At Home On Piety Hill

Blueberries are native only to North America. Wild Maine blueberries, like Maine lobster, are the best — finest kind. They are small and full of flavor, unlike the larger ones that grow higher off the ground in places like New Jersey, Oregon and Washington. Our friends in Maine will sometimes eat the larger, inferior blueberries from away but that’s an anomaly. 

Blueberries are raked and it is difficult and back-breaking work. If you are good at it, you can make a big wad of cash during the season, typically the month of August. In the 90’s, that’s how teenagers in our town earned money to buy a car. Camille raked blueberries one day and that was enough. Sam did it for a while longer than that. 

Here in California, we have found wild Maine blueberries, as well as those grown in the Maritime provinces at Trader Joe’s, in the frozen section under their own brand. Generally, Denise uses them for baking and my personal favorite is a coffee cake recipe she got from the baker at a country store in Maine. She had a good rep in town and the gentleman was happy to share it with her, under the condition that she never used it commercially and with the understanding that we were heading back to California. The secret was the crusty, sugary, tart, blueberry top on the cake. 

You can buy blueberries in a variety of ways, but we prefer the roadside stand where you leave your money in a jar. By the way, this is a common practice in Maine for selling anything from camp wood to blueberries to pies or baked goods. Many of the stands will have a sign advertising blueberrys. Don’t be fooled by this marketing ploy — the obvious misspelling gives the stand or display a down-home, rural ambience.  Denise enjoys blueberries al fresco and one at a time.

What trip to Maine would be complete without a lobster bake? And, why do they call it a bake, when you boil or steam everything? Well, that and other weighty questions of eternal consequence will have to wait until later. Right now, we’re talking about downeast cuisine.
We headed down to Brooklin to buy some lobsters from John Candage and found them for just over $5 a pound. 

We got together with Bruce and Terri, Paul and Mary, Leah and Emma for some lobster, steamers, fresh corn on the cob and, of course, pie. Mary made the best coconut cream pie, with a great whipped topping. 

It was Emma’s first taste of lobster and, oddly enough, she didn’t like it. Go figure! I prefer sea scallops, but I really like lobster, too. I’ve had lobster often, but learned a valuable tip this time. Clip the rubber bands off the claws, before you drop them, head first, into the boiling water. If you don’t do that, the taste of rubber will taint the delicate lobster meat. 

I also learned that:

Long ago, lobsters were so plentiful that Native Americans used them to fertilize their fields and to bait their hooks for fishing. In colonial times, lobsters were considered “poverty food.” They were harvested from tidal pools and served to children, to prisoners, and to indentured servants, who exchanged their passage to America for seven years of service to their sponsors. In Massachusetts, some of the servants finally rebelled. They had it put into their contracts that they would not be forced to eat lobster more than three times a week.

For those of you concerned about the inhumane practice of boiling lobster, consider it justice:

Lobsters like to eat a variety of fresh plants and animals like clams, sea urchins, and starfish. The four antennae located on a lobsters head along with the tiny hair that covers much of the lobsters body helps him to locate food; lobsters can detect motion but cannot clearly make out specific objects.   The lobster has two big claws and eight walking legs.  One claw is the crusher claw, which helps the lobster destroy something he wants to eat.  The other claw is called the pincher or ripper claw and is used to tear food apart. 

Before we sat down to our lobster feed, we needed to be sure the horses had something to eat and Leah showed us the correct way to feed a carrot to a horse. 

When you’re in Maine, there are a number of rare treats you’ll want to track down besides the best lobster in the world. Emma and I love two Maine staples, common to the working class downeast; red hot dogs and whoopie pies. The best place to find them in Hancock County are at the Eggemoggin Country Store or, as the natives call it, B&L’s (it was established years ago by Billy and Lorna… but, that’s another story).

Danny makes the best whoopie pies, bar none, anywhere in New England. He also has a recipe for the most righteous blueberry coffee cake ever, as well as cookies and other baked goods. Finest kind!

Red hot dogs are unique to Maine and they do taste a bit different. Authentic red hots are served in a split-top roll, the same as any good clam, crab, scallop or lobster roll. I like dogs steamed along with the roll, in the glass and stainless steel dispenser, common to any reputable Maine market or general store. Yes, red hots are some good!

Other mandatory items in a real, downeast Maine country store are pizza, Italians (the Maine name for a hoagie or sub), picked crabmeat, old VHS movie rentals and plenty of humor, laced with bits of town gossip. “Yes, deah!”

