Should Old Butt Rubs be forgot?

Should old butt rubs be forgot,

and never rubbed again?

Should old sauces be poured out?

they might clog up the drain.

For clogging up the drain my friend

Is not for what they're ment

For clogging up the drain my friend

Is a sauce that that's badly spent

Should old butt rubs be forgot,

and never rubbed again?

Not if you want the finest ribs

that ever graced a plate.

Happy New Year!

Watch the Rebels Tomorrow at the Cotton Bowl!

'Twas the Night Before Christmas - BBQ style

Courtesy of "I Smell Smoke"...

`Twas the night before Christmas and all through the tent
Not a creature was stirring – all were spent.
The knives were laid out on the counter with care,
A haze of sweet smelling smoke filled the air.
Then what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a big, scruffy guy, holding a beer.
His beard was red and oh so thick,
I knew in a moment it wasn't Saint Nick.
And more rapid than eagles his team members came,
As he shouted "I Smell Smoke!!!" and each team member's name.
And so out to the cooker the team members flew,
With their arms full of lettuce and curly parsley too.
To the cooker he came with a leap and a bound,
He was dressed all in flannel and his belly was round.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And pulled out the meat, then turned with a jerk.
He filled the container with piles of pork,
Slices and strands, which he pulled with a fork.
And I heard them exclaim, as they always joke,
Bring the judges our meat – I Smell Smoke!!!"

Carlotta
ISS!!!

My brother can' fly, but he is bullet proof

When I was about 5, and my brother Matt was about 3, we used to get up every Saturday morning at 6:00 to watch Superman on WREC-TV out of Memphis. Because he had a Superman suit, my brother believed he could fly just like Superman. I wasn't stupid. I knew he couldn't fly, and I told him so. He didn't believe me, and one day, he stacked up three footstools. He climbed up on top of them. He must have been about 3 1/2 or 4 feet in the air. He stood there, insisting he could fly just like Superman. I told him he could not fly, and we went back and forth for a while until finally I said 'ok, prove it!'. He dove off the footstools, and I was right. He couldn't fly. He gave it a good effort...perfect form..arms straight out in front...absolutely prone... and he landed on the hard linolimum floor flat on his belly. It shook the house so much that mom looked over and saw Matt laying on the floor turning blue.

How does this relate to barbeque, you must be wondering. Here's how. When you go to the diner at the place where you work, and the chef proudly tells you that he's serving barbequed pulled pork, you just need to eat it. Quietly eat it...and smile a lot. What ever you do, when the chef asks you how you like it, tell him you like it just fine. Sometimes, it doesn't pay to tell folks something they don't want to hear. Let them believe what they want. If they don't know that you can't barbeque in a gas oven, don't be the one to tell them. It will only piss them off.

Back to Matt...just after he dove off the footstools, Dad walked in. Dad managed to get Matt to breathing again, and Mom wore my ass out for...for...well, I still don't know why I got my ass beat. What I do know is that later, when Mom was holding Matt, and he had his head laid on her shoulder, he looked over at me. His blue eyes were really set off by the Superman suit. He looked at me with tears still in his eyes and softly he said "Bullets will bounce off of me."

I let that one go.

A Dog's Life

I first met Nellie when, after drinking for a few hours at CW's house, Landi and I had to attend a function at the Big Fat Head's house. The Big Fat Head was what we called the head of school that our children attended. We had never been to the Big Fat Head's house before. It wasn't hard to find, and we parked among the other cars and walked into the house....the wrong house. Into Brother Jeff's house, who was quite surprised to see us. And we determined at that moment that Nellie was much more of a 'greeter' type dog, than a guard dog. Nellie was happy to see us too. So after petting Nellie and chatting with Brother Jeff, we left, walked next door, and staggered into the function. We both would have prefered to stay at Jeff's petting his dog and drinking his liquor. Nellie passed away last spring.

