Brooklyn Pig-Fest
Sukey Pett's Quick Bytes
A Pig, A Rig, An Appetite This Big.
Williamsburg, Brooklyn - Every so often, something's just as you imagined it would be, wanted it to be. The Brooklyn Pig-Fest, held at The Brooklyn Brewery, in the industrial, terminally hip Williamsburg section of Brooklyn, was one of those somethings.
The Pig-Fest was the first joint venture between the Brooklyn Brewery and Slow Food U.S.A.. The former is an award-winning microbrewery, the latter, an educational organization, devoted promoting seasonal, regional and artisanal products; preserving traditional foodways and promoting sustainable agriculture, among other things.
The epiphany, however, was in a parking lot around the corner. For anyone who has ever worshipped at the altar of barbecue, as I have, or conflagrated a couple of briskets and had firemen jumping over the wall of her Brooklyn garden, as I also have, these were the Buddhas of Barbecue and I was going to sit at their metaphorical, Tony Lama'ed feet.
There were three of them, these demi-gods of dry rub; Jim "Trim " Tabb, organizer of North Carolina State Barbecue Championship;Bill Eason, a fella who knows which end of a hog is which, and Kevin Cowan, all three of them championship winners, drove their "Big Rig" cookers up from North Carolina for this Pig-Fest.
These rigs were big, bold and by New York City standards, practically a duplex apartment (there were multiple racks for the ribs, weren't there?)
"I cooked a lotta hogs," Bill Eason said, and with the tally over 450, he can't be accused of hyperbole. The art of barbecue, as we've all read, is patience. "I will serve no swine before its time," Eason tells me, and the words have a well-worn feel, like a comfortable old shoe. This craftsman - and barbecue is nothing, if not an art - both high, and camp - takes pride in his hog cooking. "It used to be a 5th of Scotch a hog," Eason says, and proceeds to show me a fifth of Scotch, "Finest Pig's Nose Scotch," the label reads, "Soft and Smooth as a Pig's Nose," it continues, "from the Sheep Dip Distillery."
Professional barbecuers are a chatty lot, and generally willing to share techniques and secrets. Except for Ed. Ed was helping out, and when we started discussing wood fuels, all the usuals, hickory, apple, pecan, mesquite and a mixture thereof, they were all discussed. But Ed refused to tell me about his secret wood.
Another reporter asked, "What kind of wood is your secret wood?"
"Secret," was Ed's response. "I don't tell anybody about it. It's very secret. It grows in the South."
"Does it grow up here," he's asked.
"I don't know what grows up here. But it's very common in the South. It's a hardwood, you see it everyday. You see it everyday up here, too." Damned if I've guessed it yet. Anybody have any ideas, I'd love to hear 'em.
"Trim" Tabb, cigar clamped in his mouth, talks about his philosophy of barbecue. "People have these misconceptions about barbecue. They think it's all about the sauce. Sauce is sauce. Barbecue is about four things:
- The animal (whether you use a pig or a goat or whatever)
- the technique (whether the pig is butterflied, as it was today, or on a spit)
- The region
- The fuel -whether it's Kingsford Charcoal briquettes - a no-no among purists; wood chunks, or hardwood charcoal.
- Animal: Pig
- Technique: Slow and low, indirect heat
- Region: Brooklyn
- Fuel: Charcoal, with wood chips
"Wrong," was his succinct reply. Seems I'm not slow enough. Not cooking 'em long enough. I should, in fact, be doubling their cooking time.
Side dishes, in the form of baked beans and coleslaw, are supplied by two local Williamsburg restaurants, Chez Goo-Goo and Relish. Bread is donated by Bread Alone, and the main courses, chicken from D'Artagnan and Everly Farms, and the hog, Boston butts, and St. Louis Style spareribs all from the Niman Ranch.
Beer, naturally, was from the Brooklyn Brewery, and included: Brooklyn Lager, Blanche de Brooklyn, a Belgian-style pale ale, Brooklyn Dry Stout and Brooklyn Brown Ale. We manned our stations, armed with tongs and serving spoons and at times we resembled Busby Berkeley dancers, so well choreographed were we. Things got a wee bit testy when we ran out of ribs two-thirds of the way through. Ribs were easily the most requested dish here, though folks who left the chicken and/or pulled pork behind honestly didn't know what they were missing. Pulled pork - in and of itself, when it's shredded, is not an object of beauty, unless you know how it's going to taste. In fact, it bears a passing resemblance to dog food, but I sure don't know any dog who has it this good.
The chicken - I couldn't count how many times I heard a variation on, 'oh, I don't need chicken, I can get that anywhere.' Well not by Everly and D'Artagnan you can't, and certainly not cooked by the masters.
There were two tables of food in the cavernous brewery. The dining tables covered with bright blue plastic cloths and it was SRO.T here were homemade Mason jars of barbecue sauce, including Bill Eason's Pig Picking Sauce, Mild Barbecue Sauce and a Mustard-Based Sauce. Bill Eason carved the pig, and there was a line snaking through the aisles. There was bluegrass music. There was a raffle, and even some dancing. Oddly, there was no dessert - peach pie or pecan pie with ice cream would have been a logical choice - but these are small comments.
The Brooklyn Pig-Fest, was successful beyond measure, and I, for one, will be ready with my dancing shoes next year.
