Lewis' Barbecue: Big Texas Menu, Big Texas Prices

Lewis Barbecue is another of those Texas-style brisket restaurants that have been invading pork country in the last few years. 

Apparently, they can’t leave well enough alone.

 At least Monkey Wrench and The Smoke Pit have the decency to leave the B word off their portmanteau. As everybody knows, beef ain’t barbecue.

Lewis is a recent transplant from Charleston and has taken over the edifice of the iconic Tommy's Country Ham House whose memory is still regarded fondly by the locals. Gone is the hung ceiling with its accustomed water spots. The vaulted ceiling gives the place a nice airy feel. There is ample seating inside and a bar that serves all the standard libations. There’s a porch if that’s what it’s called, where people can sit on bar stools at a long shelf-like surface and look out over the spacious portico, filled with picnic tables made in a style that I might call a cross between 19^th Century barn and Twentieth Century industrial. A nice touch are the horseshoes under the shelf on which to hang hats, purses, and presumably, gun belts—it is a Texas-style place after all.

But enough about the atmosphere. As I like to say, you can’t eat it, you just pay for it. When I walked up to the bar the guy shoved a glistening piece of brisket in my face like a hawker at the fair. I popped it in my mouth and remarked, “This tastes like a dead cow.” My wife had to explain the joke. After sticking the hunk of beef in my face, he pronounced that they most certainly did not give samples of their sausage, which has the extremely appetizing moniker of Hot Guts. Nor do they offer burnt ends. They do have pulled pork, kind of shoved off to the side as if they hope nobody notices, but for the sake of journalism, I compromised my principles and went for the beef. My wife, who’s from near Lexington North Carolina, and therefore more of a purist, ordered the pork.

They have a variety of Texas-style sides, including Cowboy Pintos and Corn Pudding, as well as slaw, and fries, which, at first, I mistook for pork skins due to their odd shape. Noticeably absent was that old standby of Carolina ‘Q joints, sweet potato crunch.

The meal is served, again, Texas-style, on pink butcher paper. My wife and I each got ½ pound of meat, which they boldly proclaim is the “recommended portion” (Priced by weight, of course) with two sides, drinks, and a couple of sausages to take home. I was hoping I didn’t get stopped by a cop on the way.

                “What you got in that bag, sir?”

                “Oh, It’s just some Hot Guts,”

                “STEP OUTTA THE CAR!”

For the food, and including the tip, which alone was more than I’m used to paying for a barbecue sandwich, (and I hit the middle button) the bill came to almost $75. It kind of reminded me of when I ate at the Boat House on the Isle of Palms and got shrimp and grits for $8.00 per crustacean. That may fly in a tourist trap like Charleston, but IMO it’s a little steep for up here in good ole boy central.

$75.000 on a tray. 
Here's what $75.00 will get you at Lewis. Note the fries disguised as pork skins

It was a little disconcerting, in this town built by farmers and mill workers, to have spent tad shy on one meal, of what would have been a week’s pay for my grandfather when he worked at the old Union Bleachery back in the '60's.

The brisket was fork-tender and juicy with great bark, good smoke, and the standard Texas rub, which is loaded with black pepper. The pork was tender with good smoke and a sweet finish.

The Cowboy Pintos were well cooked and garnished with minced onions and jalapeños, but a little heavy on the chili powder. They have three sauces to choose from if that’s your thing and a cute dispenser that spits plasticware at you one piece at a time like R2D2 sticking out his tongue.

Everything about the meal was pleasing and satisfying, but at that price, I decided the next time I want some smoked beef I’m going to go out on the back porch and fire up the old Masterbuilt.

 

Tandem: Order at the Bus, Eat Wherever You Want.

 

Tandem Occupies a Prominent Place in Downtown TR. Note the VW Bus at the right side of the picture.

There are ideas that seem good at the time of their conception, such as, “Let’s find a cure for cancer”, and there are ideas that, on their face, seem looney, like, "Let’s open a crepe shop in the tiny burg of Travelers Rest, SC." (Called TR by the locals.)

But while we still haven’t found a cure for cancer, the Tandem idea has worked out quite well. Travelers Rest is quickly changing from a small burg to a destination; one of the most popular places to move to in the US.

Just about any morning around 8 AM, you will find a line forming at the yellow VW bus outside the building where people order Key Lime, Cinnamon. or Sausage and potato crepes, as well as several seasonal offerings with a full line of coffees and other drinks.

There are three seating arrangements: On a nice fall day you can sit outside at picnic tables, If the southern sun is just a little intense, you can dine on a covered porch. The most popular destination this time of year is the air condition dining room where you get to watch a barista that would scare the crap out of Starbucks.

The Line forms early at the yellow bus.

The staff is always friendly and accommodating.

On this occasion I had the Cinnamon bun crepe, a delicate wrapping of cinnamon, butter, sugar, and icing. My wife went for the Key Lime crepe; A monster of a meal with a key lime filling topped with whipped cream. Probably due to the local heat wave, cold water was provided, though not ordered, to accompany our coffees.

The Cinnamon Crepe with Cappuccino ($9.25)

T

Key Lime. My Wife's Favorite ($6.00)

Tandem has become a regular breakfast stop for my Wife and I and judging by the line outside the bus every morning, many other people, too.

   

  

Monkey Wrench Smoke House: It's About the Meat

             

Legacy: Monkey Wrench resides in a building that once held the

 iconic Martha's Hardware Store.

         I’ve been wanting to visit this place despite its rumored pricey menu since it opened in 2018. Due to some internet comments about the service when it first opened, I decided to let things settle down a bit.

        The first thing I noticed was that it was dark inside, which made me wonder if my old eyes would be able to discern the menu. The décor is standard BBQ joint with exposed rafters and rustic pine furniture. For decades the building housed a hardware store that was a local landmark, hence the name.