Spanky first greeted me with an abrupt package check. I don't remember exactly how many years ago it was, but it certainly caught me by surprise at the Christmas party. I'll not say that he was a chronic crotch sniffer, but I suspect that Spanky became acquointed with everyone at the party. I had a good time watching Spankey do the 'nose' thing. The expressions on the faces of the unsuspecting guests were just priceless. Spanky wouldn't be much of a watch dog either. He was happy to see everyone, and I suspect that everyone was happy to see him. Spanky passed away last week.

Buckwheat was imported. He arrived in New Jersey on a flight from Memphis in Janurary of '95. Jordan picked him out of a litter of 8 in an Arkansas town so small that the only building in town had collapsed back in the 50's and no one had bothered to build it back....but this place was still a town. Just ask either of the people who lived there. Buck lived a life of leasure. He used the pool more than any of us. He took naps where ever and when ever he wanted to. He taught Catfish to pee in the yard, and to turn around 3 times before laying down for a nap. He did make it tough to potty train Catfish. According to Catfish, it was Buckwheat who was putting poop in his diaper. Buck passed away in September.

Someone once said that if we are lucky, we find maybe two good friends in the course of our lives. I am quite sure that this person never had a dog. Nellie, Spanky, and Buck all were our good friends. They listened to us when we need to talk. They comforted us when we were sad. They danced through our lives without ever contemplating their own mortality. and left us with only smiles and fond memories.

Let us each strive to be the person these great friends thought that we were. May they rest in peace.

Rehab is for Quitters

It's December. For hard core barbeque folks, it truely is the winter of our discontent. It's damp, and cold, and it's going to get damper and colder before it gets warmer. That's the bad news. The good news is that finally, after two months of limping around bitching about my knee, I have had my knee surgically repaired....by a real doctor...not one of the mail-order imported surgeons.

It took a while to get it done because between my thyriod and my blood pressure, the doc's weren't real excited about knocking me out to do it. So, finally we got enough alcohol out of my system that my thyroid values appeared ok, and my blood pressure got right, and the doc opened my knee up and poked around in there with a stick and it is all better.

So, today I start rehab. I have always said that rehab is for quitters, but this isn't that kind of rehab. I can take bourbon....or....let me rephrase that...I am taking bourbon to rehab. This isn't one of those deals like one of my Arkansas buddies had where they took turns on who would bring the beer to the AA meeting. This is knee fixing re-hab, which means they don't have any qualms about bourbon. In fact, if they expect me to put any weight on this wobbly ass knee, there is going to have to be a cocktail at the end of the damn rainbow.

Finally, as we draw nearer to the superbowl, just a heads up.....the party is on. The whole team is invited. I'll send a general invite out later. By supersunday, I should be walking without a cane, crutches or limp....unless Landi breaks my other leg.

May the force be with you....

-Bill

Note to self

It's been a rough couple of weeks.

Two weeks ago, I learned that most 11 year old boys can not distinguish between a heart attack, and a blown knee. I've never had a heart attack, but now I have a blown ACL, torn miniscus, and a fractured tibia. Note to self number one: Next time the doc says, here's some pain meds...take them.

The next day, I barbequed for 100 American Legionairs and had a hell of a time. The gave me a bottle of bourbon. Note to self number two: Don't stand on a blown knee for 6 hours drinking bourbon.

One week ago, I learned that if the Good Lord let's you know that it's time for Buckwheat to take a dirt nap, he'll throw you a bone by having the Rebels beat the Gators in the Swamp. Note to self number three: It ain't a good bargin. Buck was a fine dog.

This morning, I noticed that I am low on bourbon again.

Note to self number four: Buy bigger bottles of bourbon.

A Special Time of Year

Sometimes, you don't have to look at the calendar to have it really soak in, that Summer is gone, and that Fall has arrived. You notice one day that the trees are begining to drop their leaves. It's cooler in the mornings. Kids are back in school. Schools sports have kicked off, and weekend barbeques are mostly for local clubs and not competitions. It's a good time of year.

