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.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
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....
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 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.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
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
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
Monday, June 9, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
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!
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!
Saturday, June 7, 2008
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....
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....
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