On one of our trips to B&L’s, we drove by the home of our friends, Don and Jane. They offered us their typical brand of downeast hospitality and we sat in the kitchen for a couple of hours, exchanging bits of news about family and friends in town, as well as our opinion of Obama’s choice for a running mate. When we left, Denise snapped this pose of what could pass for two Maine male models, whose bodies have been sculpted by years of hard work, red hot dogs and whoopie pies. 

I’m sitting in a very comfortable motel room in Wolfeboro New Hampshire, which I’m sure you know was the first resort town in the United States. We found a wonderful little place on the lake, where Emma and Denise are relaxing in a gazebo, on the lawn, watching some kids being delightedly dragged and tossed about the lake on some big rubber boat by their irresponsible parents.

We finished some takeout for lunch and two pints of hand-packed Morrissey Ice Cream, followed by a nap. Now, I’m ready to get down to some serious Bible study, following this post.

Ever since our first trip to New England, Denise and I have trained our eyes to detect each and every dairy bar along the road, in search of the best soft serve and homemade or local dairy’s hard ice cream. Maine abounds with the stuff, as does New Hampshire. The Morrissey mocha almond fudge was just right, but I think the peppermint stick was just a bit too sweet. I like the peppermint “hot.”

Last Sunday, I preached at a small church in Bangor. Following the service, pastor Joe, Tricia and their grandson Austin took us all out to Nick’s for lunch and we followed that up with a trip to the Gifford’s stand on Broadway, over by the Bangor Mall. They serve up some of the best hard ice cream I’ve had, in a variety of flavors. I’m a bit of a purist and go for something simple for evaluation and review. Their chocolate chip is a superb blend of rich, creamy vanilla and semi-sweet chocolate chips that are just the right size. They tend to be on the large size, which other chocolate chip fans will agree is the proper way to make it. As you can see from the photo on the left, Austin’s choice of chocolate lover’s chocolate was also an excellent choice.

Denise usually gets something with maple in it while we’re in the area and Emma generally goes for the peppermint stick ice cream. Gifford’s excels at both.  Dutch Treat, on the road to Bar Harbor, makes their own ice cream right there and it’s a Salisbury favorite. We all like soft-serve and found Lodie’s on Deer Isle for the first time. It’s creamy, firm and comes in a variety of flavors and swirls. Of course, we still love our Blizzards at Dairy Queen and even McDonald’s will do in a pinch.

Did I ever tell you that Denise can make excellent tamales and carnitas? ¿No? Well, then… About the time Denise and I started getting serious, she worked at a deli and meat market, owned by Jess (Mexican) and Julianne (Polish). So, while I was off surfing every single day during the summer of 1974 (I couldn’t get a job, because I wouldn’t cut my hair — Idiot), Denise (Anglo) learned how to make carnitas, tamales, tortillas, menudo, peirogi, golumki and fresh/smoked kielbasa. Yes, she was always good in the kitchen, but this experience turned her into a serious culinarian. 

Denise is not threatened by others, with more sophisticated or advanced skills. A few months ago, we dined at Las Pupusas, a Mexican/Salvadoran/Costa Rican restaurant on El Camino in Sacramento (please read the reviews). I’ve only had Mexican tamales, so theirs were a new treat for me. As one reviewer noted:

Their tamales remind me of my grandma’s cooking, had she known how to make tamales. What’s a bit strange (but it’s a good strange,) is that they put potatoes in their tamales and they wrap the whole tamale up in a banana leaf instead of a corn husk. You can definitely taste the difference and the essense of the banana leaf is in the maize.

However, it was their carnitas that really grabbed our attention. When I was paying, I asked the young woman at the register if they marinated their carnitas and told her it was the best we’ve ever had. She said “no, but my grandmother cooks it in Coca Cola before she roasts it.” Denise looked at me (like Joe Friday), nodded and knowingly remarked, “I’ve heard that before. I’ll have to try it.”

So, this weekend we looked on line and settled upon this recipe. Oh, blessed carnitas!!! It was wonderful. I would have to compare side-by-side with Las Pupusas, to determine the champion. But, really, who cares? It’s all good. Denise whipped up the salsa fresca, we rolled the pork up in corn tortillas and ate it with some rice on the side (Denise makes great rice, too).

