eating my words

I've been blessed with many extraordinary food opportunities and adventures in my life, but few compare to a meal I recently shared with shrimper (and all-round super dude) Timmy Cheramie. 

I hope y'all have had the chance to check out my story, "Fresh From The Bayou" in the June issue of Southern Living featuring Timmy, his family, and his insanely good recipes. 

Well, I just couldn't help myself, so I paid a return visit to Golden Meadow, Louisiana a couple of weeks back to meet up with Timmy and his crew (and what a crew they are!).

Barbecue, catfish, and grits are true Southern culinary icons, to be sure.  Yet despite their humble beginnings, these Dixie-born gems have gone on to become quite popular across the country.  As a result, it’s not particularly difficult to find foods such as Memphis-style barbecue or garlic-cheese grits in New York or LA (and I don’t mean Lower Alabama). 

Enter pimiento cheese. 

Now, if you read the "Otis, My Man!," post back in March, you know that pimiento cheese is one of my favorite foods.  I'll happily eat it morning, noon, or night (and all times in between).

First off, in my neck of the woods, the word “pimiento” is pronounced PUH-minnuh (just like the old guys in the bait shop pronounce “minnow”, only without the “PUH.”)

In my last post, Hog Heaven, I casually mentioned white barbecue sauce.  Almost immediately, my inbox was filled with emails from folks all over the country who'd never heard of the concoction, but wanted to know more.  Who am I do deny barbecue lovers the opportunity to try something new?  That said, I'll start from the top.

The color spectrum of barbecue sauce is rich and diverse—one reason why sampling different styles from all over the South is so much fun, and so delicious.  Ask the average person the color of their favorite sauce and you’ll probably get answers such as brick red, mahogany, or caramel.  Shoot, ask somebody from Columbia, South Carolina, where mustard-based sauces are king, and you might even get, well, mustard-color.

I’ve often said that barbecue is a lot like the martial arts – there’s enormous camaraderie around the subject in general, but everyone feels like they’re practicing the perfect form.  Honestly, the next time you get into a heated discussion about ‘cue think back to the great kung fu movies of the 70s where the typical set-up was two shaolin masters squaring off, one usually insisting the other’s monkey style was no match for his crane style.  Insert “ribs” and “pulled pork” or “wet” and “dry” in place of the kung fu styles and have a good laugh rather than coming to blows.

Why am I bringing this up?  Because I visited one of my “temples” of barbecue this past weekend: Bob Sykes in Bessemer, AL.  I hit other joints around town for, say, pulled pork and chicken (always slathered in white barbecue sauce, a true Alabama specialty), but for ribs, I head for Sykes.  I’m typically a baby back kind of guy, but the meaty spareribs at Sykes are something special.