I don't barbecue because I like pork. I barbecue because I hate pigs.


Above is the centerpiece for a party Courtney & I threw for Labor Day. Set around a glorious 9-pound pork shoulder, which I smoked for upwards of 10 hours, the party was themed as The First Annual Quentin Compson Celebration, subtitled "I don't hate [the south]. I don't hate it!" We had some friends bring over appropriately southern dishes--homemade macaroni & cheese, corn bread, gin & tonic, some cobblers, etc--and Courtney made some good sweet tea. The sum total was a really great meal.

But I have to say that I was really pleased with the pork. I mean, after many pounds of hickory went into the smoker (below), the meat was more tender than I could have reasonably expected for my first try. It took almost no effort to get the meat off the bone.


And Courtney and I made a great Memphis-style sauce to match it. We culled a few recipes from my BBQ cookbooks, made a few alterations, and came out with a nice sweet sauce that had enough kick to be called a proper Arkansas sauce--a nice blend of Memphis sweet and Texas heat. Courtney even went the extra mile and got a gingham table cloth to make our meal feel like a more proper picnic.

But most importantly, it was a great community dinner, and it made me miss the hell out of the Hendrix gang. So whenever you're down this way, give me a few days' notice so I can get the smoker in gear!

PS: Here's one more pic of Charley, our miniature dachshund, who made a last-minute bid for my spot at the table. I can't really blame him, though, because it smelled a helluva lot better than his dinner did.