2 pounds collard greens (about 2 bunches)
3 cups of warm/hot water
1 cup of chopped/diced pork of some sort (anything from leftover cooked ham to a pork chop to raw bacon will work)
2 tablespoons basic oil (no EVOO, for god’s sake) unless you are using uncooked bacon or other pork that provides its own fat
1 teaspoon salt or to taste
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce (optional)
Vinegar for seasoning at table

Thoroughly clean collards and remove stems, then chop into roughly 1″ pieces or smaller. Heat oil in large stock pot and cook the pork for 5 minutes if cooked already or until cooked if raw. Add warm/hot water (cold water and a hot pan gets a bit dicey and takes longer to heat to a simmer) and simmer for 5 minutes. Remove pork and set aside. Add collards, salt and optional Worcestershire sauce. Bring to boil, then turn to low and cook for 60 minutes or so (depending how tender you like the greens, you may want to taste at 45 mins).  Add the pork back in a few minutes before you finish cooking. Add water to keep the collards moist during cooking if needed, but it shouldn’t be if you cook at a low temperature.

Be sure to make use of the soupy liquid in the pot, aka “pot likker” or “pot liquor”, either to serve with the greens or dip cornbread in.  Also, add some vinegar to the collards at the table if you are into such things; hot pepper vinegar is best but plain old cider vinegar or Texas Pete will suffice.  Recipe makes ~ 6 servings.

A wine distributor contacted me and offered to send me a couple bottles of Argentinian wine if I was willing to have some friends over to sample it alongside barbecue.  (Generous offer, not-so-subtle attempt at free advertising, bribe?  You decide).  I was going to say no thanks but curiousity and the willingess to do anything for a free bottle of alcohol swayed me.  Plus, it occurred to me that the people of Argentina are notorious meat eaters and undoubtedly pair wine with their carnivore diet all the time.

The wine I received was a 2008 bottle of Broquel Malbec from Trapiche, which is Argentina’s largest premium wine exporter.  (See this link for some interesting background on Malbec.)  Because Broquel Malbec has a rich, complex flavor Trapiche recommends pairing it with flavorful foods like “stew made of game, lamb, or wild boar.”  Given the surprising lack of availability of wild boar at my local grocer (when is boar season ’round here anyway?), and my distaste for stew in 100 degree August weather, I figured barbecue would be a good substitute.

I invited some friends over for NC-style barbecue pork butt and Texas-style beef brisket.  I told my friends not to bother to bring drinks, since wine was on the menu.  My wine loving friends didn’t flinch but the alert barbecue lovers voiced some concern.  Luckily, free booze and ‘cue is hard to resist. 

The results were great. I can vouch that the complex fruit flavors of the Broquel Malbec paired well with the smoky, rich meaty flavors of the barbecue.  Perhaps because the beef brisket had a stronger flavor, the wine worked particularly well with it.  Still, even the relatively subtle flavors of the pork were not overwhelmed by the Broquel Malbec.  Live, drink and learn.  I’m not giving up ice tea as my preferred BBQ drink but I’ll catch myself next time my eyes roll at the mention of wine and barbecue!

Livermush: Click the image to read about it!

If you frequent barbecue joints in Lexington, Salisbury or other parts of the state where the barbecue tradition is closely linked to German settlers,  sooner or later you are likely to run into something called livermush.  Although it sounds like a Dr. Seuss-invented food, livermush is very real.  Heck, it exists on Wikipedia so it must be real.  Also, I’ve seen it in person so I can personally attest to its existence.  Full disclosure: I have yet to work up the nerve to taste livermush, largely because it is, according to Wikipedia, “composed of pig liver, head parts, and cornmeal.”  It’s the vagueness of “head parts” that has me quaking in my boots.  I am also a bit nervous of the food because it is served both at breakfast (often with grape jelly) and at lunch (with mustard).  Odd. 

Actually, I am planning to eat livermush some day soon.  Truth be told, I only noticed livermush on BBQ menus very recently.  Apparently my usual laser-like focus on the barbecue portion of menus has limited my awareness of certain items.  See a nice picture of a livermush sandwich at the foodie blog Pretty by the Bay, run by a North Carolina ex-patriate who now lives in San Francisco.  Next time I get the chance, I will order livermush and report back to you.  In the meantime, do any of you readers have anything to say about livermush?

You may recall Porky’s post from the previous decade lamenting two changes at Allen and Son–cost and cole slaw. The price increase was indisputable, but the cole question was downright subjective.

Given the special place Keith Allen, slaw and Keith Allen’s slaw hold in this BBQ Jew’s gullet, the only question was when I’d head to Orange County to see for myself. My partner in pork wanted to get a second taste, so Porky and I lunched at Casa Allen.

The infamous cole slaw

I got a side order of slaw to go with my barbecue sandwich to get an unadulterated taste and my first reaction was that it was a tiny bit different. But not due to more mayo, as Porky had suspected. It just tasted a bit different than I remembered. But after a few bites, those concerns washed away and I chalked up my take to the placebo effect.

Still, like true ’cue hounds, we had to research it a bit further. I asked our waitress if they’d changed anything about the slaw and she said they hadn’t. Later, Porky asked a long-serving waitress the same question, but in this way: “Excuse me, I know you’ve worked here awhile. Is the coleslaw creamier than it used to be or am I losing my mind?”

