High, Low, and In Between, pt. 2, rev. ed.

I'm sure there were some who questioned the sanity of driving 1,800 kilometres (each way!) to spend Christmas in Charleston, but to us it made perfect sense to spend the holidays in the Holy City.  And it was definitely something of a pilgrimage.

For one thing, just crossing into South Carolina taken on its own is a big deal, as anyone who's ever made the trek by car down to Florida will tell you:  SC is when you start to see the palm trees, and when the air starts to get a bit balmy.

We were also looking for culture, and history, and architecture.

But most of all, we were looking forward to Charleston's renowned cuisine.  And if the weather was nice, all the better.

 fig. a:  ocean time

A Charleston, SC primer:

This is a city that contains a truly mind-boggling number of churches and ex-churches,

 fig. b:  ex-church

not to mention an impressive number of Synagogues, all of which are a big part of the reason the city earned its moniker.

Its historic districts are riddled with mysterious alleyways.

 fig. c:  mystery lane

Its architecture can be quirky,

 fig. d:  shell building

and its cemeteries spooky.

 fig. e:  Magnolia Cemetery

It's a city and a region haunted by its history.





 figs. f, g, h:  Magnolia Plantation

It has a very unique landscape, one that is oftentimes dominated by the marshes and wetlands that made it a natural for rice production.



 figs. i, j:  wetlands

It's a region of independent-minded characters,

 fig. k:  shrine

many of whom we instantly recognized as kindred spirits.

 fig. l:  kindred spirit

And it's safe to say that these people are serious about their food, and that the region is positively abundant with fruits, vegetables, legumes, and seafood of all kinds.





 figs. m, n, o:  Ruke's!

Ruke's, in Mount Pleasant, SC, was our local farmstand.  We were astounded by the plenitude we found there--in December!--and we made a point of loading up on collards, black-eyed peas, field peas, butter beans, and pecans before we left.

 fig. p:  peas and "peacans"

We also loved Ruke's boiled peanuts and quickly got hooked on the habit of throwing our very own Happy Hour at our B & B with some hot boiled peanuts and a couple of ice-cold beers.

Of course, Ruke's wasn't the only local stand offering boiled peanuts.  We found them all over the place.

Now, we didn't actually try the boiled "p-nuts" at this establishment, but we did buy some of their insanely delicious raw honey,

 fig. q:  p-nuts

and we also had quite a run-in there.

 fig. r:  squatch!

If Ruke's was our favourite farm stand, Timbo's was definitely our favourite boiled peanuts cart.  His boiled peanuts were piping-hot, they were seasoned to perfection, and the Timbo's experience came complete with a super friendly mascot--Max, the Australian shepherd, who was kind enough to let me photograph him (along with Timbo).

 fig. s:  Timbo's

And if Ruke's was our favourite farm stand, and Timbo's our favourite boiled peanuts joint, well, there's no question that Martha Lou's was our favourite soul food kitchen.

 fig. t:  Martha Lou's

Martha Lou's is a classic meat-and-three specializing in fried chicken, and we definitely loved their fried chicken, but in many ways it was the "three" that stole the show, especially their luscious butter beans, their smoky dirty rice, their silky collards, their oh-so-satisfying mac & cheese, and their deeply roasted candied yams.  Just how good is Martha Lou's?  Good enough to go twice over the course of a lightning-fast four-day visit.  And the second time we made a point of getting all our favourite sides à la carte--in larger formats.  It was worth going back just for those butter beans alone.

 fig. u:  The Ordinary

Charleston's Got Mad Skills:

You're obviously taking a risk when you name your restaurant The Ordinary, but if you do happen to knock it out of the park, you'll have people like me quipping that The Ordinary is anything but.  The Ordinary doesn't even look ordinary--it's actually a gorgeous, even grandiose seafood restaurant that resides inside a former bank.  It's also the latest offering from the people who brought you FIG, one of the catalysts of Charleston's recent culinary renaissance.  Put simply, everything was extra-ordinary, from the heirloom pumpkin soup with bay scallops, to the seafood platter, to the breathtaking rice pudding we had for dessert.

McCrady's has to be the restaurant that's most closely connected with Charleston's recent culinary revival.  It's the place where Sean Brock first rose to national/international prominence (and where he won his James Beard Award in 2010 as Best Chef Southeast), and where he's still executive chef.  But it's also a time-honoured establishment--it began as a tavern in 1778.  In spite of a slow start, this was quite possibly our Meal of the Year.  Once our sommelière showed up, and we clicked with her over the pleasures of Gamay, things started to happen, and, as a wise man once put it, "if you get in the stream, you are off!"  Frankly, everything was great, but standouts included the Calico scallops with roasted butternut squash, chervil, and green peanuts; the trout with Meyer lemon, thyme, and a medley of brassicas (in fact, that the wood-fired cabbage was so totally transcendent that we ordered it a second time); the fall greens salad with charred pecans, country ham, apples and turnips (this was most definitely the Salad of the Year); and the frozen parfait of grits with a bright, juicy, huckleberry coulis, which was both dangerous, and dangerously delicious.