The cool weather makes for good barbeque. The mellow aroma of hickory smoke lingers just a little before the breeze shares it with the neighborhood. Neighbors bearing bourbon begin stopping by. Hell, strangers bearing bourbon stop by, and suddenly everyone likes my taste in music, loves the Ole Miss Rebels, and adamantly insists that bourbon is a legitimate breakfast drink.

Nothing brings people together quite like bourbon and barbeque. There's something special about a bunch of folks getting together around a huge smoker, sipping bourbon, and singing outlaw country music at the top of their lungs as the sun crawls up over the horizon. You just know it's going to be a great day.

Cheers.

Labor Day Barbeque Advice

Where I grew up, it's still hot. Labor Day was always hot. Hell, it's gonna be hot down there for another month or two. And the skeeters are as big as rabid flying vampire turkeys. They rove in flocks so thick they can blot out the sun and cause a mini-eclipse. I've seen small cars completely demolished simply by driving into a flock of mosquitoes....or rabid vampire turkeys. While skeeters don't officially celebrate labor day the way we do, they do a pretty good impression of Thanksgiving....only we're what's for dinner.

So, the first bit of wisdom for Labor Day is to start the day right. Neither skeeters nor turkey's like the taste of bourbon, so first thing in the morning, have a nice tall bourbon and water to start the day right. If it looks like it might be hot, have two just in case. Keep the bottle handy for emergency application.

Second, get ready for the barbeque. Remember, you don't barbeque burgers, steaks, hotdogs or veggie burgers. Those are grilled and given to the kids. If you are doing a shoulder, drink a lot right now because everyone is goingto be pissed when you tell them the shoulder isn't done. It's not going to get done today. It's too damn late to do a shoulder. You should have started your shoulder yesterday. If you're doing ribs or yardbird, you still ok...for now.

Build a fire, but be careful doing it. Since you've been drinking since dawn, accidental fires are a real threat and generally piss off your wife and the neighbors. After building the fire, you should probably skip marching in any parades. In addition to being drunk, somehow you've probably managed to burn your eyebrows off, and get covered with soot.

Once the fire gets right, check for skeeters, and take more anti-skeeter medicine. Put what ever it is you're barbequing, on the grill in the smoker. Notice that when you put something on the grill in the smoker, you're going to smoke what's on the grill, but you're not going to grill it. To grill it, you'd put it on the grill on the grill. This isn't grill, it's a smoker. Have more bourbon.
It get's easier.

Now, take a nap. It's labor day. It's ok to take a nap before noon on labor day when you're fighing skeeters, rabid vampire turkeys, and barbequing ribs. It's the American way.

The Ghost of Henry Hudson meets Murphy

The year before last, a sudden monsoon swept throught the Hudson Valley Ribfest, but it couldn't dampen the spirits of the 50 some odd teams who were barbequing through the night.

Last year at the contest, a microburst storm blew half the tents into Canada, and flash!bang! lightening blinded and deafened the survivors.

This year the Ghost of Henry Hudson went all out. No rain could stop us. No wind could stop us. No lightening! No thunder! Nope. None of that. Henry Hudson's Ghost sought help. Help in the form of Murphy.

One stinking 300 gig disk in a half million dollar highly avaialble, high performance disk array sitting in a data center in New Jersey screwed me to the wall. It didn't fail. It degraded. A disk failure would have been zero impact. The array would have handled it without problem. Degradation is another matter.

It's impact caused a two day application move to morph into a 16 day night of the living dead.

Needless to say, When the Ghost of Henry Hudson involks Murphy's Law, the Memphis Barbeque Company is screwed. We didn't go to Hudson Valley this year. Not to worry, friends and neighbors, we'll be back next year.

