The Annual Church Bar-B-Que, Bazaar, and forest fire. Part Two

Every year when the annual BBQ would start getting close, Ole Bryce would start making noises about his BBQ recipes and his Brunswick Stew and cole-slaw months in advance, him thinking he was laying the groundwork for some ill-conceived coup to covertly take over the huge project. He’d even get a few men to agree with him until time got short and they realized Bryce was an idiot, never having smoked anything more than a cheap cigar, much less 350 pounds of Pork Butts. Our man, Elmer, constructed a temporary BBQ pit that was an exact duplicate of the one he used for fifty-five years and big enough to hold enough Butts to serve our expected 1200 plus visitors, twice over. It was a large grill area with a chute made of  plywood, lean-to style that was approximately forty feet long, where he could get his hickory logs burnt down to coals. Slowly working them into the pit underneath the meat that rested patiently there until pork butt perfection was achieved. Elmer was as country as a dead possum "runt over" by a pickup truck, but an Albert Einstein in the art of smoked meats. 

He also had a huge black cauldron, big enough to boil a small calf or an unruly church member in if necessary, a leftover pot he kept from his BBQ restaurant days and one that would make a witch covetous. He said he could look inside the pot and know exactly how much ingredients to put in and when, the years of use staining the sides of the interior of the pot as a marker. Elmer also said that when a fellow did the same recipe every day for over fifty years, that same fellow didn’t need to measure anymore, and I for one believed him. Elmer could measure by handfuls and "eyeballing", a genius behind the wheel of our BBQ project when it rolled around every year in the fall. And old Bryce just couldn't stand it.

Bryce kicked up a lot of dust that particular year and it really pissed ole Elmer off, but good. We even had to talk Elmer into doing the cooking that year he was so upset. He told a few of us that he did a lot of fighting when he was in the service and didn’t like to fight, but he’d make an exception for Bryce. He felt like he had one last ass whuppin’ left in him and he’d be glad to use it on his adversary. I knew it wasn’t good church talk and I shouldn’t have egged him on, but I was itchin’ to see Bryce get his butt kicked in and I was just to young to do it. I’d a laid my money on Elmer, former Army Ranger and decorated war hero. Elmer and Bryce had a shouting match after one of our designated meetings and Bryce even said he’d show all of us who might be in charge around there. We had no idea what he meant but we’d find out soon enough. Bryce was as crazy as a rat in a tin shit-house by my estimation, and probably prime breed stock for medication and a padded room.

We had made our investment of our 350 pounds of pork butts, chicken and all the ingredients for the stew and slaw. We laid out the chute, also called the draw, where smoke would draw from the business end of the pit where the meat sat from the other end where the logs were slowly becoming coals, working their way down the cute producing a perfect temperature heat and smoke that would eventually make the pork literally melt in your mouth. We usually pre-sold around 700 plates to fund the project and this year was no exception. On the night before the big day, all the men would come to the church on Friday night and be ready to stay all night long. It was a way for the men of the church to get to know each other better and this project was a sure winner every year, making our men’s group upwards of $5000.00 dollars profit. For a small congregation, that was huge. It meant we’d make it through when times got tough. Our pre-sales paid for all of the supplies meaning every penny we made on BBQ day was profit.

We had the pit constructed per Elmer’s direction, same as every year. We’d cut Oak, cherry and Maple wood into logs and chips per his careful instruction, soaking the chips in water for smoke later on. He was the master of ceremonies and we followed his every rule, him doling out orders like the friendly General he was at that time of the year. He was the kind of fellow you’d gladly follow into battle, especially one that involved a breakfast of cheese grits, eggs and biscuits, all made by him the following morning after the meat and stew cooking task was complete. The meat we had with our breakfast was the first finished pork butt to come off the grill and let me tell you, it was just amazing. We all looked forward to the breakfast every year and just that alone made all the late night work worth the effort. As a group, we’d prepare the logs by splitting them and stacking them in the order by which they’d burn, either faster or slower, depending on the wood. We'd toss the wet wood chips on intermittently, them making a smoke bank 007 would have been envious of, and adding the most amazing flavor to the meat. 

There would be a “lull”, as Elmer put it, between 3:00 in the morning and 5:30 in the morning where we’d leave the meat to cook by itself. We wouldn’t touch the fire, stoke the logs or coals, or touch the meat as it slowly worked it way to perfection. The pork had cooked for a good five to six hours and this part was as important as any part, “the lull”, as Elmer put it, allowed the meat to seal in the smokey flavor and cool off a bit. Then after that time and breakfast, we’d pour on the heat at the far end of the chute just to get the outside of the meat good and smokey, with a light dark crust on the outside.

Come on back Friday, you'll enjoy the ending!