans and squash, homemade biscuits, potato salad with crumbled bacon on top, pickles, macaroni and cheese, deviled eggs, rice and gravy.. A veritable cornucopia of fresh vegetables, fruits, breads, and more.
And at the end of the table, was another table. And on that table was giant trays of chopped pork, and a big bowl of a thin red sauce.
My plate was full by the time I got to the barbecue, but Buddy Wilson
used a big ladle to make enough room for the glistening, smoky meat.
I settled into an aluminum folding chair, and feasted. I went back 2 times. I could hardly move when I was finished.
I looked around at everyone else who had over eaten as I had.
There were some older ladies milling around the tables, noting that their offerings had been totally consumed. Many sipped iced tea until
finally heading home. It was a great and happy time. And I saw the small group of tired men, slowly cleaning up the cooksite, while laughing and still nibbling on crispy pieces of skin, and tender, juicy
pieces of smoky pork, and I did too. As full as I was, I couldn't stop eating it. When I finally left and went home, I realized it would be an entire year before that scene would be replayed. As I fell asleep on the couch, with a football game on the television, I could feel the sauce coursing through my veins. I was hooked. I loved barbecue.