Oh, yes. You were probably wondering what happened to Denise and the deadbeat surfer. Well, actually I had worked and saved a bunch of money up to that point. When I got home from the waves and she got off work, we went to a rock show or Dodger game or a movie almost every night of the week. I finally cut my hair and got a job in September (actually 3 part time jobs) and we got married and have been eating Mexican and Polish/Slovak food ever since.

Now, here’s a blog I get. Jonah travels the length and breadth of America, sampling the fare from taquerias of all sizes, posting his reviews on the Burrito Blog. As of this writing, he hasn’t sampled the best yet, which can only be found at El Tepeyac. ¿Es verdad, mi familia?

Now, if you’re ever in the Los Angeles area, you want to head over to East LA and find 812 N Evergreen Ave., between Brooklyn and Wabash. El Tepayac is across the street from a large Catholic church, in a neutral zone, and there’s usually a real long line outside. But, don’t get discouraged and leave or you’ll miss the experience of a lifetime.

That’s right. I’m talking about the Hollenbeck burrito, which is half the size of a Manuel’s Special and pictured here. I stuck a fork in it for scale. It’s about a foot long and filled with rice, beans, guacamole and a very unique version of chile verde — Manuel’s own homestyle recipe. That’s really about all that’s in it, but it defies description and has been bringing Denise and I back for almost 40 years.

The Prince of Wales is getting to be a royal pain, flitting around the world, wagging his self-important finger, lecturing the commoners on everything from nutrition to the environment. If you will remember, he consumed thousands of pounds of precious aviation fuel to fly into New York, in order to receive an award for his decades of work promoting environmental sustainability and to raise awareness of global warming. As I remember it, the ceremony was postponed due to a blizzard.

Now, according the Telegraph UK, Charles is doing what he can to deny people the right to eat what they want by targeting certain eeeeeeevil foods and the capitalist pigs, who set up shop on the street corners and in the malls to deal the stuff to kids:

As nutritionist Nadine Tayara told him they discourage children from eating fast food, he retorted: “Have you got anywhere with McDonald’s, have you tried getting it banned? That’s the key.”

This guy is truly a useless appendage. I used to have a different opinion of the monarchy and, though it weathered the Diana debacle, this incident cinches it for me… these people need to hit the streets and earn their own bread. As it turns out in the article, his kids love burgers.

I suppose the real insult came with the graphic shown above from the article. It seems that the readers of the Telegraph like Cornish pasties almost as much as we do here in Nevada City and Grass Valley. In order to put MacDonald’s and the Big Mac into perspective, the journalist compared it to Prince Charles’ favorite country fare, the humble pastie, and sullied the reputation of our esteemed meat and potato pastrie. As you can see, the pastie is deadlier than the Mac. Does this mean Prince Chuck is going to begin calling for a boycott of pasties? Well, if he does, he’ll start a second American Revolution right here in Nevada County. They can have my pastie when they pry it from my cold, dead hand.

Our travels took us to visit our dear friend Dolly on the Mainline in Narberth PA and then on to Park Slope in Brooklyn NY. We had a great time and I will go into a bit more detail later, describing the restaurants and other attractions. I’ve posted a few photos at Next Stop Narberth and Park Slope.

With that said, doesn’t Denise look cute?

Boy, have we been going ever since we flew into Manchester NH! We’ve been looking at land, while squeezing in visits with friends, whoopie pies, red snappy hot dogs and some haddock, followed by pie at Helen’s! Our friends, the Websters, have been great hosts. I’ve published a few photos here.

I went for a run today, following my usual course through the woods and local schools. There were kids in school today! I called the principal’s office and found that they will not be observing Columbus Day today or on the actual date of the 12th of October.

For those crumb-crunchers who are missing out on this holiday and receiving indoctrination, the rest of us are celebrating the discovery of America by Christopher Columbus and the spread of European civilization to the New World.

When the explorers arrived on this continent, they found the Algonquin torturing and killing Iroquois, imposing their morals and culture on their neighboring brothers. Maya and Aztec were brutalizing fellow native Americans, while the Blackfoot and other plains tribes were battling one another for turf, well on their way to exterminating the buffalo. Here in the Sierras, the Miwok and Maidu people were found barely subsisting on acorn mush, supplemented by an occasional diseased fish, rabbit or deer that fell victim to their stone-age hunting devices.