        They have a lunch menu that offers a chopped sandwich and a drink for eight bucks, which we both went for. They offer four sauces: Kansas City, mustard, Lexington, and a Carolina favorite, Cheerwine sauce. (If you lived here, you’d know). There were no noticeable pigs in the place, but they did have a huge mural of a bovine skull which it seems would be more at home in Colorado than Carolina

A lotta bull: There were no visible pigs inside but the 

wall is decorated with this huge mural. 

The sandwich was served on a substantial bun almost guaranteed to hold up under heavy saucing, if that's your thing. The fries looked to be hand cut and were cooked pleasantly well done. The pork, while juicy and flavorful, had barely a hint of smoke. It could have been cooked in a crock pot for all I know.

       We decided the lunch special was only about a dollar more what we pay at one of our favorite places down the street. Is it enough to bring us back? Maybe for the Brisket.

           

Lunch Special  Eight bucks gets you a sandwich and fries with a drink.

🐷🐷🐷

In Search of Goulasch

Garrett's Goulasch made in the slow cooker.

     In the town of Hendersonville, North Carolina at the top of the blue Ridge escarpment is a little German restaurant called.Haus Heidelberg.  After passing it by for several years, we finally went inside. They have a fine selection of German beers. I tried the Spaten "Optimator" which has great authority. After perusing the menu, I settled on a dish called “Goulash."

     As expected, the dish was a hearty beef stew, served with amazing mashed potatoes (Sour cream and a dash of nutmeg set them apart). What I didn’t expect was that the savory beef dish would take me back to my childhood and a long forgotten memory of my Grandmother's kitchen.

     My  great grandmother on my father’s side had the last name of Biedenbaugh from a German family that imigrated in the 19^th century. Family lore was that their original name was Petersbach, perhaps after the French town by the same name that was in the German-speaking Alsace region which was annexed by Germany in 1871. Their name was summarily changed a Ellis Island, like that of thousands of others.

     Grandma Garrett was a pretty good cook, and frequently made the stew. It was hearty and savory and contained an ingredient that I never experienced in other stews, that gave it a special flavor. That ingredient was bell pepper. And that was what made the stew in Hendersonville so special. Like Marcel Proust, who smelled the madeleines, the stew flooded me with memories of things past, particularly, that of childhood dinners at my Grandma Garrett’s Formica table savoring the stew and the aroma of A & P coffee.

     I have had Goulash at home made by my wife, but I wondered how the “authentic” dish differed. (My wife has less German blood than Senator Warren has native American), so when I decided to re-create the recipe, I went on the Net to find an authentic one.

    Goulasch or Goulash as it is Americanized is basically a spicy meat stew and is one of the national dishes of Hungary, which is why most people think of the nation when they think of the stew. It is a very old recipe, dating back to medieval times. The name relates to “Herdsman” as it was eaten by cattle and sheep herders who dried the seasoned meat to preserve it, (similar to jerky) and stored in in a (dead)sheep’s stomach so that the herders in the field only needed to add water to bring it back to edible consistency.

     Goulash is enjoyed in most European countries and the recipe is pretty common with only a few regional tweaks. I say usually, because centuries of migration between countries has more-or-less democratized the dish.

     Many countries have their own version, including Ethiopia, which uses fish instead of red meat, and the Philippines, where goat meat is often used. The main difference between Hungarian and German Goulash is that Hungarians favor caraway, and have noodles as a side dish, where Germans use potatoes, and no caraway. Paprika became a staple ingredient when it came available in Europe in the 17^th century. American Goulash, especially when made by Yankees, frequently includes macaroni noodles cooked in the mix.

     Basic goulash is meat, usually beef or other red meat, with tomatoes, vegetables and paprika. The emphasis on tomatoes and paprika and green pepper is what distinguishes it from American beef stew.  Stock or wine is used as a braising sauce. 

      Armed with this information and my trusty slow cooker, I set about to create a goulash my grandmother would approve of.

Garrett’s Goulash

The Meat:

2 lbs. beef stew meat, trimmed

The Vegetables:

One large onion, diced

One green pepper, diced

Baby carrots (or one or two regular carrots, diced)

3-4 redskin potatoes, quartered.  (Optional. I added the potatoes since I wasn’t planning to serve the stew with an extra starch)

The other stuff:

2-3 Tbsp. oil

One can diced tomatoes

One-two Tbsp. tomato paste

One-two Tbsp. Beef flavored Better Than Bullion

1-2 cloves of garlic

2-3 Tbsp. Hungarian paprika

1 cup red wine or beef stock, divided (If you want to be persnickety make sure the wine is from Germany. Beef stock is pretty much the same everywhere.)

1-1/2 Tsp. dried Thyme

Salt and pepper to taste

The instructions:

Brown the beef in the oil in small batches and place in the slow cooker.

Sauté onions and peppers in the pan juices, adding garlic in the last minute of cooking. Add ½ cup wine or stock and deglaze the pan (I forgot to do this. OOPs!).

Transfer all ingredients* to the slow cooker and cook for 6-8 hours on low.

*For firmer potatoes, add them during the last half of the cooking time.

Though the Europeans serve it over potatoes or noodles, I “southernized” mine by using biscuits.

    I added hot pepper sauce at the table, since my wife has a sensitive palette. The dish was savory, and came close to meeting my expectations. There was enough liquid for sopping with the biscuit, but not so much as to make a soup, which is what I was going for. Next time I will use more green pepper and add more black pepper for a little more spice. I will probably also use wine vs. beef stock. When I made the dish, I didn’t have any red wine on hand, plebeian that I am, and my teetotaling grandma wouldn’t approve anyway. I also like to use a little allspice in beef dishes for an extra nuance. I will NEVER add macaroni. Call me persnickety.

In Search of the Illusive Q Tater

Stationed at the entrance to the Pisgah National Forest in Brevard, NC, amid the bars, ice cream parlors and tube rental kiosks is Hawg Wild Barbecue. It has become a place near and dear to my heart, and one of the three restaurants we regularly visit on our frequent trips to the mountain city.

North Carolina is a big state, and like SC, there are different barbecue traditions for different sections. Hawg Wild Barbecue offers a choice between the vinegary Eastern sauce and the more tomato-ey Western version.  

