SIZZLE, SMOKE, & A LACK OF SPINACH

Last evening, my friends Monica and Brian hosted their wedding reception at Chattanooga’s Pot House—a lovely log cabin on the banks of the Tennessee River. The party was perfect. In the utterly brisk woods, with an old-timey band (two guitars, a mandolin, a tuba, and sear-sucker suits), we enjoyed corn dogs of various sorts (jalapeno/pineapple turkey dogs, traditional all-beef corn dogs, and veggie corn dogs) and a brilliant autumn-foliage-themed cake with a meringue layer. The crunch of meringue aside a thick layer of silky buttercream—pop rocks step aside, this is the textural sensation of the adult-set.

Previous to this, Chris and I were in Tuscaloosa for the Alabama-Ole’ Miss game. Here, as is standard, we visited Dreamland. Now, deep breath, for me, the Dreamland ribs are an aside; I’m not crazy for ribs after all, with their need for tugging and tearing, their required toothpicking post-consumption. No, for me, the very best of Dreamland is the fresh, cottony white bread and sauce. The sauce provided initially (in its neat, Styrofoam cup) is good. But the sauce that drips from the ribs and pools plate-bottom, flecked with bits of charred meat, is divine. Its vinegary bite, eased by the grease of the ribs, emerges a run-off of twangy-complexity and smokiness. And the quilty-soft sponge of Sunbeam is the ideal transport.

With nary a vegetable in sight, this weekend was pure Southern-style perfection--good parties, football, and an abundance of meaty deliciousness.

BACK TO THE BARBEQUE SAUCE

My eyes are burning, and it’s hot—air-blasting-and-windows-open hot. On the stove is our biggest pot, a four-gallon stainless, with a half-pound of chilies de arbol simmering in vinegar-water and salt. Two other burners hold pots of tomato-slurry: our hand-crushed fruit, maple syrup, mustard, and spices. The heat, the burn: these are the sacrifice of homemade sauce—tart and spicy, deep with smoked paprika and tellicherry pepper, sound in tomato’s natural sugars. After our summers of struggling to create our perfect sauce, I believe that we can now put our Dreamland on the shelf and cook through the discomfort.

Which reminds me of the first days of the spice company, when we worked out of Niedlov’s Breadworks. In one corner of the 1600-square-foot space was an oven the size of a mini bus; there was no ventilation system in the facility: no AC, not even a window unit; no fan; no open windows. Mid-summer, the temperature reached easily over 100 degrees and, as we ground spicy blends like our Memphis Dry Rub, the particulates would rise and settle on our arms, moist with sweat; on the apples of our cheeks; and sometimes, god forbid, in our eyes. And would it burn. Needless to say, with two young couples and the heat, emotions ran high—ecstasy and humor, hysteria and annoyance.

It was a great time. Rent was low; labels were homemade; and we still felt awe that people wanted what we were making. As I’ll feel Saturday, carrying my three gallons of Alchemy Chili de Arbol Vinegar Sauce to christen the pig. Glasses up; let’s eat some pork.

Saucing the Pig

Chris and I are commissioned to prepare three gallons of vinegar-based barbeque sauce for Saturday’s Pig Roast at Crabtree Farms. For several seasons, we’ve struggled with creating the perfect sauce. Often ours are too spicy, too tart, or simply too complex for a good stand-by sauce. However, for our current attempt, I decided to start on a new path. Borrowing from the salsas of Mexico, I began by boiling chilies de arbol in vinegar and water. When soft, I pushed them through a sieve to produce a spicy—but fruity—liquid and pulp. This pulp mixed with tomatoes, vinegar, mustard, and seasonings produces a hearty sauce with a punch of back-of-the-tongue heat and a good balance of vinegar and sweet tomato. I suppose I may be sorry about my give-it-some-muscle sieving process halfway through the three gallons but that can be Chris’s contribution to the saucing!

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Lastly, here are pictures of the spit being assembled for the big day!