While the Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Creek, and Seminole largely adopted the progressive ways of their European benefactors, most Native American tribes did not and fell by the wayside in the this hemisphere’s move toward modern civilization. Many cherish hatred and bitterness towards those who have moved ahead and overcome the differences highlighted by this inevitable clash of cultures.

In short, the original people here in America really needed some help and the people from the east were brave, self-sacrificing and compassionate enough to bring them the benefits of modern society, medicine and technology. That sort of human endeavor is to be celebrated and remembered!

Yesterday, Denise and I took a day trip up above Sierra City. We found this nice spot overlooking the Sierra Buttes from Haskell Peak — I whipped out my PowerBook and fired it up. And… which one of my dozens of random desktop photos do you suppose came up on the monitor? Yep! A shot of the Buttes from the other side, which I took back in 1978! Those are some impressive rocks!

Later, we took a stroll on the Sand Pond Interpretive Nature Trail, which was lovely and then, on a lark, drove home through Sierraville via Highway 89. I had forgotten how big and absolutely beautiful it is there. We capped it all off with a very good meal at Los Dos Hermanos at the junction of Highway 49 and 89. The chili colorado was some of the best I’ve had and that’s saying a lot, coming from a vato viejo from barrio South Whittier!

I found a bloggers home away from home at Panera Bread and it’s habit forming. Denise likes to do her shopping in Rocklin and I like to spend time with Denise, so we drive down, she drops me off at Panera and she does her thing, while I do mine. Then, we usually get a bite to eat at a taqueria or barbecue joint.

Denise and I learned to love Panera when we visited Emma in Chapel Hill. Because it was overcast or raining the entire time we were there and Emma worked all day, Denise and I spent a considerable amount of time in the comfortable environs that are Panera, catching up on email, eBaying, blogging or just chatting over a hot, caffeinated beverage.

Panera’s baked goods are way better than our local fare at Flour Garden, the coffee is almost as good as Java John’s (still the reigning king) and the WiFi is free. Our local Starbucks is a bit cramped and they only offer TMobile. The music is usually good, but Panera is always playing my kind of jazz, the termperature indoors is just right and, if it’s a beautiful day, I can get reception out on the patio. Well, that’s about it… I have to get up to refill my mug.

This just in… it’s cooled down to about 85º, so I’ve moved outside and getting 5bars… this place is awesome. I’ll try after hours sometime to see if I can log on.

Denise and I vacationed in San Francisco last weekend and it was tons of fun. You can view the paltry few photos we took here. Our original plan was to hit thrift stores all the way down from Nevada City, but that proved disappointing (to put it mildly) and opened us up to an unexpected variety of “divine appointments,” good food and miles upon miles of walking, up and down hills.

Where do I start? Well, we stopped for coffee in El Sobrante and met a wonderful bunch of guys who were out on assignment from a prophecy workshop at a local church, “Hearing From God.” Our conversation started when we overheard one of the men talking about how he had moved to Alleghany, a town smaller than Camptonville and further up in the mountains! We chatted, prayed, prophesied, laughed and carried on for about an hour and a half!

Then, it was off for a quick trip to IKEA and dinner at Tommaso’s. We walked all over Nob Hill, Chinatown and North Beach, had some fantastic pastries and even got some bargain used books at Black Oak Books (under the watchful posters of our neighbor, Gary Snyder, everywhere).

On Sunday morning, we had a continental breakfast on Union Square and headed off to Chinatown for some bulk tea and lunch. At 9:30 we found the First Chinese Baptist Church on Waverly Place and the believers there were friendly. It was a great assembly and the pastor, a Chinese brother from Boston, was preaching about being “less Chinese, not so Asian-American” and more welcoming. He said, “Many of you will be going out to lunch after the service… take a visitor with you!” Denise and I perked up, started nudging each other in our pew, thinking, “Cool! We’re going to be dining in style today and spend time with the family of God around some chow fun or something.” Well, we didn’t get an invitation, but one guy told us he’d been there for 30 years and would point us to the best dim sum in town! We went to Sam Wo’s and it was great.

We spent the rest of the day kickin’ around town and visited with my cousin Brian for a few hours. It was great to catch up and check out his impressive collection of sports memorabilia. That night, before turning in, Denise had a craving so we had a full turkey dinner at this Irish pub/hof brau just down from Union Square. The guy at the piano bar sounded exactly like the Bill Murray character on Saturday Night Live… it was incredible and there were people actually sitting around the piano, groovin’.