Butcher & Bee is the new-fangled luncheonette of your dreams, featuring phenomenal bread (they do the bread & biscuits baking for McCrady's and Husk), an enticing line-up of sandwiches (like their pimento cheese and country ham combo), and some wonderfully creative (and tasty!) salads (including their magnificently vibrant kale slaw).  Great selection of sodas, too, including Michelle's Soda of the Year:  Mr. Q. Cumber (guess the flavour!).

  fig. v:  yes, they are!

The Hominy Grill is a full-service restaurant that does a brisk trade in breakfast & brunch and that serves a definitive shrimp & grits plate, as well as an amazing biscuit & sausage gravy plate, and some wicked-looking Big Nasties.

If you're looking for barbecue in Charleston itself, the local branch of Jim 'n Nick's Community Bar-B-Q is the place to go.  It's exactly the kind of new-fangled barbecue establishment you wish you had in your hometown, because in spite of any ironic old-timey-ness they might be selling, these guys take their barbecue seriously, the results are sultry 'n' smoky (check out those spare ribs!), and they've got all the sides and the fixin's down pat, too (from their slaw, to their slow-cooked collards, to their mac & cheese).  After all, Jim 'n Nick's comes with a pedigree--they're a crucial part of the Fatback Collective team of old-school barbecue aficionados, and, therefore, very well connected.

 fig. w:  nightcap at the Belmont

Our favourite place for a nightcap was The Belmont.

The best (and cutest) sweets shop we encountered was Sugar Bake Shop, whose cupcakes, cookies, and iced tea were all superlative.

  fig. x:  home comfort

And Page's Thieves' Market in Mount Pleasant was definitely our favourite antiques shop of our trip.  It was also the friendliest, the one with the most character, and the one that was the most kitchen-friendly.  And it had the best name, too.

In a sense, my title is a little misleading, because in Charleston and environs, when it comes to food, distinctions between high, low, and "in between" aren't nearly as rigid as they are in so many other places.  This is a region that self-identifies as the Low Country, after all, and traditional ingredients, like grits, golden rice, and peanuts, and preparations, like corn bread, appeared repeatedly during our stay.  In fact, everywhere we went, the overwhelming sensation was one of pride in the local cuisine.  And, frankly, that's our kind of town.

Particulars:

Ruke's farm stand, right next to the Holy Trinity AME Church, 378 Mathis Ferry Rd., Mount Pleasant, SC

Timbo's Boiled Peanuts, 2484 Ashley River Rd., Charleston, SC

Martha Lou's Kitchen, 1068 Morrison Rd., Charleston, SC, (843) 577-9583

The Ordinary, 544 King St., Charleston, SC,  (843) 414-7060

McCrady's, 2 Unity Alley, Charleston, SC, (843) 577-0025

Butcher & Bee, 654 King St., Charleston, SC,  (843) 619-0202

Hominy Grill, 207 Rutledge Ave., Charleston, SC, (843) 937-0930

Jim 'n Nick's Community Bar-B-Q, 288 King St., Charleston, SC, (843) 577-0406

The Belmont, 511 King St., Charleston, SC

Sugar Bake Shop, 59 1/2 Cannon St., Charleston, SC, (843) 579-2891

aj

On the Road 8: VA & NC, Pt. 2

In our last instalment of On the Road, we began in the Ham Belt and quickly made our into an overlapping, but not entirely identical, region known as the Barbecue Belt.  As we headed east, we soon entered one of the most famous parts of the Peanut Belt.

Peanuts

 fig. a:  peanuts & driftwood

In fact, at Mackey's Ferry Peanuts in Jamesville, NC, I found a little slice of peanut heaven positioned adjacent to a pretty nifty collection of driftwood.  I was on the lookout for peanuts--real ones:  jumbo, expertly roasted, and grown-in-the-USA--and that BOILED PEANUTS sign definitely caught my eye.  I quickly made a U-turn and found everything I was looking for inside:  salted roasted peanuts, unsalted roasted peanuts, peanut butter, peanut brittle, and boiled peanuts.  Actually, in spite of that eye-catching sign, I wasn't sure that I was looking for boiled peanuts until I asked the counterperson for a sample.  It almost sounds shameful, but I'd never, ever had boiled peanuts until that moment.  When she came back out with a Dixie cup's worth of piping hot peanuts I was pretty excited.  Then I tried one.  "Hmm, I like that.  Those are good," I told her, but I wasn't immediately bowled over, so I continued to take a look around the store.  After about a minute, though, I realized I was doing so distractedly.  Those boiled peanuts had gotten to me.  They were sneaky like that.  I had boiled peanuts on the brain.