As special as is the BBQ on a bun, the thing that brings me back is a rare delicacy that is becoming hard to find: The Barbecue Potato.

The barbecue potato is hard to find and hard to beat

 The barbecue potato or "Q tater," as I call it, is a large baked potato piled high with succulent pulled pork barbecue topped with sauce, shredded cheese and sour cream. It is my version of barbecue heaven: a combination of flavors and textures that will please any Q connoisseur.

The décor is Q-joint chic with license plates from around the country nailed to the board walls, and tables topped with glass plate under which is a map of the area, and where customers have jammed their business cards. A big effigy of that great glutton of the ether waves, Homer Simpson sporting a HW T-shirt dominates the lobby.

We like the place so much that when our daughter graduated from Brevard College, and inclement weather dampened our plans for a Pisgah picnic. We knew it was the place to have the celebration. My brother-in-law, who hails from the Lexington NC area was not pleased that the Q was pulled, not chopped as it is around his place, but other than that, all went well.


The Q, the atmosphere and the location make this place a good bet for travelers and locals alike.

🐷🐷🐷🐷

Death by Nachos

Chicora Alley has been a downtown Greenville, SC destination for years, so when they opened a place in the nascent foodie haven of Travelers Rest, I had to give them a try. They occupy a building that was once the city firehouse, ergo the name “Firehouse" on the store front.

It is nice to walk into a place and see the wait staff smiling when they don’t have to. A large U-shaped bar commands the main room. We were ushered into the long narrow side room which once housed the fire trucks.

I opted for the barbecue nachos (12) and my partner went with the fish and chips special (14) I also ordered a Highland Brewing Company Oatmeal Porter from nearby Asheville (4).

After about an average wait, the server arrived with a mountain of nachos so large that I almost looked for the busts of dead presidents carved into the side. When she saw the look on my face she said, “With nachos we don’t play.”

"With nachos we don't play."

They had thoughtfully provided two plates so I could share. There was no barbecue on the chips, meat was extra.  Instead they were covered in a nice fresh pico along with black beans and corn, meximelt cheese and barbecue sauce, which added a slightly odd, but not totally off-putting twist. Another waiter stopped by and joked that if I finished the plate, I would get a free T-shirt.

My partner raved over the fish and chips (she’s still talking about them a week later) and offered me a sample. The cod was tender and flaky, and the beer batter was well balanced.

The Fish 'n Chips special

Imaginary or not, a T-shirt was not in the offing due to a bit of bad planning on my part; I had already consumed over half a tray of the chips they had served as an appetizer, so after a heroic effort I had to reluctantly push the plate away. They asked if I wanted a carry out box, but I demurred. Nobody likes soggy nachos. Next time I’m going for the Jerk Shrimp.

Rating: 🐷🐷🐷🐷

Soapstone Church

 Meat and three with dessert Here's what twelve bucks get you at 

Soapstone Church. Drink included.  

The first time I entered Soapstone Church  I was slightly taken aback. There was Polka music echoing from the dining hall. Polka Music is rare enough here in the land of NASCAR and Kenny Chesnee, but it is especially surprising to be heard on an African American church.  But Soapstone church is just that kind of place. Nestled in the foothills of the Appalachians, with a million dollar view of the blue ridge escarpment, Soapstone is the heart of the Liberia Community, which, like the country with the same name, was founded by freed slaves after the Civil War.

Million Dollar View The grounds of Soapstone church offer a 

breathtaking view of the Blue Ridge escarpment. The boulder in 

the foreground is the soapstone that is the church's namesake. The 

sign at the right enjoins people from chipping off pieces of 

the rock

The church is named for a huge soapstone boulder on the grounds. Soapstone is a soft metamorphic  rock that the indigenous people once use to make bowls and utensils.
The grounds boast the first local African American school, which is still standing, and an historic grave yard, that is visited by thousands each year, but even more popular are the fish fries that the church offers on the third Saturday of each month, January through October. on these Saturdays the place is packed with customers, mostly white, affluent retirees from the nearby gated communities, who come to enjoy a big plate of what used to be called soul food back in the day. For twelve bucks, customers can get a plate with fried flounder, barbecue. or fried chicken, three vegetables, a drink and dessert. Everything is seasoned to perfection, from the collard greens to the squash casserole, to the braised potatoes, that are so popular they always run out. The fish fry is ably supervised by Mable Clark, an elvish woman with a gigantic personality who does most of the cooking and makes a point of visiting every table to greet the diners with smiles and backrubs. Mable's claim to fame is the fried flounder which is breaded with her own secret recipe. She tells of a chef from an upscale eatery in nearby Greenville, SC, who ate there  three times, trying to pry the recipe from her brain. Finally she relented and said if he would make a donation to the church she would share her secret. He didn't donate, and has not been back.

Long Day  Mable Clark (center) puts in sixteen hour days 

managing the monthly fish fries but still finds time to visit

with her patrons.

 Years ago, Mable promised her father who was the pastor at the time that she would do what she could to keep the church open after his passing. The fish fry was her way of doing that, but with the membership of the church having dwindled to less than a dozen, it gets harder each year. Recent articles in local papers and consumer magazines have helped to keep her busy for the time being, but who knows what the future holds? At least for the present we still have a circle on our calendar around the third Saturday of the month.
🐷🐷🐷🐷🐷

The Hungry Drover

John Wilson and Sheila Springfield have a vision of a place where neighbors meet to share gossip and good food. They wanted their restaurant to be a kind of community center in the tradition of the town where they operate, Travelers Rest. Their café, at the intersection of Tigerville and Locust Hill roads features a long table in the center of the room designed to bring neighbors and strangers together.

I was there for breakfast a few days after they opened in August, 2012. John, an affable and avuncular sort, welcomed me at the door and offered a sample of their breakfast fare: Country ham, grits, and a huge biscuit slathered with country gravy.  The ham was excellent and not overly salty and the biscuit and gravy were grandma-good, but the grits took best of show; soft and creamy, almost melting in the mouth. Sheila came around in her customary black apron and permanent smile, and confessed that, though she is the head chef, John is in charge of grits.

