Daddy
EcoRover of Montana posted about a BBQ he recently enjoyed. That prompted me to dig through my old files from when I used to participate on the newsgroup, rec.food.cooking, 14 or 15 years ago. I had written a piece, intended as humor, about my father, who loved everything Texas, despite the fact that he wasn't born there, nor did he grow up there. So, if you who drop by now and then will indulge me, I present it here:
M. L. McLemore’s Lone Star Baste
For those of you who like barbecue, I offer one of my late father's concoctions for basting, which I learned today is also called the mop (thanks, Richard Thead).
Recipe By : (c) 1996 Martha C. McLemore - BBQ Mailing List
2 Six Packs Lone Star beer -- one on ice, the other one doesn't matter
1 Quart cheap vinegar -- better to scrimp on the vinegar than on the beer
1 Small bottle Tabasco -- no substitutes
1 Large head of garlic -- peel & finely mince
1 4-oz Can black pepper
1 Small Jar French's Mustard -- baby crap, he called it, but he ate it on almost everything - go figure!
6 dried jalapeno peppers -- crushed; he called them firecrackers.
1 Pound butter -- melted, none of that greasy margarine, for crissake!
1 More 6 Pack Lone Star -- on ice
50 Pound Bag ice
1 side of beef -- OR 1 helluva big pig
2 young'ns with fly swatters -- on rotating shifts
1 wheel cheddar cheese -- the kind that smells like work socks at the end of the day
2 Boxes crackers
1 Case PIC coils
2 lawn chairs -- one for his butt, one for his feet
1 Stetson -- his cookin' hat, not the one he wore to the rodeo
1 Pair shades -- made out of welder's glass
2 Cartons Lucky Strikes or Camels -- filters?! Real men don't smoke filtered butts, what's the matter with you, FOOL?!
1 Zippo lighter, circa 1943 -- extra flints & fluid
1 More Six Pack Lone Star -- on ice
1 loud wind-up alarm clock -- the one he called "The Voice of God"
2 50-lb Bags mesquite or pecan chips -- soaked in water overnight in the dogs' washtub, which was actually one of those galvanized cattle troughs - nothing was too good for his 'dawgs'. (Jealous of his dogs, you say? Damn right, I was! He never hit his dogs and they didn't have to swat flies for him!)
1 Six Pack Pabst Blue Ribbon -- ice optional. Never give the good stuff to the neighbors who wandered over, but always have something to give them! M. L.'s personal Code of the West.
Empty one 6-pack of Lone Star into a 3 gallon stock pot. Add the vinegar, mustard, Tabasco, butter, peppers, garlic and a fifth of water. Bring to a high, rollin' boil to melt the butter; keep hot on the cool end of the grill.
Fire up the cooker when you get home on Friday night. Burn a couple or three mesquite logs (his preference) to get a foot-thick bed of cherry-red coals. Close the grill to keep in the heat. Add sufficient wet chips to produce enough smoke that the new neighbors call the fire department, but not so much that you put out the fire. (Long-time neighbors just bring in the wash, close their windows and wait him out.)
When the smoke dies down so you can get near the grill, unearth the beast of honor from the washtub, rub it dry, sprinkle with the lightest coat of salt and brown sugar, lay the carcass on the grill. Quick, close the lid and prepare for the rest of the event.
Ice down the rest of the beer in the washtub. (Hell, yes, in the same water! Just add more ice; eventually the water won't be pink anymore. Besides, you don't drink the water, now, do you?)
Set up "camp," as it were. Send the kids after whatever you forgot, like the Coleman lantern, your long-sleeved shirt and the tv-trays. And the pie-screen, to keep the bugs off the cheese. Those tiny sweet pickles and another jar of mustard. And that little portable transistor radio, don't forget the extra batteries.
Every half-hour or so, check the coals and the beast. Add chips to the one and baste the other. In the beginning, it's easy to keep which is which straight, but by Saturday afternoon, when this repast is *supposed* to be ready, the longs hours of no sleep and Lone Star have taken their toll. It was not uncommon to find wood chips charred to the carcass and the favorite basting brush singed beyond recognition. (They loved my father down at the paint store; sold him more 3" bristle brushes than any other two stores' customers combined.)
After around 3 am, those of us not on bug patrol were no longer awakened by the "Voice of God", M. L. having tossed it across the highway into the oil field. I think it gave him no end of joy to imagine that clock coming to rest next to some aged rattlesnake, vibrating the old viper out of its last 6 buttons, at least.