How to barbeque ribs: Part One

When you set out to barbeque, the very first thing you got to do, is get your head to the right place. If you are not happy, at peace, and calm, your barbequed ribs are not going to be happy. So, take 4 cubes of Ice, place them in a tall glass, fill with four fingers of Maker's Mark, or Knob Creek, and spash with water. Wine snobs swerle wine in a glass. True conissoures of fine bourbon just smile real big, give them the finger and sip the bourbon.

To get your head right, frequently it takes music. Music soothes the beast. It soothes me, too. Your selection of tunes is critical. It is a scientific fact that you can not barbeue while listening to Disco. The meat sours and the fire goes out. Polkas are out, too, but only because it drives all your friends away. Rap music isn't good because it draws gunfire.

Yep, the very best barbeque music is Outlaw Country. No...not that crap by Kenny Chesney, or Garth Brooks. That's not country, that's just crap. I'm talking Jerry Jeff Walker, David Allen Coe, and Delbert. Put that stuff on, and your fire will damn near light itself.

So, thus ends lesson one in the fine art of the barbequing of ribs.

Key points...Drink good bourbon and listen to good country music.

Lesson Two to follow....

The First Barbeque

I've been asked a number of times about how I got started doing barbeque. As best as I can remember, this is how it happened. I'm not saying this is 100% accurate, but this is my story, and I'm sticking to it.

When I was about 16 or 17, the man who took care of my dad's cattle had a stroke and died. Dad took advantage of this opportunity to exile me to a cattle farm located 16 miles north on Jonesboro Arkansas, on highway 141. I was responsible for 200 head of registered Brangus cattle.

So, I'm living in a trailer on a hill in the boondocks of Arkansas with 200 expensive ass cattle, and the county line beer joint is only two miles away byway of my pastures. No a bad setup, if I do say so my self. I used to ride my horse to the beer joint, but that's a whole other story.

So, late one night I was driving back to the farm when something ran out of the woods and I hit it. What ever it was flew up and over my truck, and I skidded to a stop. I got out and ran back to see what I had hit. It was a deer...a doe. She wasn't dead, so I went back to my truck and got my pistol, and I shot her to put her out of her misery. I made a call on my CB radio and asked whoever answsered me to call the State Police so I could get an accident report.

It wasn't long before an Arkansas State Trooper pulled up. He was a big guy. He first looked at my truck, and asked if I was hurt. I told him I wasn't. He went over to the deer. He looked down at her, and then he looked at me and said "This deer has a gunshot wound."

I had to explain that the deer wasn't killed by the impact, so I shot her to put her out of her misery. He was cool with that. After that, we got down to business. I gave him my licenses, and he looked at it, and said "Boy, are you Doc's boy?"

I said 'Yes sir.'

Nothing much else was said until the trooper asked me what I was going to do with the deer. I told him that I was going to have a party. I told him I figured I'd cook it the next day. With that, he gave me my accident report. I loaded the deer in the back of my truck, and the trooper drove off.

The next morning, I called a few friends, and invited them over for a barbeque. Johnny made a run to the line and got a quarter keg of beer. Barry showed up with some tequila. Slater arrived with bourbon. I got the backhoe and dug us a pit. We built a fire, and used the headache rack of the dozer to hold the deer. We settled in for some serious drinking and shooting. Did I mention that we had a bunch of guns?

Living out in the boonies and having access to a bulldozer provides certain opportunities. One of these is the ability to construct a shooting range. I had cleared a shooting range down a draw with barrels set at 100, 150 and 300 yards. I had some short targets at 25 and 50 feet for pistols. Let me say now, that there is nothing in this world that is more fun than handguns and tequila. We shot for a while, and then went back to the fire and the keg.

Me, Johnny, Barry and Slater are setting there talking and drinking, and reflecting on how life just doesn't get any better than this when suddenly, with not a word of explaination, they all jumped up, and sprinted across the corral, jumped the fence, and disappeared into the woods. Even being drunk, I knew this was odd behavior, so I looked behind me.

Three Arkansas State Police cars were pulling into the drive.