What, exactly, is a boiled peanut?  Well, it's just a raw peanut that's been boiled in salted water.  You can make them with fresh, green peanuts during the mid-summer harvest, but typically they're made with peanuts that are unroasted, but that have been sun-dried.  And if you've never had the pleasure, the taste sensation is something akin to having edamame in a Japanese restaurant.  In fact, as the Lee Bros. recount in their Lee Bros. Southern Cookbook, a friend of theirs once approached with the idea of marketing boiled peanuts as "redneck edamame."  They're both served hot and steamy, they're both salty, and they're both highly addictive and great as a snack food, and having them boiled really emphasizes the fact that peanuts are legumes and not "nuts."

Anyway, after a couple of minutes, I realized those boiled peanuts were much better than just "good"--they were "great" and that I was already hooked.  I ordered a small portion, and I received a sizeable ziplock bag stuffed full of them.  They arrived hot and steamy--straight out of the cauldron.

Now I just needed a place to sit and enjoy them, preferably with a beer.  They tasted pretty amazing right there in the car, but I was pretty sure I could find a more scenic location to enjoy the rest of them.  Which is where the Outer Banks came in handy.

 fig. b:  under the rainbow

Those boiled peanuts were still hot by the time I'd set up my campsite, and the light and the temperature were just perfect for my beer and peanuts appetizer.

 fig. c:  boiled peanut appetizer

Little Layer Cakes

Across parts of the South, you find a number of areas where the ages-old tradition of little layer cakes--lovely homemade layer cakes that are notable for the thinness of their layers and the number of layers involved (usually 12 or more)--still runs strong.  It's a region known as the Little Layer Cake Archipelago, and it extends at least as far south as Alabama, but some of its most famous islands of activity--perhaps even the most famous--can be found in an area that stretches from coastal North Carolina, up into the Eastern Shore of both Maryland and Virginia, including the Chesapeake Bay islands.  I don't think there's any question that Smith Island Cake, which became the Official Dessert of the State of Maryland in 2008, is the most widely known variation on the little layer cake, and one of the most beloved.  But, like I said, you can find little layer cakes throughout coastal North Carolina and Virginia.

 fig. d:  layer cakes & biscuits

In fact, you can even find them in gas station concessions in North Carolina--like Cindy's Kitchen & Katering in Barco, NC--alongside homemade country ham & egg biscuits.  They're right there on the shelf, freshly made, ready to take home with you (or to some friends of yours in New York), for $19.95 (!).*  Don't even hesitate.  There aren't tons of bakeries in the region that make little layer cakes--the field is dominated by expert home cooks--but those that do often make you order them well in advance.

Oysters

All through coastal North Carolina and Virginia you also find a whole lot of good seafood, including blue crabs, shrimp, fish, and oysters.  There are signs of it everywhere.

 fig. e:  signs of life

And when you see makeshift signs like these announcing a seafood shack, it pays to make a pit stop.  What you're likely to find are fried fish platters and fried sandwiches of all kinds, sometimes even cooked to order.  Like this freshly fried Chesapeake oyster sandwich, topped with tartar sauce and smothered in hot sauce.

 fig. f:  fried oyster sandwich

Here, the seafood shack in question was a ramshackle two-man husband & wife affair that consisted of a storefront (wife) and a tiny fry kitchen (husband).  The place was a real hotspot for the local blue-collar lunch crowd, and the Southern charm was in full effect.  In fact, the accents and the storefront banter were just as delicious as the sandwich.

Home

 fig. g:  the haul

When I arrived back in Montreal, I arrived bearing trophies and gifts, most of them edible.

Not surprisingly, I've been cooking a lot of Southern food since I returned home.  My Southern sojourn only served to whet my appetite for Southern fare, and, plus, I came back with all kinds of useful ingredients.  So I've been making a lot of barbecue, and cornbread, and grits, and I've been eating a lot of peanuts.

Last week I had a hankering for a fresh fried oyster sandwich, so I went ahead and made some.

 fig. h:  shucking

There are parts of the South where freshly harvested pre-shucked oysters are commonplace.  Here,  in the North, you pretty much have to shuck your own, and our oysters are delicious, but they're not exactly inexpensive. Even oysters at wholesale prices cost a pretty penny.  So it's a little cost-prohibitive to make an oyster sandwich as plentiful as you'd find in the South, but it sure tastes great, and you can make it to your specifications.

My fried oyster sandwiches were based on the recipe you find in the Lee Bros. Southern Cookbook, and once Michelle had shucked our oysters, they were cooked up and assembled in a flash.

 fig. i:  assembly required

Fried Oyster No' Boys 

a bare minimum of 12 plump, freshly-shucked oysters**
1/2 cup All-Purpose Fry Dredge (recipe follows)
2-3 cups peanut oil or canola oil for frying
Spicy Tartar Sauce (recipe follows)
Bibb lettuce
fresh avocado slices
2 Portuguese buns hot sauce

Pour the oil in a cast-iron skillet to a depth of about 1/2 inch.  Heat over medium-high to high heat until a thermometer reads 365º F.   