Sheila is a fan of Southern Appalachian cooking and her menu consists of recipes she learned from her grandmother, and old favorites as well as those she has researched from old and new southern cookbooks.  The cafe offers a seasonal menu of country fair made with locally sourced ingredients.

Visitors are invited to browse the shelves of art and crafts from local artists, and may even pick up a gallon of local raw milk, honey or a bag of local tomatoes to take home. The hungry drover is a welcome addition to upstate fare.

The Hungry Drover is open Monday-Friday, 10AM-6PM and 8AM-2PM on Saturday.

Backcountry Barbecue

My friend Marc Hoffman has been nagging me to check out this restaurant for a couple of years. Over the recent holiday weekend, I finally got a chance. Backcountry Barbecue is located just off I-85 at the Linwood exit near Lexington. Which any Lexingtonian will tell you is the barbecue capital of the world. It is also the home of the world famous Lexington Barbecue Festival held in October, which draws thousands of people to the area.

Lexington is where I cut my teeth on barbecue, so to speak, when I was living in nearby Salisbury and through my girlfriend at the time, I was introduced to “The Monk”, which was the local name of the  world famous Lexington Barbecue restaurant, where I experienced my first “lean brown course chopped tray.” For aficionados, memory of their first real barbecue often ranks up there with memory of another first (if you know what I mean.)

One of the features of Lexington barbecue is that you can get the regular “chopped” meat or “course chopped.” Mentioning the word “pulled” is likely to have the same effect as the guy who used to say “Would you please pass the jelly?” on the telly.

Back Country Barbecue is in a non-descript building by the side of State 43. Like most good BBQ joints around here, interior decoration seems to have been an afterthought, but, as I always say, you don’t eat atmosphere, you only pay for it.

Like the rubes we were, we sat out front on the Formica®, while the locals opted for the cozy dining room with its red (painted) brick wall and faux mantel. There was also a counter, but it was crowded with papers, menus, spoon and fork dispensers and the like.

I ordered the course chopped sandwich and received a bun full of thumb-sized chunks which, though slightly dry, had excellent smoke and the bark(which is the reason you order course chopped) was immensely acceptable.

The hazard of ordering course chopped pork on a bun versus the tray mentioned earlier, is that the watery Piedmont sauce soaks through the bottom of the bun much faster than with the regular chop, giving it the consistency of mucilage. This is a feature which I had forgotten in the thirty years since I had eaten my last course chopped Q.  As I mentioned before, turning the bun over mitigates the issue to some degree, but alas, by the time I remembered this, it was too late.

An indication of the quality of the meat is perhaps reflected in the fact that I can usually count on eating one and a half sandwiches at these places because my wife seems never to be able to finish hers, but here I was out of luck. I looked up from my plate to see my wife wiping the last morsel from the corner of her mouth.

It’s tough in the BBQ business in these parts because the competition is fierce and the expectations are high. Backcountry Barbecue is in for the long haul.

Diner rating:

  

In a Crowded Field, Richard's Holds its Own



Ricard's Barbecue sits in view if the historic Grimes Mill in Salisbury, NC.

 The historic and photogenic town of Salisbury, NC is located just a few miles from the epicenter of North Carolina Barbecue, Lexington, home of the world famous Lexington Barbecue Festival which draws thousands each October.


Salisbury is a veritable mother lode of smoked pork, with probably more BBQ joints per capita than any other town its size. Places like Wink’s, The College BBQ (home of the best foot long hot dog I’ve ever eaten) and Hendrix Barbecue are household names around these parts. Richard’s is a relative newcomer to the scene, being only a couple of decades old. It is also closest to the town square, having supplanted the now defunct Peeler’s which was just behind the courthouse and edging out Marlow’s by a snout.

The people in this part of the country are provincial about their barbecue. It’s always chopped. Here, the slap of cleaver on hardwood is an almost constant counterpoint to the chatter of customers, clinking of glasses and the Nashville sounds that squall from the speakers. Pulled pork is anathema, as is sliced pork, or beef, which, of course, really isn’t barbecue at all.

At Richard’s the “white’’ meat is finely chopped--almost minced-- lightly smoked, served with red slaw on top and hushpuppies on the side. Add a tumbler of the syrupy tea they serve in these parts, and your meal is complete. The sandwich comes to you dry. The sauce, which sits on the table in a re-purposed ketchup bottle, is left up to you.

The sauce is always vinegar based in these parts. No other type is worth their consideration. I love the bite of the vinegar and the crunch of the coleslaw as a counterpoint to the mild squish of the meat when I chomp down on a sandwich, but the juices from the slaw and the thin sauce sometimes soak through the bun, making it fall apart. That’s why the waitress will hand you a fork with your sandwich, though the soggy bun problem can usually be ameliorated by flipping it upside down. Richard’s has a salad bar and a varied menu, but why bother. With so much competition in the area, there’s no room for mediocre ‘Que and Richard’s holds its own.