The waitress, in a sense, called him crazy: “It’s the same. It’s still made by the same man.”  We both got a chuckle out of that.

As for the price change, I’ll echo Porky’s sentiment in saying: While it doesn’t exactly put a smile on my punim, I understand. I’m sure the cost of ingredients’ cost has gone up, even if it’s a very short list. After all, I’m sure swine is more expensive after the Aporkalypse.

One thing you can’t blame the price increase on is a drop in business. It was packed the day we visited! That’s probably because Allen’s aficionados, like myself, are OK with paying a bit more for a barbecue plate if it means Allen and Son keep cooking ‘cue the right way.

May your 2010 be filled with good health, good cheer (and Cheerwine) and good barbecue.

Unfortunately, I speak no Portuguese and I have no time to learn given my busy barbecue eating schedule.  Luckily, I discovered an article on the porco pizza to help explain things.  Unfortunately, like the video the article is also in Portuguese.  Luckily, I was able to find a free web-based translation service.  Unfortunately, the translation is a wee bit confusing, as this abridged transcript reveals: 

“Today the Oba presents an unusual plate at least. This Saturday I was invited for a confraternização of a group of friends intitled “the Eaters,” heading given in function of all the fridays to go in a different restaurant… The offered cardápio was the “Paraguayan Pig” or “Pig Pizza “, as some had called. Wise person who if dealt with a stuffed pig, but did not imagine the content of the filling….  Arriving at the mansion, I was to know the process of the preparation. In the reality, it was a boned and open wild boar, that rested in the grate with a golden one to full the eyes… 

1 – The pig (or in the case wild boar) boned is tempered with left pickling brine and on of paper aluminum, with the leather for top, until dourar.
2 – Then it is turned for another grate, of this time with the leather for low e without aluminum.
3 – The grate is returned to the fire.
4 – The wild boar is covered by one mixture of cheese, ham, tomatoe, maize, peas, olives, palmito, onion and orégano… Then it is served, abundantly served (he is enough to see my plate).

Porco Pizza!

As for the food, the pork was good as ever. I did notice a minor change to the hush puppies though.  They seem slightly smaller. I always assumed that one of the reasons the hush puppies often taste over cooked is that they were so large.  Well, so much for that theory, as the reduced size had no impact on the taste.  The puppies are also served with “butter” (margarine really) these days, something they didn’t do back in the day… and a waste if you ask me.  Finally, and most importanly, I believe the Allen’s slaw is a good deal creamier than it used to be, which is a disappointment because their old ‘cue was just about perfectly tangy and nearly mayo free.  Picky comments, and maybe my memory is failing me, but I’ve been going to Allen’s for 20 years so I take these changes personally!

As served today in North Carolina barbecue joints, Brunswick Stew’s recipe varies significantly from place to place.  Common ingredients include chicken, pork, corn, lima beans, tomatoes and more.  The consistency ranges from quite soupy to rather thick, and the texture from chunky to almost baby-food soft.  Even the color ranges from bright tomato red to a sickly brownish-gray.

Although present day species of Brunswick Stew have evolved over the years to adapt to whatever niche they fill, with ingredients varying widely from region to region and cook to cook, all the Brunswick Stews seem to have a common ancestor.  Or maybe two.  The origin of Brunswick Stew remains in dispute roughly a century and a half after it emerged from the primordial soup of southern culture. 

One place Brunswick Stew almost certainly did not originate is Brunswick County, North Carolina.  Though it is hard to escape Brunswick Stew when chowing down on barbecue anywhere in Raleigh or east, where it is right up there with slaw as one of the quintessential side dishes, the stew originated beyond the NC state line.  According to Rufus Jarmon in “Dixie’s Most Disputed Dish,” an essay featured in Corn Bread Nation 2: The United States of Barbecue, Brunswick Stew either originated in Georgia or Virginia. 

Some Georgians argue that Brunswick Stew was created in the early 1700s when “followers of John and Charles Wesley, founders of Methodism, were converting the Indians near the present site of Brunswick, Georgia.”  Another Georgia-centric theory offers that a soldier working in the mess hall at a fort on St. Simons Island, outside of Brunswick, created the stew in 1898.  Jarmon, however, suggests that the stronger evidence points to the stew’s true origin as being circa 1828 in Brunswick County, VA.  He singles out one man, “Uncle” Jimmy Matthews, the black cook who worked for state legislator Dr. Creed Haskins.  This theory is explained in more detail on Brunswick County, VA’s website.  Interestingly, neither Jarmon nor the website explain the status of Matthews’ “employment,” though given the era and the geography it seems likely he was Haskins’ slave.

Matthews’ stew, which featured locally hunted squirrel (or, “a free-range, organic, lean, locavore-friendly protein source,” as we might call it today) differs significantly from modern-day Brunswick Stew.  Not only did it feature squirrel, but the only vegetable included was the onion.  The Brunswick Stew that originated from Georgia, on the other hand, featured a “hodgepodge of meats and vegetables.”  Jarmon suggests that, perhaps, both creation stories could be accurate and that the stews evolved in parallel.  This “double big bang” theory sounds possible, so long as one is not averse to the idea of two creators… just don’t count on this theory being taught in the schools of Virginia or Georgia.