Scatter the dredge on a plate and gently toss the oysters in the dredge.  When your oil has reached temperature, carefully transfer the oysters into the oil, making sure not to splatter the oil, and turn down the temperature to medium.  Agitate the oysters in the oil gently until they're golden brown, about 30 to 45 seconds. 

Transfer the oysters to a plate lined with paper towel (double thick). 

Assemble your sandwiches, dividing the oysters between the sandwiches evenly.  Devour. 

[makes two sandwiches] 

Lee Bros. All-Purpose Dredge 

1/2 cup all-purpose flour
3 tbsp stone-ground cornmeal
2 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper
a sprinkling of bread crumbs for quick browning, if you're dredging fish or oysters (which you are) 

Mix thoroughly.  Keep in a jar. 

Spicy Tartar Sauce 

1/2 cup Pickled Corn (or Chowchow, or Jerusalem Artichoke Relish)
1/2 cup high-quality store-bought mayonnaise
1/2 tbsp chipotle purée
1 scallion, diced

Mix together.  Adjust seasoning, if necessary. 

The fried oyster sandwich--sometimes called a fried oyster po' boy, and here designated the Fried Oyster No' Boy to indicate that this sandwich was a) made in the North, where oysters are b) rarely the food of po' folks--is one of the great classics of sandwichery.

We've got the oysters.  Don't you owe it to yourself?

aj

* If math isn't your strong suit, that works out to about $1.66 a layer.

** Again, if you're not that strong in mathematics, that works out to about 6 oysters per sandwich.  12 would be ideal, but six plump oysters will do, again, as a bare minimum.  It definitely won't take long to fry them--you can do them all in one batch.

On the Road 7: VA & NC, Pt. 1

 fig. a:  Blue Ridge view

Sometimes the Mason-Dixon Line, and points south, can seem like worlds away--and, in a sense, they are.  But it only takes the better part of a day to drive down from Lower Canada into Virginia, which means it only takes the better part of a day to make it to the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Shenandoah Valley.  And once you've made it to the Shenandoah Valley, you've officially entered a region of the United States of America that I like to call the Ham Belt, a region that encompasses Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky, and beyond, where the ages-old tradition of smoked and aged country hams is still very much alive and well.

A case in point:  Fulks Run Grocery, in Fulks Run, VA, right in the heart of the Shenandoah Valley and just minutes from interstate 81, home of the Turner Ham House and Turner sugar-cured country hams.

Fulks Run Grocery/Turner Ham House, Inc.

Times have changed since the photograph on this postcard was first taken, but the Fulks Run Grocery sure hasn't changed much.

 fig. b:  that was then

This is the way it looks today.  They no longer have a filling station, and guns & ammo aren't nearly as big a part of their trade, but country hams still are, and the grocery's just as charming as ever.

 fig. c:  this is now

You can get a whole range of Turner Ham House products there, including full sugar-cured hams, ham trimmings, sugar-cured bacon, and the cutest, tastiest little freshly made ham sandwiches.  I happened to catch them at a time when they were out of whole hams--they had a batch ready, but the inspector hadn't been by to approve them yet.  But I loaded up on every other kind of ham product I could get my hands on, including several ham sandwiches.  I bought a block of aged cheddar to further enhance my sandwiches, a bag of delicious Route 11 kettle-cooked, "unhurried," potato chips (the pride of Mount Jackson, VA), and a Boylan soda, and had myself a little tailgate picnic.

 fig. d:  tailgate party

Those Turner Ham House people were friendly, too.  We talked about everything from ham, to new-batch maple syrup (from West Virginia), to growing up in Northern Virginia, to Volkswagens (!), and they had some great tips for me, too, like Wade's Mill stone-ground flours and grits.  As Peggie Turner told me, "If you like grits, you're going to love Wade's Mill's."  Lord knows, I do love grits.

Wade's Mill

 fig. e:  mill & buggy

Wade's Mill of Raphine, VA, has been a fully functioning flour mill since the late 19th century (1882, to be exact), but in recent years it's become something of a foodie destination.

 fig. f:  Wade's Mill

They continue to mill superior flours and grits just as they always have, but the Kennedy-Wade family has also branched out a bit.  They host cooking classes and receptions on the grounds that surround the historic old mill, and they stock a wide variety of specialty food products, cookware, and dinnerware in their shop, alongside their own Wade's Mill line.

I was pretty single-mindedly focused on their grits and their cornmeal, though.  That's all I was really looking for, and Peggie Turner was right:  their grits truly are superior.  Their grains are sourced locally, their grind is ideal, and their corn products are bursting with flavour.  And, if you live in the States, they'd be happy to ship some to you.