Diner Rating: 3

Ode to a Cookbook

The story begins in 1973. I was a bachelor, newly hacked from my mother’s apron strings, and just learning to cook for myself. I was working at a small radio station in Kannapolis, North Carolina. The call letters were WGTL. The owner, who also owned a funeral home, was named Fred Whitley. The joke was that the station’s call letters stood for “Whitley Gets Them Last.”
     I was doing my air shift, alone in the station one afternoon, and in walked a young lady with a backpack. She was on one of those summer jobs where students went door to door selling books and magazines. They would always come up to you and say something like, “I’m trying to win a trip to Jamaica, and I need to sell so many books by such and such a date.”
     My first thought was “Why the hell do I care if you go to Jamaica?” But she was cute and energetic, so I figured she was worth my time. She proceeded to lay out a series of offers for various books and magazines, and I pretended to be interested, until she pulled out this huge cookbook.
     “This cookbook is dedicated to American cooking, “she said. “It has recipes for any type of American food you can think of.”
     “How about Moose?” I asked, trying to stump her.
     “Moose?” she repeated, accepting the challenge and deftly flipped to a section entitled “Game”
     “Moose!”, she said with a triumphant smile, holding up the book, which was open to a page which had recipes for “Moose Fondue, Moose Roast”, Moose Stroganoff”, and the ironically named “Moose Swiss steak.” She had obviously done this before. The Moose recipes were tucked between “Elk Noodle Stew” and “Opossum with Sweet Potatoes”. I was hooked.
      I was an avid hunter in those days and any cookbook that held innovative ways to scorch hapless fuzzy creatures was a winner in my mind. She pointed out that the ingredients in each recipe are listed in the order that they are used, as well as any required prep, which was an innovation back then and still not true of all recipes even today.
      One of my pet peeves is to have to stand there with a knife in one hand and an onion in the other and feverishly to scanning down into the directions to find out what to do with it, but this book listed things like "One medium onion, finely chopped." No guessing involved.
      So I bought the book for $15.00, which was big money for me back then.
      Over the years, I have used that cookbook more than any of my others; more than my Betty Crocker, more than my Joy of Cooking, more than my Escoffier. Especially my Escoffier. The book is called The Illustrated Encyclopedia of American Cooking. I once loaned the book to my mother, who liked it so much she almost didn’t give it back.
     The wide range of fare covered in the cookbook can be sensed, perhaps in its first three entries: Abalone, Almond, Avocado. As you can see, the book is arranged in alphabetical order by subject—from Abalone to Zucchini. Why, it’s like an encyclopedia! No flipping through a list of techniques or back to the index to find a recipe. If you want to cook beans, flip to the bean pages a Bam! (to coin a phrase), there are pages and pages of recipes for all types of beans, including my favorite bean dish, Spanish Limas. The scant nod to techniques is in the glossary--They assumeyou already know the difference betwene "saute" and "sear". Each section begins with a couple of paragraphs about the food in question, including information on the history of the ingredient and paragraphs on buying, storing and preparation.
     Of course, recipes being what they are, there can be somewhat of a confusion factor: Is Chili with beans listed under Chili, or under Beans? (Chili) This can be mitigated somewhat if you remember to look under the main ingredient for whatever your trying to cook. There is, for instance, no section for cookies, but under Oatmeal, you will find Apple Filled Oatmeal Cookies, Lace Cookies, Oatmeal-Chocolate Chip Cookies, Oat Cookies and Oatmeal Roll Outs. But you won’t find those ever popular chocolate oatmeal drop cookies—they’re listed under Chocolate.
      And that brings me to another thing that sold me on the cook book initially. This is the book that, if you get home late at night and about all you have in the house is a can of olives, half a dozen eggs and a jar of peanuts, you can find a recipe.
      Remember, this was way before the days of 24 hour Wal-Marts or McDonald’s drive-throughs. In those days in my small town in North Carolina, everything was closed by 8 PM, and so when I got off work at midnight, the pickin’s were slim indeed.
      The book has served me as a bachelor, through my marriage and into my mature years. Favorite holiday recipes include Wine Glazed Ham and a recipe for Eggnog that always gets raves. The recipe calls for, among other things, 12 eggs and a quart of apple brandy. Even today, when my experience and ability is at a much higher level that forty years ago, this is still the book I turn to first when I want to find something new to do with, say, a butternut squash.
      It’s also refreshing to read a cookbook that was written back before the onset of our current phobia of anything that is good to eat. In this honest tome, there is no concern for too much fat, protein or carbohydrate. No Weight watchers points, no color codes, just plain old American food, prepared the way grandma used to do it, back when food had flavor. There is no section on tofu.
      Needless to say my cookbook has received a lot of wear and tear over the decades. The cover is missing over the spine, the pages are stained with all manner of spilled ingredients, there are little red check marks on the pages where an old girlfriend marked her favorite recipes—we split up in 1979-- and the last page of the index has been taped together where my niece tore it when she was five years old. She’s forty now.
      Last year I decided to put the old book to rest, so I went to Amazon.com on the off-chance that there might be a used one out there somewhere. To my surprise, the book is still in print; under the imprimatur of Favorite Recipes Press. Now it sells for 28 bucks and change, which, inflation being what it is, is still a bargain. In the customer reviews, I found a reviewer who had almost the exact same experience as me. Small world. I gave the old edition to my daughter who is just now trying to make her way in the world, as I was when I first came across it.
      In the newer edition, the cover and some of the internal color photos are updated, but otherwise, it is essentially the same as my original, with the same recipes on the same pages, including many of the original black and white photos. I bought a used-but still in good shape-1992 edition and it now holds a special place on my kitchen book shelf. Though trends in cuisine seem to change as often as the wind, good cookbooks, like your grandmother’s recipe for soup stock, never go out of style.

Eggnog Supreme a’ la The Illustrated Encyclopedia of American Cooking
12 eggs, separated              1pt. light cream
1-1/2 cups sugar                 1 pt. heavy cream
1 qt apple brandy                Nutmeg
2 qt. milk

Blend egg yolks with sugar. Add brandy. Add milk and light cream blending well. Beat egg whites until soft peaks form. Whip heavy cream until fluffy. Fold egg whites and whipped cream into yolk mixture. Chill. Sprinkle with nutmeg to serve. Yield: 40 servings.

Nowadays eating raw eggs is frowned upon due to the risk of salmonella. Use your own judgment.


Spanish Limas a’ la The Illustrated Encyclopedia of American Cooking
1 med. onion, chopped                                1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 green pepper, chopped 1 tsp.                    Worcestershire sauce
2 tbsp. butter or margarine                            2 c. canned lima beans, drained
1 c. canned tomatoes                                    1 ½ c. grated process cheese
1 tsp. salt (we substitute Colby or ¼ tsp. pepper Cheddar)

Saute’ onion and green pepper in butter until golden; add tomatoes. Simmer for 10 minutes. Add seasonings and beans. Alternate layers of bean mixture and cheese in a greased 1-qt casserole. Bake in 350 degree oven for 30 minutes. Yield: six servings.

