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....
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
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.
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.
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