When in Asheville...

...have yourself a good-ole time.  This town's built for them.

I mean they've got music, arts, culture, food, and beer in spades, and it's a real pretty town, too.

My favourite cultural landmark was the Thomas Wolfe Memorial, located next to, and including, Old Kentucky Home, the boarding house owned and operated by Wolfe's mother, Julia, in the early 20th century.  I've been interested in Mr. Wolfe ever since I tore through Look Homeward, Angel back in high school, and I had a true Southern Gentleman for a tour guide, with the sweetest Florida drawl and the saltiest sense of humour, like Tupelo honey with country ham and biscuits on a cool spring morning.  But one of my favourite parts of the tour was our visit to Julia's bright, roomy, and highly functional kitchen.



 figs. g & h:  Julia's kitchen

The Black Mountain College Museum + Arts Center is a tiny shopfront space in downtown Asheville, but it's one of the last tangible traces of Black Mountain College and its impact on 20th century art, design, and pedagogy.  You can watch a video detailing the history of Black Mountain College and check out shows devoted to its legacy, and you can purchase Black Mountain College books and paraphernalia in their tiny shop area.

You can even pick up a copy of Ernest Matthew Mickler's phenomenal (and fascinating) White Trash Cooking (1986), a true treasure trove of Southern vernacular cuisine, because it appeared as a co-production of The Jargon Society, the "high-falutin'-cum-demotic writer's press" founded by Jonathan Williams way back in 1951on the grounds of Black Mountain College.



 fig. i & j:  trash culture

I knew Mickler's book was awesome--part William Eggleston, part Harry Crews, part good, ole-fashioned, Southern, spiral-bound community cookbook, it was an instant classic when it appeared in the mid-1980s--but I'd never made the Black Mountain connection until I visited the museum + arts center.

Beer-wise:  this town's motto ought to be "Don't Worry, Be Hoppy," because it's become a major hub in the American craft beer scene--something akin to the Portland, OR, of the Southeast.  I mean, this town's got such a vibrant beer culture that it operates craft brewery bus tours.  We're talking more breweries per capita than any other city in America.  I didn't have the time, the funds, or the suds-swilling capacity to conduct a comprehensive survey, but local favourites included the Asheville Brewing Company's Shiva I.P.A. and Rocket Girl lager and the Pisgah Brewing Company's I.P.A. and Tripel.

Food-wise:  there's all kinds of tasty grub to be had, from international to contemporary, but what I had my heart set on was Southern and New Southern, and that was exactly what I found.  I had exceptionally good food at Early Girl Eatery (pan-fried trout with pecan butter, German walnut cake, etc.), Tupelo Honey (New South sautéed greens, fried green tomatoes, biscuits, etc.), the Sunny Point Café (asparagus & country ham scramble, chipotle-cheese grits, etc.), and a definitive mint julep at Seven Sows Bourbon & Larder* on the day of the running of the 139th Kentucky Derby, but my favourite meal was some new-fangled barbecue at 12 Bones.

As their name suggests, 12 Bones have wisely made ribs their focus.  Ribs aren't a major part of the North Carolina tradition, but who in their right mind could fault a place for serving smoky baby backs, here, there, or anywhere?  In fact, 12 Bones are new-fangled in the best possible sense:  not hidebound by tradition, but still deeply respectful of Southern foodways.  "These ain't your pappy's ribs," a sign on the wall reads, but that's because they make them right--slow-smoked over real hardwood--not because they reinvented the rack.

 fig. k:  wood pile

Their prices were right, too:  order "6 bones" (a half-rack) and you get two sides and cornbread for $11.50; order "12 bones" (you got it:  a full rack) and you get the same two sides and cornbread for a mere $19.50.  Especially because, not only were their ribs great, but so were the mac & cheese, the sweet vinegar cole slaw, and the baked beans I had as sides.

 fig. l:  6 bones @ 12 Bones

To top things off, 12 Bones doubles as craft beer haven.  They've always got a nice selection of local brews on tap, and they're priced to move.

Not surprisingly, 12 Bones is a very popular place.  If we had one around here, I'd be there once a week.  Line-ups are inevitable, but they move fairly quickly and the crowd and the service is friendly.  Their River location (in central Asheville) is only open Monday through Friday, but if you happen to be in Asheville on the weekend (like I was), just head south along Sweeten Creek Rd., past the Mormons, the Scientologists, and the Jazzercise studio, and you'll find that their South location in nearby Arden, NC, is open on Saturdays from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m., with carry-out available until 6 p.m.

addresses:

Fulks Run Grocery/Turner Ham House, Inc., 11441 Brocks Gap Rd., Fulks Run, VA

Wade's Mill, 55 Kennedy-Wade's Mill, Raphine, VA

Thomas Wolfe Memorial, 52 North Market St., Asheville, NC

Black Mountain College Museum + Arts Center, 56 Broadway St., Asheville, NC

Early Girl Eatery, 8 Wall St., Asheville, NC

Tupelo Honey, 12 College St., Asheville, NC

Sunny Point Café, 626 Haywood Dr., Asheville, NC

Seven Sows Bourbon & Larder, 77 Biltmore Ave., Asheville, NC

12 Bones, 5 Riverside Dr., Asheville, NC and 3578 Sweeten Creek Rd. in nearby Arden, NC

aj

* Speaking of the Ham Belt, Seven Sows carries a pretty impressive range of country smokehouse products, including whole hams (some of them heirloom varieties) that you can take home with you (!).