The Worcestershire sauce adds an interesting twist.

. . .and just so you know I wasn’t exaggerating;


Peanut Sandwich Filling a’ la The Illustrated Encyclopedia of American Cooking
1 sm. bottle olives                          Dash of pepper
1 sm. Bottle sweet pickles              1 tsp. dry mustard
4 hard boiled eggs                          1 egg
½ lb salted peanuts                         ½ cup vinegar
1 tsp. salt                                       1 c. milk
6 tsp. sugar                                    1 tbsp. butter
2 tsp. cornstarch                             Bread slices

Process olives, pickles, eggs and peanuts in a food processor or blender. Combine salt, pepper, cornstarch, sugar and mustard, blending well. Beat in egg , vinegar and milk. Place vinegar mixture in a saucepan over low heat. Cook, stirring constantly until thickened. Stir in butter until melted. Add peanut mixture, blending well. Spread filling between bread slices.

I’ve never had the nerve to try this, so if you do, let me know what it’s like.



My 1992 edition of The Illustrated Encyclopedia of American Cooking beside myolder, tattered edition















Doing The Lord's Work

Bucky’s Barbecue is a true American success story. About ten years ago Wayne Preston’s machinery business was going under. Nearing bankruptcy, he needed $500.00 immediately to keep the lights on in his house. He didn’t know where he was going to get it. In a fit of desperation he fired up his smoker in his back yard on Roper Mountain Road near Greenville, SC and began selling barbecue. He got his $500.00 and embarked on a path that would change is life forever.
He was a welder by trade, and continued his welding business while selling pork on the side. Then, in church one Sunday morning, his preacher challenged the congregation to try something they thought was impossible and trust in the Lord to see them through. Despite Jesus’ anti-swine bias, --he was a Jew, of course, and he did cause a bunch of hapless porkers to dive lemming-like into the sea, while he simultaneously invented the verb “to demonize”--Wayne took his preacher’s sermon as a sign from God and decided go into the barbecue business whole hog (so to speak.). After a brief struggle with the zoning board, and some help by members of his church family, Bucky’s Barbecue became a reality. (He chose the name because it had a catchy sound to it.) Now Preston has three restaurants, the original on Roper Mountain Road, near where he sold his first shoulder off his back yard smoker, and a second at the Donaldson Center of US 25 South of Greenville, and one in Fountain Inn, SC.
The Bucky’s on Roper Mountain Road is usually packed at lunch time. Men in suits and ties eat and rub shoulders with guys with their names over their shirt pockets. The walls are covered with pig paraphernalia, ball caps, and patriotica. Bucky or his son, a graduate of the Economics program at Anderson College, often man the counter, where the plate comes with pork and your choice of sides, including sweet potato crunch, and my personal favorite, pleasantly spicy Cajun pintos. Plates are accompanied with that epitome of gastronomic efficiency, sliced bread. The table squirters allow a choice of Wayne's own vinegar, or tomato-based sauce plus a mustard –based condiment created by his son-in law who’s from the Shealy clan, the last name in barbecue in the South Carolina Midlands. Drinks are self service, and the ice is dipped out of a portable plastic cooler--the kind you take to the beach.
The quality of the food and simplicity of service have made Bucky’s an icon of the local lunch crowd. It seems Wayne’s prayers have been answered. Maybe Jesus was only joking about the pigs…. (Photo by Chris Lipp)
Diner rating: 4

Guts and Glory

We are at the Kingstree Pigpickin’ on a cold, muddy October morning. It is my fourth event as a novice judge; the event where I am to be awarded my apron signifying that I am finally a certified barbecue judge, and I am wondering if I have the guts to go through with it. There are about 16 tables lined up in four rows in the unheated gymnasium where the judging will take place. I watch the other judges filter in and exchange greetings and war stories but my mind is on other things. My wife calls me over to meet a couple she has found from our own neighborhood. We exchange pleasantries. I talk man talk with the husband (“When did you leave town? How long did it take? What route did you drive? Are you going back the same way?”) Still, I’m having trouble concentrating. Something’s weighing on my mind, affecting my confidence in being able to successfully carry through with the day’s events.
Yesterday was bosses day, and since I am both a boss and a subordinate, the day was a moveable feast. My folks honored me with breakfast at the local Cracker Barrel restaurant, where I ate eggs, bacon toast and grits. I, in turn took the old man out to lunch at a swanky downtown joint in my home town, where I had a large tuna salad sandwich and some tasteless bread pudding.
Then upon arriving in Kingstree late the previous night We stopped by Brown’s Barbecue and rubbed elbows with the Realtree® crowd while taking a couple of swings at the buffet(Excellent barbecue, turkey and dressing, collards, rutabagas and a large salad). Browns had been recommended by Lake High, and if he recommends a barbecue joint, you need to pay attention. Then, upon leaving the motel, the next morning and feeling sorry for my wife, who wasn’t going to get to eat for several hours, we stopped at the Huddle House, to get her some food, and I and had a sympathy breakfast of two eggs and bacon with coffee.
There are now four meals stacked in my colon, and I’m wondering when they will want out. Kingstree is one of the largest events in the state. There are 65 cookers who have been up all night slogging through the mud in the cold rain. One has set his tent on fire. They all expect us to give them our best shot at picking one of them as the premier barbecue cooker of the day.
A good number of judges have shown up. Because the barbecue is very good, many judges refuse to miss this event. Still, it is clear that there is going to be a lot of barbecue for me to judge. I’m wondering where I’m going to put it. My biggest fear is that all of the previous day’s food will decide to find a way out at the wrong time, forcing me to bolt from my table in the middle of the judging causing great embarrassment to me and perhaps a disqualification for my table. At the last minute before the judges instructions I excuse my self and head for the nearest stall where I spend a few minutes in unproductive solitude.
Back at the auditorium, I ask the event Marshall if there is to be a novice table. Due to the large amount of barbecue and the relatively small number of judges there is not.
“Were gonna throw you to the wolves and watch you like a hawk.” He says.
I find a seat on a hard steel folding chair and wait through the instructions. There is a small controversy over who will be our table captain, but it is quickly sorted out. Then there is a minor ceremony where newly certified judges, including myself are given our aprons.
As we wait for the onslaught, I decide that if I take very small bites of the coming barbecue, as well as the bread and water we use to cleanse out palettes between samples, I may be able to get all seven or eight samples down without causing movement to begin. We exchange small talk across the table until we here the air horn signifying it is time for the cookers to start bringing in their product. The rest of the morning is a blur of smelling, tasting and scoring as the boxes fly in the door. When it’s over I have the remnants of seven samples on my mat. All of it of very high quality, but the spiciness we had expected from these low country cookers has been somewhat subdued this year.
I turn in my score card and clean up my space, grateful that I have made it through the judging without the need for an embarrassing exit. I have time to visit the grazing table where the left-overs are being sampled, and get my wife a plate, and some to take home as well. There is plenty to go around.
Finally we start the two hour drive back home, taking time to stop and buy some handsome collards and turnips on the way out of town from the back of a pick up owned by a farmer who tells me he turned 90 the previous day.