In the morning, the rest of us would enjoy a good breakfast then wander out to see how the sacrifice was coming along. Daddy's breakfast empties were neatly placed back into the wooden case, courtesy the second shift bug patrol, or my mother. I guess she didn't object to his drinking in public, as long as he didn't appear to be a slob about it.
He hardly ever used the full case of PIC coils. After midnight or so, no self-respecting mosquito or fly came with 100 yards of M. L. or the grill. If the beer didn't do the trick, there was always that marvelous baste simmering on the back of the grill.
Although the bugs gave Daddy's barbecue a wide berth, he had to quietly let only a few trusted friends know when he was planning to cook because his was the absolute best barbecue for miles and miles around. Even his enemies acknowledged his expertise: "That McLemore is one sorry s.o.b., but god-almighty, can that man cook!"
Around noon, the friends who were invited and the dogs' pals began to gather. You know how it is said that dogs and their owners often resemble one another after a few years of cohabitation? Well, you could certainly tell which of the 20 or so mutts criss-crossing our yard on barbecue day belonged to Daddy. They were the ones lapping up spilled Lone Star, wolfing down stinky cheddar loaded with mustard, and the only ones all the other dogs refused to sniff.
There's a recipe somewhere in all of this, but danged if I remember where I put it.
(c) 1996 Martha C. McLemore
That list should have read 6 kids; there are three boys and three girls in his second family.
Re: PIC coils - mosquito repellent in flat coil shape that you burn to keep all sorts of bugs away. Worked well, most of the time. Except on those Corpus Christi mosquitoes, which were rumored to carry off livestock left unattended - one horse or cow per mosquito. Okay...yes, I made that rumor up just now, but they could have done it, you know, they are that big! Everything's bigger in Texas.
(2009) Martha McLemore
18 comments:
That's right you're not from Texas
But Texas wants you anyway
- L. Lovett.
I loved San Antonio.
We went through San Antonio, looking for the Alamo. It was closed when we arrived, don't recall why (I was a little kid at the time.)
I loved Corpus Christi and Padre Island.
:)
I'm laughing my butt off--truth be told, my BBQ "recipe" should have read more like yours--except we don't have mosquitoes, our public radio staion knows all my favorite tunes, and I drank a growler or two of Pale Ale from the Brew Pub...
ER:
You don't have mosquitoes?! That's one more good reason to live in Montana, in my opinion!
What is a growler?
Glad you enjoyed the post.
Now, about that mop recipe?
:D
For me BBQs were an important source of information about US etiquette and general practice: For instance:
(1) "Len tells me he's had a gas barbecue piped into his lawn. He says he's already eating his burgers before his neighbours have got their fuel to even glow. I guess Len misses the point of having a barbecue."
(2) Visual evidence that the barbecue is finally at an end: four untouched and totally charred burgers on the griddle.
(3) The barbecue/fridge connection. Americans frequently change their fridges to match their new kitchen decor. The old fridge, still working perfectly, is taken down into the cellar, plugged in and used to store beer. Alas, this apparently commendable gesture towards recycling remains just that - a gesture. For this reason: everyone invited to a barbecue brings a case (ie, 24 cans) of beer which goes into the cellar fridge. It is an ineluctable law of American generosity that the number of guests invited (let's give that number the value n) will result in a beer-can total of 24n, a figure 33% in excess of the fridge's volume. Thus cases are piled on top of the fridge exposed to the ambient temperature. In my experience American hosts would rather sell their wife off into slavery than drink a warm beer.
BB, have you considered writing about your time in the States? You have a wonderful, droll (which I admire) sense of humor, you are a keen observer of human nature and you would soften the sting of any barbs with compassion and friendship. I think it would be a very good read, and one I would be willing to buy.
From my own friendships here in Pennsylvania, I know of two families, at least, who fit your description perfectly, right down to the fridge in the basement/cellar and the competiveness regarding the barbecue culture. Then, there are my three brothers, Southern men to the core, each of whom believes he, and he alone, holds the ancient secrets to Fire Mastery and the Roasting of the Beast. No woman dare let on she knows how to lay a fire or cook anything but the side dishes on BBQ Day.
Most American beers taste like soapy branchwater if not served icy cold, from my experience...well, they look like soapy branchwater, anyway. I like dark brown, velvety on the tongue, creamy foam beers, that taste best just cellar-cool, not cold. They still taste good after reaching room temperature.
As for selling wives off into slavery, that could explain what happened to Mick's first wife, Angela. She disappeared one summer, near the end of BBQ season, and Mick suddenly had a brand-new, propane fueled, elephant-roaster, the Longhorn Firemagic 7000. Now that's a story waiting to be told!