On The Road 6: North Carolina BBQ Mini-Odyssey

 fig. a:  old-school NC pig roast

North Carolina.  Fabled birthplace of American barbecue.  And a state where pig is king.

 fig. b:  court jester

Actually, North Carolina's a state where pig is sometimes also the court jester.  Quite literally.

The photograph directly above was taken in Lexington, NC, in front of the Davidson County Courthouse.  This pig statue pays some kind of tribute to Lexington's status as the Barbecue Capital of the World (or, at the very least, the Barbecue Capital of North Carolina).  Of course, Lexington's not the only town to claim to be the Barbecue Capital of the World, and it's probably not the only town in North Carolina that thinks of itself as the Tarheel State's Barbecue Capital, but it's got a pretty decent claim on both titles.  It's a major barbecue pilgrimage point with an astounding number of barbecue restaurants per capita (it's got about 20, and its population is just under 19,000, so roughly 1 for every 950 citizens), a number of which are among the most esteemed in the business, and it's got a style all its own.  If all that wasn't enough, it also plays host to the Lexington Barbecue Festival--one of the world's largest--every fall.

Now Lexington may not have been the place where barbecue originated--the Anglo-American tradition dates back to First Contact, after all--but it's certainly got a long history there.  Some of the earliest barbecues in the city itself actually took place in back of the County Courthouse, on a tiny stretch of road that became known as Barbecue Alley, where the earliest purveyors of Lexington barbecue (within city limits, that is) took advantage of the courthouse's central location and its hungry jurists.

 fig. c:  early Lexington BBQ

It'd be great if Barbecue Alley was still a hotspot for Lexington barbecue, but this is what it looks like today.

 fig. d:  "Barbecue Alley" today

To find Lexington's famed barbecue establishments, you've got to travel a little ways from the geographic centre.  There may be lingering ghosts around Barbecue Alley, but with the exception of late October, when the Barbecue Festival is on, the action is happening elsewhere.

 fig. e:  Drink

Lexington Barbecue

My Lexington pilgrimage was short, but it was definitely sweet.  It started at perhaps the most hallowed barbecue establishment in all of Lexington, Wayne "Honey" Monk's Lexington Barbecue, a.k.a. Lexington Barbecue #1, The Monk, The Honey Monk, or Honey Monk's.  Lexington Barbecue has been winning over devotees and racking up distinctions for over 50 years now, and it's the only barbecue in Lexington to have won a James Beard Foundation award as one of America's Classics.

 fig. f:  #1

Lexington Barbecue is a large, barn-shaped restaurant with very few frills to it of any kind.  The specialty, of course, is their pork barbecue, served in a range of plates, platters, and sandwiches.  The default mode for Lexington Barbecue's pork is finely chopped, as it is across much of North Carolina.  But the style here is one that's typical of the city of Lexington, and of the Piedmont region more generally:  dressed with a dip that features tomato ketchup prominently, and served alongside a "red" cole slaw that also features ketchup prominently.  The meat is supremely tender, and the 10+ hours of smoking time imparts a lovely smoky flavour, but Lexington Barbecue uses primarily oak on its shoulders, so the smokiness is surprisingly mild.  The presentation may lack a certain artistry, but this is masterful barbecue.

 fig. g:  Lexington Barbecue's platter

Plates of pork barbecue are commonly served with either buns or hush puppies, but if you ask real nice you can get an order of "half 'n' half," which is exactly what I did.  Texas Pete hot sauce (the pride of North Carolina) and a large cup of Cheerwine (like my server told me, "It's kinda like cherry cola, only better") completed the scene.

I tried to really savour my platter--this was a pilgrimage, after all--but I was pretty hungry by this point, and that barbecue was just too damn good.  I polished off that platter in no time.

 fig. h:  Lexington Barbecue's pit

Out back, you can see Lexington Barbecue's brick smoking pit chugging away, with their pile of hardwood close at hand.  Classic.