* * *
On the road home, we stop at a farm stand about a half hour east of town. While my wife is browsing the produce, I sneak into the cold, bare men’s room. After about 15 minutes of staring at an unconnected water heater in the corner and counting cob webs stuck to the rough hewn planks in the corners of wall, I emerge feeling somewhat lighter on my feet.
I cinch my belt up an extra notch, and go off to find my wife.

Safe at home, the Diner sports his new apron.

The Dillard House

"Yeah, it's that good." An unidentified diner makes a dive for the roastingears at the Dillard House in Dillard Ga.

Do this: Rent a copy of the movie Deliverance. Fast forward to the final scenes, when Burt Reynolds, Ned Beatty and Jon Voight walk into an old inn by the river and are met by an ample woman who feeds them home cooking and puts then up for the night. That woman was Nancy Dillard and her inn was a way station for river rats along the Chattooga in North Georgia for many years. It was her nephew Billy who played the part of the banjo picker in the movie.
The Dillards have had a long tradition of feeding the hungry in the Northeast corner of Georgia, along the Chattooga and the Stekoa. My wife and I find an excuse at least once a year to make the three hour (one way) trip to this picturesque part of the country where the peaks of the Blue Ridge seem to be melting into blue-green lumps and there is still breathing room between the conglomeration of strip malls and fast food joints that has polluted even the smallest of small towns in America.

Our excuse this time was the annual Foxfire Festival that is held on the grounds of an old Rabun school in Dillard Georgia. The Foxfire story deserves a column in its own right. The brainchild of Elliot Wigginton, who received a McArthur Fellowship for his work, Foxfire began as a small magazine written and edited by Wigginton’s Rabun High School English classes. His mission was to record the fading traditions, folklore and ingenuity of the old mountain folk so that it would be preserved for future generations. Forty-three years after its inception, the idea has become a movement, with the magazine still going strong and 14 volumes of The Foxfire Book in print. I stumbled across the first volume of the Foxfire book in a mall bookstore shortly after it was published in 1972. Printed on the cover was a short list of the topics covered: Hog dressing, Log Cabin Building, Mountain crafts and foods, Planting by the signs, Snake lore, Hunting tales, Faith healing, Moon shining. It was all the stuff of stories, some told to me directly, some learned by eavesdropping, that I had heard from the people of my grandfather’s generation since I was a small child. My grandfather, who was a Constable, made extra money busting moon shine still in the foothills of the Blue Ridge during the depression. He fed his family through hard times by hunting in the hills and raising crops and meat on a small holding in northern Greenville County, SC.

One of the stars of the first volume of The Foxfire Book is Aunt Arie, a widower in her eighties at the time of publication who lived in alone a small cabin in the mountains She was immortalized by Jessica Tandy in the Hallmark Hall of Fame movie Foxfire not too many years ago.
Many of the books have old time recipes, including the recipe for Brunswick Stew my wife and I use today. These recipes were most likely repeated from memory into a tape recorder. The measurements are often spotty, and since much of the cooking was done on wood stoves, cook times and temperatures are often only a guess.

Next door to the old Rabun school is the Dillard House, founded by another member of the Dillard family many years ago. The Dillard house is a family style restaurant, meaning you don’t get to pick and choose from a menu, the entire menu is brought to your table in bowls and on plates and you can eat all you want and more. The rustic dining room looks out across the Stekoa valley to the bucolic campus of the Nagoochee school.

It was a chilly, wet afternoon when we stomped the rain off our shoes at the door to the lobby. We had arrived between the breakfast and lunch hours and were given a number. We browsed the gift shop until our number was called and then we were led to a table by the window which gave us a panoramic view of the valley. On the table were a Waldorf salad, a bowl of slaw and a salad of fresh tomatoes, onions and cucumbers in a vinaigrette. It wasn’t long until the rest of the food arrived, and the table top was covered in dishes, bowls and plates. Meats included country ham, barbecued pork ribs, and fried and baked chicken and roast beef. Sides included collards, braised potatoes, cabbage, their marvelous acorn squash souffle, fried apples, green beans, field peas and corn on the cob. Seconds were offered whenever the waitress noticed we had emptied a serving vessel. I took her up on several items including two refills of collards. Dessert was coffee and apple pie a’ la mode.

It’s easy to forgive a restaurant that provides this amount of food for skimping here and there on quality, but at the Dillard House everything is perfectly seasoned. It’s as if a squadron of grandmothers is scurrying around the kitchen putting their best Sunday Dinner efforts into the victuals. More than a meal, this is an experience to be savored. This is not a quick bite. This is slow food, to luxuriate in, taking time to enjoy every morsel. This is food that relaxes, that unleashes brain chemicals usually known only to long distance runners or Alpinists. This food gives you a natural high.