I was 16 or 17 years old, in possession of a keg of beer, a couple bottles of whiskey and tequila, about a dozen weapons, an untaged deer on the grill....and I was drunk.

So, I figured it was a pretty sure thing that I was going to jail.

Wrong! The Trooper who did my accident report had come over and brought a couple of frinds to the barbeque. As they made a bee line to the keg, I realized that they had come to party, so I started showing off the attractions. First, I showed them the horses. We had six, and I figured they might want to ride. Then I showed them my shooting range. I was a little nervous about showing them the weapons, because a few of them may not have been legal. One of the troopers, took a great deal of interest in the weapons. I was nervous. I didn't want to lose a weapon, so I took a 30-30, and started demonstrating my shooting ability. I thought I was pretty impressive. Apparently, I wasn't.

One of the troopers went back to his car. He came back with a very impressive rifle, equiped with a very impressive scope, and the fun began.

While all this shooting was going on, one by one, Johnny, Barry and Slater all came back in from the woods. I guess all the gunfire was a good sign to them. So, they came back, and I introduced them to my new friends the State Troopers. We all shot weapons all afternoon while the deer cooked. When we finally ate, we were out of ammo, and damn near out of beer, so Barry and one of the State Troopers made a beer run. It was clear to all of us that if you have to make a beer run after you've been drinking for about 7 or 8 hours, it's best if you have a State Trooper drive. They rarely get pulled over.

It was a couple of days later that I realized that barbequing was a lot of fun. Hell, it's fun even if you don't drink heavily and play with guns.

So, that was the very first barbeque that I was responsible for.

Dead Cow?

OK, gentleman. You all (or is it all y'all?) wanted this blog. But there's a serious deficiency of contributions from all but Bill and myself.

So PLEASE - feel free to jump on in!

It was suggested we book another Dead Cow Night. I couldn't agree more. I thought we might get a review of Front Street Smokehouse and Saloon up here, but we haven't gotten to that yet. But let's figure our next rendezvous. How about the place that Gerard suggested...RUB hut? In Manville? They were down in Yardley, too. (And they whipped us like a dead mule, like almost everyone else did.)

By the way...are we a cult? One must wonder. Do we qualify? Check out this site... http://www.cultdeadcow.com/

(Wikipedia says they're a hacker.)

So - let's figure a date, before our next contest. Please - do chip in, here.

Bob

A Hot Day in Yardley

Dateline: South Plainfield....air conditioned

Not to be redundant, but it was hot. Just before dawn on Sunday, I looked down at the dusty road beside our site, and the rocks were sweating. That's a bad sign.

I knew that once the sun got fully above the horizon, and daylight hit us, we'd feel like lettuce under a heat lamp. I knew it would be important to keep our bodily fluids replentished. I realized that though we had plenty of water and ice, I had grossly underestimated the amount of bourbon I would need this hot, hot morning. If I managed my supply carefully, I might make it to noon, but after that, it was going to get..dusty. I looked at my bourbon and water sweating in my glass, and realized that this competition was really getting deadly serious.

It was time to get out the long knives. As usual, during prep and turn-in, we worked like crack addled squirrels searching for nutts in a mid winter jicker. Wirlwinds of motion, followed by surgical precision, the presentations were ballets. From a distance, I imagine activity surrounding the assemblage of the entries resembles the graceful, and strange beauty of a tornado chewing threw a forrest when view from afar, when viewed from afar. Maybe not. Up close, kinda like it to...lot's of 'Holy S*it!' moments. I realize that maybe I'd better slow up on the bourbon, or I may not make it to noon.

Despite our presentations being art, and our Chicken, Ribs, Brisket, and Pork being fantastic, all our scores pretty much sucked. The brisket and chicken were 35th. The ribs and pulled pork were worse. We were all disappointed. I know Brother Bob wasn't happy with the way the Brisket cooked, but I was sure happy with how it turned out. I have to say it again....nobody rubs a brisket quite like Bob. Bob is a Brisket rubber par excellance! I would encourage everyone to ask Bob to rub their brisked for them.