BBQ Center

 fig. i:  BBQ Center

I'd been told that Lexington's BBQ Center was the home of an excellent ice cream counter that served up some legendary banana splits.  But, as their name suggests, BBQ Center is primarily another serious barbecue establishment, and one that's even older that Lexington Barbecue ("since 1955"), so I took a pass on the ice cream and opted for a barbecue pork sandwich for dessert instead.

 fig. j:  iconography 1

Not that I had my doubts or anything, but I could tell these guys were the real deal from the moment I pulled into the parking lot.  They had the iconography down, they had plenty of hardwood at the ready, and their pit was smokin' away.

 fig. k:  BBQ Center's sandwich

BBQ Center still offers good old-fashioned, mid-20th-century-style curb service, but I picked up my barbecue sandwich (coarsely chopped, this time) and had it on a picnic table outside with a soda and a side of their famous dip.  I liked the coarse cut of the meat, and the smokiness of the meat was downright bold compared with Lexington Barbecue.  I wasn't even all that hungry, but that smoke worked its charms on me.

Stamey's

 fig. l:  Stamey's now

Stamey's is another legend of the Lexington style.  Warner Stamey learned the trade in the 1920s and started his first barbecue restaurant in Shelby in 1930.  He came back to Lexington for a spell and then moved on to Greensboro where he established his namesake restaurant.  Warner Stamey's reputation is based on two things:  his Lexington-style barbecue and his mentorship.  Wayne Monk is just one of the future barbecue stars to have apprenticed with Stamey back in the day.  BBQ Center's Sonny Conrad was another former pupil.

Stamey's still serves good pork barbecue (very good, in fact), and they still pride themselves on doing things the right way--smoking their meat over wood (hickory, preferably), making just about everything on the menu from scratch, keeping the operation family-run--but the flagship restaurant has been renovated numerous times over the years and the latest incarnation lacks a little charm.  As a BBQ pilgrimage site, it's maybe just a little too modern, a little too generic.  It's too bad it doesn't look like this anymore:

 fig. m:  Stamey's then

There's no questioning Stamey's place in the family tree of Tarheel barbecue, but these days it's definitely not North Carolina's most scenic barbecue joint.

Allen & Son

 fig. n:  faded glory

My brief North Carolina barbecue odyssey took me from west to east, which also means that it amounted to something of a backwards trip through time, in terms of barbecue history, at least.  You see, while barbecue had spread far and wide across the state by the late nineteenth century, and certainly by World War I, it's generally acknowledged that the North Carolina tradition got its start in the east.  It's in the east where settlers first came into contact with the region's indigenous populations.  It's in the east where the history of barbecue is most thoroughly documented.  And it's also in the east where the barbecue tradition is at its most primal:  whole hogs cooked slowly over wood, and basted with a simple vinegar-based and chili pepper-laced concoction.  On the following day of my journey I crossed over, and my first stop was Chapel Hill's Allen & Son.

Things were pretty quiet when I got there because Allen & Son opens early and I'd decided to go there for a "barbecue brunch" in order to facilitate the consumption of even more barbecue later in the day, but I didn't mind having the place to myself.  Among other things, it gave me plenty of time to admire my surroundings.  Allen & Son has the quirkiest, most idiosyncratic interior I'd yet encountered.  It's some kind of folksy, friendly, frontier fantasy they've got going on in there, featuring a wide range of old-timey artifacts and a whole lot of taxidermy.

Allen & Son is owned and operated by Keith Allen, a hulking figure of a man who has a fondness for hickory, who collects and chops all his own wood, and who prefers to work his pit and chop his pork all by himself, too.  There's definitely something of the frontiersman in Allen, and he definitely looks the part. Think Sterling Hayden in Nicholas Ray's Johnny Guitar and the whole aesthetic of Allen & Son suddenly makes a lot more sense.

Anyway, I had a chance to take in the scene, and study their menu, and I liked what I saw.  Right down to their coy mascot.

 fig. o:  iconography 2

But what I liked most of all was my barbecue pork sandwich plate.

 fig. p:  Allen & Son's sandwich

The pork here was coarsely cut, robustly smoky, perfectly seasoned, and quite literally juicy.  The juiciest yet.  The cole slaw was no longer "red"--it was creamy and "white," it had been made with obvious care, and it was first class.  The bun, as you can see, was seeded and definitely above average.  And the hush puppies, too, were a work of art--the best I experienced over the course of a week in NC.  Hell, even their sweet tea was outstanding, with enticing hints of vanilla to it.  But the biggest revelation was Allen & Son's dip, which didn't have any tomato in it, but did contain a secret ingredient:  butter.  I'd read about early North Carolina barbecue sauces and how butter had been a fairly common ingredient well into the nineteenth century, but I'd never actually encountered one.  Allen & Son's dip also arrived fresh & hot.  And, boy, did it ever make that pork sing.  Wow!