Monday came and we had to return home, but there was one more Holy Spirit meeting lined up. We stopped in West Sacramento, because we heard there was a new Goodwill Thrift Store on Harbor Blvd. I headed straight to the books and was browsing, when four (yep, count em’ four) Mormon missionaries showed up, browsing the fiction. I wanted to engage them, so I picked up one of two Book of Mormons there (you will always find them lined up at thrift stores, next to countless Jehovah’s Witness “truth” books and myriad Ellen G. White throwaways). I put my nose in the BOM, pointed the cover in their direction, hoping that, like Phillip and the Ethiopian eunuch (Acts 8:26 ff), one of them would ask, “Do you understand what you are reading?” Well, that didn’t get their attention. So, I reached down and grabbed a different Book of Mormon, the one with the 5 inch picture of Moroni blowing the trumpet on the front, and aimed it at the “ministers of the restored gospel.” Still no interest in me or my BOM. After about ten minutes of this “passive evangelism,” I did something I rarely do with Mormon missionaries… I said something provocative and pointed. I walked up and said, “So, you guys are into fiction.” They replied in the affirmative and I held out the BOM and said, “well, have you read this one yet?” They actually laughed and could tell I was being good natured… non-threatening. We talked for a bit, but it became clear… it was Monday, their P-Day or day off and they were not interested in talking about the BOM, Joseph Smith, the LDS church or anybody’s Jesus. I gave them my card and we parted.

Then, it was off to Richard L. Press fine books, lunch with Camille and home. Wow, what a great time!

Levi and Suzanne had us over for lunch today. She and Rosalyn made Denise and I the most wonderful po’boy, er, I mean, disenfranchised person sandwich I’ve had in a long time. Lily and Jack joined us for this splendid repast, garnished with potato chips, Fritos© and the food of the gods (small ‘g” deities), Crunchy Cheetos©.

Levi and I kept the code chatter to a minimum, choosing instead to engage in the topics of interest entertained by the other luncheon guests. We discussed the elements of the “poorboy” or “po’boy” sandwich, which is nearly identical to the “hoagie” or “fresh italian” sandwich, until we realized that those descriptions may seem insensitive to our less fortunate brethren. So, we came up with a more inclusive, less judgmental or demeaning label for the meat, cheese and vegetable sandwich, served on a freshly baked roll or baguette. Yes, this is a sandwich which knows no class or racial or philosophical distinctions. It is truly the sandwich of everyman… drat! I mean, of every person!

As our refection continued throughout the early afternoon, topics of conversation ranged from the resurrection of the dead, to the dangers of dehydration accompanying the stomach flu. Film, music, books, education, art, napping… we covered it all. What a blessed afternoon!

What an exhausting week. I actually stuck around work for a couple hours to catch up and now I’m listening to the Cowboy Junkies at a respectable volume. I’m one of those oddballs who, after a stressful day, will relax by hammering myself with some really loud music… it feels like getting tenderized.

The week started out well enough with barbecued ribs and beef brisket. Our trip to North Carolina inspired us and we had a hankerin’ for our kind of barbecue. I suppose I would classify it as Kansas City Barbecue or something along those lines. I’m not an expert… I just know I like it all. These ribs were smoked with maple from the tree behind me in the next photo.

Michele found me a wonderful apron for making smoke and searing animal flesh — I wear it with pride. Ryan, Natalie and Andrew brought Sadie and Dan over for a down home suppah’. Sadie brought punkin’ pie… she’s a country girl at heart

The table was set with plenty of sides. We had corn bread, brown bread, slaw (white), green beans, homemade applesauce and the blue crock holds Maine baked beans… yellow eye beans. Denise likes to use Jacob’s cattle beans, but hasn’t found them outside of Maine.

Later this week, I had to go to training down in Sacramento. They served lunch and it was, you guessed it, barbecue!!!!! I have to tell you, it was delicious and Chef Jake from Moveable Feast was there, so we exchanged strategies. He prefers cherry and apple wood over mesquite and hickory. I told him about my maple and occasional walnut. His tri-tip was perfect and had a great herb crust on it. I didn’t try the chicken, because… well, I get enough chicken.

It’s fall and Denise has created a holiday tree like the one my grandma Louise had at her house in El Monte (Emma Louise’s namesake). Denise started decorating with pumpkins and added fall leaves later. Grandma Louise had firecrackers on the tree for 4th of July and my dad would light them off under tin cans. That was sure a big deal back then.