The Chicken was just smoked and covered with sauce, so I was surprised that it did so well. Strange vistiors from another world must have abducted our ribs and replaced them with ribs taken from an abductee because it's just not possible for the ribs we turned in to have placed 47 out of 57 entries. Bob and Landi suggested that perhaps the judges just didn't appreciate Memphis Dry Rubbed Ribs. Seriously, how likely is that?

The Pulled pork wasn't DAL (Dead Ass Last), but when you're in the 50's, you don't have anything to brag about.

I should mention that our Mississippi crew, Casual Smoker, did great in deserts, 3rd in Chicken and 1st for brisket. The big daddy of the team is actually from Kansas City, but obviously has family roots in Mississippi.

Well. It's Monday morning. Work becons. More updates with pictures later.

Morning has broken...

Dateline: Yardley, Pa.

Dawn has greeted the 57 barbeque teams gathered in the pasture like a teenage mugger with a zip gun. It's getting hot. It's going to get uncomfortable....and because we are near the honey cart, it's going to smell....sometimes bad. Very bad.

The good news is that the night went well. I have roughly half my whisky left. Bob is well, and appears to still be breathing. A good sign. The ice is holding up well. The Missippians next door survived the night. The Senator is Missing in Action. Landi, Catfish and the boys are enroute.

I feel great. Yesterday, I flushed 12 quarts of toxins from my body. They appear to have killed the grass where I was standing. Now, it's time to replace them. We had a great breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, and potatoes. I'm going to have a bloodymary soon.

The Brisket is looking good. Bob is concerned that it may have cooked to quickly. I'm not worried. It looks world class. The Shoulders are getting happy. Ribs are on, and looking good. The yard bird is doing it's thing.

Soon, the heat and humidity will drive many of the competitors mad. I am prepared. Because I'm the only Utilikilted competitor, I have a tremendous advantage. It may turn out that, due to the ungodly heat and the air-conditioned utili-comfort, I may be the sanest person at the contest.

That's a sad state of affairs.

Now, on to bloodymarys!

It's hot

Dateline: Yardley, Pa.
It was hot today. It was more than hot. It was sweltering. So, naturally building smokey fires in steel barbeque rigs just added to the...the ...joy. Oh, yeah, did I mention that it was humid? Yep. Humid too. It was so hot the the wax melted on the top of my Maker's Mark bottle, and so humid the label slid off.

It's 10:20pm. It's still hot. It's 84 degrees. and humid. I promised Landi that I would not get drunk tonight, so I'm mixing my bourbon with water. I only have one fifth to make it all night, so I' rationing it. I just bought 40 more pounds of ice, so I think I'll make it.

We have had the good fortune to have some fellow Missippians set up next to us. I heard them talking when they first got here, and it was so nice to hear someone speak without an accent. Turns out, they have one kid at Ole Miss, and anther who dropped out of Ole Miss to be a professional poker player.

So, I should mention at this point, while everyone else was sweating and suffering in the oppressive heat, Bob and I were in AirConditioned comfrort. When it is 98 degress and humid, it's so hot that it's not healthy. However, because Brother Bob and I were in Utilikilted comfort, we sweated, but did not wilt....and we were cool.

So, it's hotter than a three petered skeeter, and we're sitting out all night around the fires to make sure that we produce only the finest barbeque. I've probably sweated out enough toxins and poisons to live forever.

Brisket and shoulders started tonight. We'll listen to Buffet, Jerry Jeff and others, and hang through the night. Update to follow in the morning....

Off to Yardley!

Hope to see y'all there! Click here for directions.

Worth waiting for...

We sat. Like Pavlov's dog waiting for the bell to ring, we sat. Salivating every time we heard a car....Damn! Waiting. Waiting for brisket. Like Christmas night, time crawled.

Finally, a knock at the door! Brisket? Hell no. A neighbor needing a chainsaw.