:D
Enjoyed reading your blog. Never heard of Pabst Blue Ribbon as the 'good stuff' tho....Lone Star longnecks were,as well as a whiff of the exotic(bein' from Texas) and all that...still they were 3.2s. Better and stronger beer can be acquired now, praise the hop gods.
In re: BB's comment on refrigerators. Grady Spears, former cowboy now chef, describes how to turn an old refrigerator (minus plastic lining,a real important step )into a decent smoker. It is in his book, A Cowboy in the Kitchen; there are also some great recipes as well cooking with a Dutch oven tips, an art in itself.
Hello, RR:
Thank you for the compliment.
Pabst Blue Ribbon was despicable swill in my father's eyes. Lone Star was the good stuff, which he kept for himself, or shared with friends.
I learned to cook in a fireplace when I was twelve, and learned how to make biscuits in a Dutcher without burning them (though not on the first try, I admit.) My favorite cook pots and fry pans are still the cast iron things I've had for years and years.
I just happen to have an old (30 years or better) fridge out in the barn that might work as a smoker. I'll check out Spears' book; might be able to make one!
:)
ROTFLMAO!!! Crow, that's about the best thing I've read in a month of Sundays!!!! Your dad ROCKS!
BTW, I taught #1 Daughter how to make buttermilk drop biscuits last Sunday.
And now, I think I'm gonna get Buck's pig cooker and get to work. We need some BBQ!
Hey, Jim --
Glad to see you. Thank you for the compliment. Coming from a great storyteller like you, that is high praise, indeed.
I'll bet you make your biscuits from scratch, too. My mother made the best biscuits in the world, never measured anything, never -- EVER -- made a hockey-puck in her life. Her daughters, on the other hand, all have to use one of those boxed mixes.
I hope you'll post about your BBQ on your blog, including recipes.
Thanks for dropping by, Jim. Very nice to hear from you.
:)
Fantastic! You are such a talented storyteller.
Lisa:
Thank you, but I had good raw material, which wrote itself, for the most part. My Dad was quite a character.
:)
I can reveal that the first barbecue that I ever experienced was in the back yard of BB's house in Pitsburg. I can still sense the excitment of waiting for the smells, all new to me, to materialise as something infinitely delicious and quite unEnglish, while sipping cold American beer. Somehow, your Dad's, routine and ingredients, many barbecues later, evoked the first. Barbecues should be rough-hewn and generous.
That was a good one. I can imagine a character like that, in fact, I might know w few like that! We have this BBQ place in Minneapolis, (the only half assed good one in the Northland in my opinion), and they use a toilet brush "mop" to slather on their sauces. Hot, medium and mild. They do ribs, chix and brisquit.
Amazing how BBQ differs throughout the land. This post makes me think of South Carolina BBQ. I like it a lot and first tasted it only two years ago. Texas is good too. Kansas City and St, Louis, in the same state, but worlds apart as far as BBQ.
Good job as usual. Since oit's Friday, I'm going out for the traditional Fish Fry, maybe I'll BBQ tomorrow night at home. I'm thinkin' ribs with a hat n' spicy jerk type sauce.
Peace.
Plutarch Joe:
"Barbecues should be rough-hewn and generous."
Sort of like Americans, hunh?
I'm glad to hear BB went native, to some degree, while he was in Pittsburgh. One of the best ways to understand a different culture is to immerse yourself in it, try their foods and social customs. I'm sure Mrs. BB is glad he kept the beer cold, seeing as how, in his words, "In my experience American hosts would rather sell their wife off into slavery than drink a warm beer."
I hope your experience with BB's BBQ was a good one.
(I think the main reason my Dad liked Lone Star was because it was Texan brew.)
:)
Spadoman Joe:
My Dad's 'mop' was mustard based, like the South Carolina traditional sauce. He was born in Alabama, but his family moved back to South Carolina when he was a child.
Hope your BBQ turns out well tomorrow evening.
I have so enjoyed your road trip posts. They make me want to hit the road again, even if my wheels are four and the Jimmy is mostly a rust bucket now. Love being on the road, discovering new places, new faces, new voices.
:)
That was a great one - almost makes me feel like, if not taking up bbqing myself, at least going out and finding a place that does.. and especially the neat people who enjoy life so much.
Hello, Susan:
As Joe (Spadoman) mentioned, there are almost as many BBQ styles in the US as there are people...not quite that many - I exaggerate. But, I hope you find some good ones. BBQ is fine stuff! Or, as Alton Brown of the Food Network says, it's good eats!
:)
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