I’ve been trying to spend a little more time alone with the Lord lately, walking or getting off by myself. Last Saturday I went searching around town for a taste of fall and I found it. I like the light and contrasts of fall; particularly the radiant, warm colors of the leaves against the cold, darkness of the bark on the maples and liquidamber.

This is the maple that borders the property with our neighbors. It can be spectacular in the fall, as long as it’s had enough water and doesn’t get too hot during October. It’s been a good year for fall in Nevada City. There was no color in North Carolina two weeks ago and our friends in Maine told us they just got their first frost today. This is very late for them.

We got our new iMac G5 about a month ago. We waited until the iLife suite had matured, particularly iPhoto. It is truly wonderful and it’s fun to have a computer that does anything you like, after struggling through the 80’s and 90’s — seeing the potential, but never realizing it. I have fond memories of Sam using Strata Studio, creating a 3D character and pushing the render button at about 10PM. We would wake up in the morning and it would just be finishing it up. Although we waited to get the iMac, we wanted to get it before our warranty ran out on the Powerbook. The optical drive in the iMac was DOA, so I called Applecare and a guy showed up in two days and swapped it out in about ten minutes. I was impressed. The drive is a dual layer DVD burner.

We have semi-retired the Powerbook. I will use it with Keynote for presentations and trips and such. Denise will use it around the house. Her computing habits were totally revolutionized by our wireless network. We had Camille’s old Presario notebook and installed a wireless card. Next thing you know, we had two laptops wireless with Emma networked via Ethernet and I even got my old Yosemite up. I toyed with the idea of turning it into a print server, but ran out of energy and time. Anyways, Denise enjoys the Powerbook very much, but it didn’t last too long…

I took the Powebook to work, sat down and got the screen open about .5 inch and the hinge popped and shot a piece of the monitor across the keyboard at me! Evidently, it was frozen and even cracked the case a bit. The hinges on the TiBooks are a known issue and I thought I’d escaped the scourge. I called Applecare, but got quite a different response than with the iMac. The agent told me a broken hinge is a cosmetic problem and not covered by the warranty. I became indignant, in a restrained way, and reminded him that it was a known issue and that the Apple discussions on their support site are full of accounts of people getting their hinges replaced. He checked with his boss and said they would repair it. Let’s hope this doesn’t turn into a saga… I don’t need another one.

Goodnight, friends.

We heard this one was good, but didn’t find it until the day before we had to fly out of Durham. Fortunately, our flight left at 1:15PM and Allen and Sons opened at 10AM. This family owned barbecue has all the amenities… a faded out, old Pepsi sign by the roadside with a burned out bulb. It’s located right next to the railroad tracks, which is always a good indicator of authentic Carolina barbecue.

The cinder block building is down-home and the sign needs paint. Out buildings include the rusting hulk of an old ice cream truck and mobile barbecue trailers, once used at fairs and stock car races and such; now, replaced by a fleet of white catering vans, they sit mute, tires flat, holding up boxes of napkins and stuff.

Mr. Allen was a butcher at an A&P Market before deciding to open up a traditional barbecue shack. He and his sons do things the old fashioned way, waking up each morning at 3AM to split the wood and begin smoking the pork; No electric oven/smoker for the Allens and that’s good news for the barbecue afficianado!

I’m glad we finished our trek here, among real country folk. The chopped pork had the smoky flavor we sought and the traditional sauce was tart and tangy, as it should be. The ribs were meaty, tender and served with a sweet sauce, more like we westerners are used to. The slaw was good and white — we never ran into the red slaw and that’s a shame. The potato salad was different than I’ve ever had. The potatos were diced small and the salad was runny. It was good, but quite sweet. We learned that sugar is in just about everything in the south. The hush puppies were great. Like Bullock’s, they leaned more toward the onion and I like that. They were also round, which is what we’re used to at Sandra Dee’s or other soul-food places in Sacramento.

We had plenty of time to savor our final grilled banquet, but it was more food than we could polish off. So, we had to get our dessert to go and eat it later. We settled on the peach cobbler, baked about ten minutes before we arrived. I chose the coconut chess pie, which is coconut shredded (looked like frozen hash browns) in a homemade pie shell. Both were absolutely perfect and a fitting farewell to North Carolina.

We had to fill up the rental car with gas down by the airport and there we saw the one barbecue that got away. Next time we visit Emma, we’ll book a flight to arrive somewhere around supper time and schedule this one first on our itinerary.