A door! I heard a car door!

It was here!....and Bob and Cindy were, too. It was good to see Bob, and Cindy. Haven't seen Cindy since Eli Super-Manning and the Boys celebrated winning the SuperBowl. Eli can talk the talk and walk the walk, yall.

Smiling, Bob walked in carrying a cooler containg something as precious, as fragile and as rare as a newly harvested donor liver. He had brisket.

As if preparing for a communion, Bob carefully lifted the brisket out of the cooler. It had been resting for 3 hours. Almost as if unwrapping a Christmas gift, he removed the foil. An aroma took over the room. The Pavlovian reflex kicked into high gear.

Brother Bob took the big knife, and slice a thin piece of meet from the brisket. With the point of the knife, he pushed it across the cutting board to me. I paused. It looked good. It smelled good. I took the piece of thin brisket in my hand. I bit it.

Suddenly the clouds parted! The sun was shining! Birds were singing!

It was that good.

The Night Before Brisket

Twas the night before brisket,
And all through the night
I couldn't close my eyes
Without seeing the sight...

A big green egg
puttting off smoke
Bob smiling real big,
and telling a joke.

The aroma
it floated so soft in the air
And I ran low on bourbon
But I didn't care.

Time trickeled slowly
off of the clock
And Bob held his temprature
Steady as a rock.

All throught the night,
the brisket, it cooked
Everyone wondered,
But nobody looked.

Oh damn!,
I said when I woke with a start
I looked outside,
And still it was dark.

Me and my dog,
We both sniffed the air
Buck pee'd on my leg
But I didn't care.

On the midnight breeze
of the last day of May
I found the aroma
of a great brisket day.

What's Cooking?

With Yardley just a week away, I figure I better do some work this weekend on that one dish with which we've struggled - BRISKET! So, Saturday afternoon I'll fire up the Big Green Egg with enough wood to last 16-20 hours, and see if I can turn this dead cow into something juicy and tender.



I'll bring the results over to our leader's house on Sunday. If it passes the test, we'll enjoy it. If not, we'll call Dominos.

Have a good weekend, all!

7 of 9....We didn't assimilate.

Well folks, despite being sober, we arrived at Keansburg right on time. We were well prepared. Landi made the worlds best Bloodymarys, and I build a fire of pure hickory. We used only the best stuff. Grey Goose Vodka, Major Peters Hot and Spicy Bloodymary mix, tobasco, and pepper ground in a $90 pepper grinder. ( It really does grind pepper better.)The wood we used was the finest, too. It was virgin hickory. Never climbed by a squirrel and no dog ever peed on these trees. It was well aged...two seasons..football and baseball.

The dead pig and yardbird were hand picked by trained pig and chicken wranglers just for this event. The pig had what has been determined by the Pig Association (Pig-Ass) as the perfect ratio of lean to fat. The chicken had led a pampered life, massaged daily with beer on a gourmet chicken ranch in Arkansas. This particular type of incredibly tender and flavorful chicken is known world wide as 'Kobe Chicken'. I think it's named for a basketball player.

It seemed that the sun and moon had aligned just for us. Karma was with us....we thought.

The fire started with little effort. This is always a bad sign. The ribs, still frozen, were thawed in the smoker. When they thawed, they prep'ed with little trouble. Same was true of the yardbird. Everything was going great, which obviously caused me great concern. I was deeply troubled by the chain of good fortune we had encountrered. If this trend continued, we would have zero chance at trophies.

Feeling the mounting pressure, I felt it was necessary and prudent to switch from bloodymary's to bourbon. I checked my watch and saw that it was almot 11:00am. I was concerned that I may have waited too long for the switch. My smoker went to 225 degrees, the perfect barbequing temperature, and stayed there with little effort. I felt panic setting in.

I took a moment to fix another bourbon and water, collect my thoughts and to pose underneat our Memphis Barbeque Company Team banner, holding in my hand our Utilikilts banner. I'm hoping for a larger banner later this season. I'm hoping for a larger bottle of bourbon, too.