The Dillard house has become my gold standard for good, simple food. It’s about the best use of a twenty dollar bill I can think of.

Diner rating: 5

Brunswick Stew
2 pounds cooked ground beef
1 pound cooked lean ground pork
1 small cooked chicken, chopped
3-4 diced potatoes
1 pint whole kernel corn
1 cup lima beans
2-3 chopped onions
1 pint tomatoes or tomato juice
catsup
chile powder
salt
black and red pepper
worcestershire sauce

The directions say,"Put all ingredients in a big pot and cook for a long time."

From The Foxfire Book, edited by Elliot Wigginton, New York, Random House, 1972

You can almost hear an old mountain woman rattling off the ingredients while tapping her fingers and gazing off into the distance. We substitute boneless skinless chicken breasts, which we boil, then cut into pieces, for the cooked chicken, and we add frozen green peas and a couple of bay leaves. We serve it over rice. The recipe calls for a “pint” of tomatoes and corn because the mountain people preserved their own vegetables in pint or quart canning jars. Of course now you get your tomatoes off the grocery store shelf. Use a 14.5 ounce can of diced tomatoes and frozen corn. This makes a hearty, highly caloric dish. It is designed for people who spend their days chopping wood, herding cattle or hoeing corn, not sitting at a desk punching buttons. Use your own judgment on the spices and condiments. This dish freezes well.

The Dillard House Acorn Squash Souffle

1½ cups mashed acorn squash
½ cup mashed butternut squash
¾ cup granulated sugar
¼ tsp salt
¼ tsp ground ginger
1 tsp vanilla extract
4 eggs separated
½ cup heavy cream
¼ cup butter, melted
½ cup flaked sweetened coconut

Halve the squash and remove the seeds. Boil the squash until tender. Let cool and remove the pulp and puree in a blender or food processor.

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Lightly grease a 2-quart casserole dish and set aside. Beat the squash well in an electric mixer. Add the sugar, salt, ginger and vanilla and beat well. Mix in the cream and melted butter. In a separate bowl beat the egg whites until stiff but not dry. Fold the egg whites into the squash mixture. Pour into the casserole and sprinkle with the coconut. Bake 30-40 minutes until puffed and lightly browned.

(from www. projects.eveningedge.com/recipes)

Pigging Out

High Marks. Hite's Barbecue occupies a small cinderblock building on a two lane road in West Columbia, SC. Note the smoke emanating from the rear of the building and the pickup, which obscures a large pile of wood by the back door.

The Caroliner Diner's Rules for Spotting a Good Barbecue Restaurant

It’s a shame to go to a ‘Q joint and plunk down good money for sorry meat. So how do you know if a BBQ place is good or not before having to pay nine or ten bucks for a plate? Below are some guidelines that have served me in the past. Think of your favorite place and see if it doesn't fit several of these criteria.

1) SMOKE. Al Gore be damned! There must be smoke, and to hell with the carbon footprint! Real barbecue is cooked with smoke, and the smoke has to come from good hardwood trees. You should see it, and smell it when you pull into the lot, or at least when you get out of the car.

2) WOOD. There should be a wood pile on the premises, and it should be used for cooking. Oak will pass, but Hickory is king. Mesquite will do in a rush if you’re out west. Other viable woods are apple and pecan, though these are scarce and expensive and usually only used to put a finish on the meat. Beware of “decorator wood” that is only for show where the pork is actually cooked on a gas flame.

3) FAT PEOPLE. Fat people love to eat and usually know good food when they taste it. If there are no fat people eating there, the food is probably only so-so. Beware of a restaurant filled with skinny people in exercise gear. Those people don’t know how to eat.

However fat people can’t be the sole indicator. They sometimes indicate food that is simply cheap.

4) PORTABLE COOKING RIG parked outside. Serious barbecue cookers love to compete with their fellows to see who can make the best barbecue at a given time and place. This is where their skill is honed to a high art and where they learn secrets from other cookers about how to improve their product.

5) TROPHIES. If you’re gonna compete, you better be able to win at least once in a while.

6) PIGS. Like the ancient Minoans who worshipped bulls and kept images of them around house, True BBQ aficionados keep porcine totems around them. The more pictures, statues and stuffed pigs in the dining room the better the restaurant. One of my favorites is a sign hanging on the wall at Henry’s Smoke House in Greenville, SC. Inside the outline of a pig, it says, “People Eat People’s Meat."

Nice Rack. Stacks of decorator wood outside Maurice's Piggy Park in Cayce, SC. The Barbecue is actually cooked next door.
7) COUNTRY MUSIC has to be playing on the speakers. Anyone who cooks pork in the presence of any other mode, except gospel or bluegrass has no sense of proportion.

8) PICKUP TRUCKS in the parking lot. A lot full of BMW’s indicates the pork is either too expensive or too artsy or both.

9) SAUCE ON THE SIDE, not on the meat. If they have to sauce the meat to make it palatable, there’s something wrong with it.

10) THE BUILDING. Don’t even slow down for one of those cookie cutter fancy brick and steel facades that look like they were built last year. Somebody has to pay for that building. Real barbecue cookers build the pit first and then as an afterthought put some kind of enclosure around it, perhaps getting the idea when they hear the first raindrops sizzle on the grill. Look for a simple wood or cinderblock building, preferably out in the country. The fewer lanes to the road that goes there the better. Extra points are given if it has a gravel parking lot, tables in the yard, or a porch to eat on. Barbecue is meant to be eaten outside where the smoke in the air enhances the smoke in the meat for a complete barbecue experience. Screens are optional.

11) THE MENU should have barbecue as the main, or only item. If the menu has the barbecue listed somewhere down there between the Fiesta Chicken and the Shrimp and Sausage Penne, It probably comes to the restaurant frozen in a tub or plastic bag.

12) A SINGLE ENTITY. Beware of chain restaurants. A man runnning a pit out in the country is free to live his dream. Chains come with a large beauracracy whose main job quickly becomes maintaining the status quo vs. making excellent food.