Sunday evening Denise and I got together with a community of Christians meeting in downtown Durham, Emmaus Way. This is a missional church, a plant of the Chapel Hill Bible Church. From what I can tell, it’s an emergent church… following that philosophy or bent. Tim Conder led us in a discussion of the dichotomies present in Jesus’ suffering with the two thieves on Calvary. Our reflection on the crucifixion began with Marilyn Ormsbee-Strother speaking about the inspiration for a watercolor she painted and the thoughts that were going through her mind as she created it. Then, Wade sang a wonderful song he had composed after reading The Dawntreaders titled Strip My Skin. Finally, Rebecca read an amazing story she had written, from the perspective of the thief on the cross. The gathering reached its apex in the Lord’s Supper.

The folks of Emmaus Way were mostly younger than us, which is sure to become more common as time marches on. They were warm… friendly, welcoming. It seemed perfectly appropriate for Denise and I, travelers, to find hospitality and instant kinship in Christ.

After leaving our new found friends, Denise and I resumed our search for another sampling of Carolina barbecue. What we found at Q Shack transcends human language. Beef brisket, smoked for hours the same way I do it at home. The chopped pork and beef were pink, tender and moist. Denise was enraptured as she savored the first spoonful of beans… “mmmmmmmm” was the only syllable uttered.

When I think of barbecue, I certainly don’t think “subtle.” No, barbecue by its very nature must be intense… hot… provocative. And, Q Shack was all of that from the slaw to the beans, from the smoky meat to the zesty sauce. This was our favorite so far.

Denise and I split a two-meat platter with two sides: beans and slaw. The complimentary hush puppies were excellent and the bbq was accompanied by what must be obligatory at any quality smokehouse — store-bought, cheap white bread! I suppose if you are going to sop up the mess with the bread, it should be as bland as possible so it won’t taint the heavenly flavor of that hoddgepodge that collects at the bottom of the plate (or take-out container in this case).

The reigning champ? Q Shack! But, stay tuned. Tomorrow on our way to the airport, we’re making one last stop at Allen and Sons. Thank you Jesus for barbecue and for the family of God in North Carolina.

We’re on the road in North Carolina, visiting Emma and sampling a little bit of Carolina barbecue.

bar·be·cue Pronunciation Key (bärb-ky) n.
1. A grill, pit, or outdoor fireplace for roasting meat.
2. A whole animal carcass or section thereof roasted or broiled over an open fire or on a spit.
3. A social gathering, usually held outdoors, at which food is cooked over an open flame.

The term itself comes from Haiti: “1657, from Amer.Sp. barbacoa, from Arawakan (Haiti) barbakoa “framework of sticks,” the raised wooden structure the Indians used to either sleep on or cure meat. Originally “meal of roasted meat or fish,” modern popular noun sense of “grill for cooking over an open fire” is 1931.”

Emma’s friend Jumon insisted that, if we want some Carolina barbecue, we should start with the best: Bullock’s in Durham NC.

I had the chopped barbecue, which is the traditional spicy sauce, heavy on the vinegar. The battle over red slaw vs. white slaw was settled long ago at Bullocks and I loved their mayonaise-based slaw: sweet and diced fine. The french fries were wonderful and the service was superb. I had sweettea (all one word), but I must admit… it’s too sweet for me and that’s saying something.

Let’s move away from the closeup and you can see Emma’s choice of Brunswick Stew. It was the best with all sorts of beans and distinctive flavors.

Denise had the sliced barbecue, which is pork in a sweet sauce. Every table is served as many hushpuppies as you like and they were by far the best we’ve ever had. They weren’t too dry or too moist, but just right. Onion was up front, but not overpowering.

Denise and Emma couldn’t put those hushpuppies down. Carolina barbecue is different than the barbecue we are used to. Here are a few examples…

In Sacramento, we like Sandra Dee’s the best. It’s hot/sweet with excellent side dishes and desserts. I like the corn with jalapenos and cornbread.
In August, we spent a week with Denise’s brother, sisters and nephews in South Lake Tahoe, where we found a Texas syle barbecue worth mentioning, Womack’s. The meat was expertly smoked and fell right off the bone. The sweet potato pie was killer.

Both the Short and Salisbury families grew up on Chris-n-Pitt’s barbecue, a chain of restaurants true enough — but, as the photo demonstrates, a force to be reckoned with in the universe of American cauterized cuisine.