Two hours in, it was looking grim. Everything was going perfectly. Zero problems. Three hours in someone brought us free ice because they observed that we were running low.

Oh damn! A random act of kindness.

A wave of sadness swept over me and I realized it was all over.


We continued the next hour, and worked hard in presenting the ribs, the chicken and the barbequed shirmp, but I knew in my heart, that the die had already been cast.
Landi's magical presentation of ribs, would fall on blind eyes. The wonder of real Memphis Dry Rubbed Ribs would be appreciated by many, but alas, we were doomed to be Seven of Nine.




Some might be let down by not placing higher. Others might be discouraged. Sometimes our competitive zeal gets the better of us. But not this day. We made some great barbeque, saw some wonderful friends, met some new and strange people, and had a hell of a good time. Though we will never assimilate (use that surgary barbeque sauce), we look forward to Yardly and the knowledge that it is yet another opportunity to spread the gospel of the Memphis Dry Rub! Can i get an 'amen'!?

So, friends and neighbors, get your Utilikilts ready. The world's only Utilikilted Award Winning High Performance Memphis Dry Rubbed Barbeque Team is going to Yardly, Pa. to smoke butts and take names!!

Again, if you're on the team, touch base with Landi. If you're not on the team, bring bourbon (Knob Creek or Makers Mark).

Barbeque Preparedness 101

This Saturday morning, at 6:30AM, we'll pull our 18ft. Custom built Barbeque Smoker from it's winter quarters to it's first competition of the 2008 season. Prior to that moment, we'll load the wood, load the canopy, load the coolers, get the ribs, get the chicken, and stock up on bourbon. Before that, we'll pull the wheels, lube the bearings, and check the lights.

We're two days away from Saturday.

Do we have any of this done?

We have the bourbon.

Don't try this at home. We are professionals.

Mother's Day

Belated Happy Mother's Day to all.

How appropriate that Mother's Day began with us discovering that the Canadian Goose nesting on the pond became a proud mama. This is about as close as I could get before the proud - and very protective - papa would come to their defense.



A short time later, another birth! I pulled these two puppies off the Big Green Egg following a 15-hour smoke. Yum! Mom and some of my family were coming over later for a picnic, and these would feed many, along with some tasty ribs.



My brother, Greg, loves barbecue. I think he's also fallen in love with my BGE. Fortunately, I caught him before he loaded it in his car.



I hope you all had nice Mother's Day!

Dad, Jenn, and a Barbeque Contest

First, Let's all sing Happy Birthday to my oldest Daughter, who happens to graduate from college this week, and to my Dad, who shares the birthday and graduated to the next level about 8 years ago.

Now, on to Barbeque!

On Saturday May 17, 2008 Keansburg Fire Company # 1 is hosting the inaugural “Smoke Condition” BBQ cook-off. Categories are ribs, chicken, and anything but desert. Prizes for 1st, 2nd, and 3rd in each category as well as Overall Champ and reserve champ.

Check in time is 7:00 a.m., meat inspection is 7:30 a.m. Judging begins at 1:00p.m for Chicken 2:00 p.m. for Ribs and 3:00p.m. For everything but dessert. Awards at 4:30.

Yes, it's true. The kilted wild men will be there, and you should join us. It will be a lot of fun, and a good way to start the season.

If you're on the team, check in with Landi. If you're not on the team, bring bourbon.

Smoke in the morning

In the early morning hours, as the dew settles, and the smoke hangs low, it has occured to me more than once that this is as good as it gets. There is nothing that complements the shear beauty of dawn quite as well as a good Kentucky bourbon and the smells and aromas of hickory smoke and barbeque.

As our 2008 BBQ Season begins, we are ready for some intense barbeque competition.

We may not win a lot of contests, but we've never lost a party.

Let the blogging begin!

The Memphis Barbecue Company and friends have hit the internet!