Skylight Inn BBQ

 fig. q:  manifesto

Later that day, I'd fully crossed over.  By that time, I was in Ayden, NC, visiting yet another Tarheel legend:  Skylight Inn BBQ.  Devotees of whole hog barbecue, standard-bearers for the eastern North Carolina style, and fellow recipients of a James Beard Foundation America's Classics award, the Skylight has a reputation for being among the state's most dedicated barbecue fundamentalists.  While the Skylight was only founded in 1947, the Jones family has a history of making barbecue that dates back hundreds of years.  That said, for a long time the Skylight was primarily a local legend.  It was only in 1979, when an article in National Geographic named Pete Jones' establishment "the barbecue capital of the world" that its reputation really began to spread far and wide.

A few years later, Mr. Jones added a rotunda--a replica of the U.S. Capitol Building's--to its roof to commemorate the nomination.

 fig. r:  Barbecue Capitol

The Skylight's rotunda is just about its only flourish, though.  Otherwise, this is another no-frills establishment, and the ambience comes primarily from the hospitality of Bruce Jones, Pete's son, and from the musical rhythm of the chopping of barbecue that comes periodically from just behind the counter.  Here, the standard serving of barbecue comes finely and freshly chopped, and the fact that it's whole hog barbecue means that the meat is more varied than most other establishments, and that crackling plays a more significant part.  The cole slaw is a very simple affair, and the colour is almost electric.  And the classic trio comes complete with a piece of the Skylight's traditional cornpone, which is denser and less sweet than a typical corn bread.  It also comes stacked like this:

 fig. s:  Skylight Inn's platter

If you're going to post your barbecue philosophy up on a billboard, you better make sure you back it up, and there's no question that they do at the Skylight Inn BBQ.  Just think of the amount of wood it takes to dedicate yourself to whole hog barbecue.  Just look at that stack of wood they've got piled next to their barbecue pit.

 fig. t:  it's definitely cooked with wood

After Ayden, still pushing east towards the Outer Banks and the Atlantic, I soon pulled out of the heart of NC BBQ Country.  I knew I'd only just scratched the surface, but I was confident traditional North Carolina barbecue was holding strong, and I knew I'd be back soon enough for another BBQ pilgrimage.

A North Carolina Barbecue Primer:

1.  Remember:  pig is king.  Many of these restaurants have a lot of other distractions on their menus (burgers, chicken, etc.), but it pays not to stray.  This should go without saying, but do yourself a favour--stick to the pork barbecue. 

2.  You generally have your choice of how to have your pork barbecue served to you:  finely chopped (the norm), coarsely chopped, or sliced.  You'll be hard pressed to find pork barbecue "pulled" in an old-school Tarheel barbecue joint.  Avoid the embarrassment. 

3.  Barbecue sauce in North Carolina is called "dip."  It's generally pretty thin, it's always vinegar-based, and it's usually pretty spicy, too.  The essentials are vinegar, chili peppers/crushed red peppers, salt, and sugar.  Whether it contains ketchup, tomato sauce, or some other addition depends on geography (basically:  west-yes, east-no).  Don't expect to find any thick, gloppy barbecue sauce on your table.  Do expect to find plenty of Texas Pete, and feel free to make liberal use of it.

4.  Old-school North Carolina barbecue restaurants tend to use one of two different types of wood, or a combination of the two:  oak and hickory.  But wood, and the smoke that comes with it, are absolutely essential.  As they so delicately put it at the Skylight Inn:  "If it's not cooked with WOOD, it's not BBQ."  As in most other parts of the U.S., there are a lot of places in North Carolina advertising barbecue--please, for the love of BBQ, stick to the ones that cook over wood.

5.  The classic North Carolina barbecue sides are cole slaw and some variation of fried or baked corn meal (usually, hush puppies, but also including corn bread, cornpone, and cornsticks).  Don't expect a wide variety of other sides, although you may be pleasantly surprised from time to time (even very pleasantly surprised on occasion).  A barbecue restaurant is not necessarily a meat-and-three.

addresses:

Lexington Barbecue, 100 Smokehouse Lane, Lexington, NC

BBQ Center, 900 N. Main Street, Lexington, NC

Stamey's Barbecue,  2206 High Point Road, Greensboro, NC

Allen & Son Pit-Cooked Bar-B-Que, 6203 Millhouse Road, Chapel Hill, NC

Skylight Inn BBQ, 4618 S. Lee Street, Ayden, NC

Note:  NC's Barbecue Country basically encompasses the entire state, from far western towns like Murphy (near the borders of Tennessee and Georgia), to eastern towns like Ayden and Goldsboro, but this particular BBQ mini-odyssey only covered about 200 miles--just far enough to fully capture the transition from West to East and from early-20th-century to early-modern in terms of style and philosophy.  In other words, you could easily hit a number of these places within the space of a single day.

For more on Tarheel barbecue, John Shelton Reed & Dale Volberg Reed's Holy Smoke:  The Big Book of North Carolina Barbecue (UNC Press) lives up to its name and comes complete with lore, history, recipes, addresses, and interviews.  Check out this link for more information.

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