Joe & Isaac's Adventure: Episode 3 - Chapter 3

We were headed south. More importantly we were headed toward the South. Our nation is divided not only into 50 states, but also into regions that are geographically and culturally distinct. We have the East, the Midwest, the North, the South and California for example. Of these regions it is the South that is most distinct and best recognized as a place apart from the rest of the nation. They did afterall secede from the Union and form their own country once not so long ago. The slogan, "The South will rise again." is hardly forgotten even today; spoken now only in jest it still suggests the Southerner's pride -- never broken. Unlike the states these regions do not have distinctly drawn borders. It's easy to tell when you cross over from say Iowa into Missouri, but how do you know when you've left the Midwest and entered the South? Where is the famed Mason Dixon line? By what criteria do we draw the line? 150 years ago the Mason Dixon line was drawn across our nation in blood; I suggest that today it is basted in barbecue sauce. In other words you know you're in the South when you can walk into the neighborhood BBQ establishment, ask for a BBQ sandwich, and be served a proper BBQ sandwich. Barbecue or "barbeque" originated in the South and it was there in the South that the method of barbecuing, the proper selection of ingredients and the manner of serving BBQ was codified. Southerners perfected BBQ and established the traditions surrounding this most wonderful of culinary delicacies long before anyone from Texas or St. Louis, or (heaven forbid) Kansas City ever tried to lay claim that their perversion of the original was the genuine article.

I found this on the Internet: "BBQ began in the late 1800's during cattle drives out West. The men had to be fed (cowboys) and the boss (cattle baron) didn't want to feed them the good meat. So, other disposable cuts were used to feed the men. The main choice for this was Brisket, which is a very tough, stringy piece of meat. However, the cowboys learnt that if you left this brisket to cook for a long period of time (5-7 hours) at approximately 200 degrees (although I don't know how they knew the temperature over a fire?) that wha-la! A super yummie meal was to be had." I imagine the author of this fantasy "learnt" how to spell at the same Texas school where Dubya "learnt" how to make speeches. Well, a usurper in the White House is offense enough: Only the unrefined palate of a brute accustomed to sleeping amid cowpies could mistake Texas slop for sublime Mississippi barbecue. As for Kansas City, you'd might as well pour ketchup and maple syrup over a Big MAC, call the lettuce coleslaw and there you have it. Now it's true that I live in the Midwest, as such I am a victim of fate. But my slogan will always be: American by birth, Southern by the grace of God! With a plate full of Mississippi barbecue and beans we can all be Southern.

Barbecue? Used without qualification of any sort the term most correctly refers to slow roasted pork -- specifically pulled pork. The pork, roasted for hours, is so tender that it falls apart or can be "pulled" apart with one's fingers. Prior to roasting the pork is typically marinated and or coated with a "dry rub" and while roasting it is basted with sauce. A proper barbecue sandwich is pulled pork served on a bun with coleslaw -- sauce on the side. A side order of beans is proper accompaniment. Here in Saint Louis, north of the Mason Dixon line, a barbecue establishment advertises a "pulled pork" sandwich, but the pork is chopped (probably chopped it before they put it in the microwave). In Cape Girardeau the town's big barbecue restaurant serves Kansas City style sweet barbecue. I can't as yet speak for Hickman Kentucky as I have not yet found a restaurant there serving barbecue. I'd be interested to hear from some of the local backyard experts however so that I can further my research in this area. As I said, we were headed south.

New Madrid Missouri was right around the bend. We arrived early in the afternoon and decided to stop, and there I found it. A small barbecue shop just downriver from the town square advertised a "pulled pork" barbecue sandwich. I ordered one and was served delicious, tender, succulent, hand shredded pork on a bun with a bed of coleslaw, sauce on the side. The Mason Dixon line was behind us and all was right with the world.

We dallied in New Madrid long enough that we barely made Caruthersville by nightfall. In the morning we stopped in town in search of breakfast. I wanted to confirm my hypothesis that we had indeed crossed over into the South by setting off in search of a proper breakfast. The uncivilized masses in the rest of the country eat one or another form of potato with their breakfast. In the Midwest they actually eat raw shredded potatoes. It's something like a potato pancake -- they throw them on a grill and brown the outsides, but the potatoes on the inside usually stay raw. They call them hash browns. In Saint Louis if you ask for grits with your breakfast they'll know what you're talking about, but they won't have them. Further north, say in Wisconsin, if you ask for grits, they'll twist up their face and ask what country you're from. In a good Southern restaurant grits are part of a proper breakfast. In many Southern restaurants you actually get grits whether you ask for them or not; it goes without saying, just because you forget to ask for them doesn't mean you shouldn't have them. So in Caruthersville I set out in search of grits (and two eggs over easy, two sausage links and a cup of coffee). Poor Isaac, less enthusiastic about my quest, came along for the hike. We walked a long way through town and finally arrived at a gas station where an older women pointed us in the direction of a small restaurant. It looked promising from the outside, but when we sat down and looked at the menu my heart sank. Not only were there no grits on the menu, but there in the middle of our round table was a plastic bottle of squeeze margarine. Isaac held up the squeeze margarine with a look as if to say, "you marched me two miles through town for this?" OK, breakfast didn't pan out, but I'm keeping the Mason Dixon line at New Madrid. Caruthersville may not have grits, but it does have a Corky's RIBS & BBQ restaurant. It may be a franchise business that plays fast and loose with tradition (Barbecued shrimp!? Just how do you slow roast a shrimp for eight hours?). But the Memphis location did win "Best in Nation" in Southern Living Magazine and they do serve a proper pulled pork sandwich.

Our next stop was Memphis.