Deah Berry Mitchell: My Personal Connection to BBQ
On a sunny Wednesday morning, barely after 11 a.m. I am sitting in my car rummaging through my purse looking for my trusty blue leather-bound notebook. I often use it when taking notes from interviews. There was a sudden amount of comfort with this interview. I felt at home stepping onto the cracked sidewalks with tiny dandelions peeking their heads through the worn concrete. The gravel on either side of the sidewalk guiding me towards the foyer of Smokey Joe’s – a long standing Black-owned family restaurant, known for both their beef and pork ribs each with distinct sauces – located in the heart of South Dallas tucked discreetly away along the service road of Highway 35.
Having grown up along the Red River of North Texas, bouncing between my own small-town’s meandering paved roads and blistering summers running barefoot in the red clay earth of East Texas. My fondest memories of visiting my grandmother’s birthplace always include hayrides on the family’s sprawling farm where they primarily raised cattle, chickens, and hogs. I recall my grandmother, affectionately known as Bigmama, telling us stories of her youth spent walking the same path we drove that led to her family’s farm. I also remember my mother telling me about her own trips to Crockett which were much more frequent than my own. She remembers my grandfather Herbert, piling the family into their sedan and traveling the four hour trip to Crockett every weekend because his older sister feared her cattle was being stolen by a hired farm hand. After my grandfather passed away our family trips were reduced to every few months. Each time my grandmother would grow more excited than the last when we would travel back to her old home. My cousins and I would take turns mounting the horses while my older uncles held the reigns and walked us along the perimeter of the massive, fenced yard. These were my most memorable summers. My deep appreciation for traditional Black foodways stem directly from these memories mixed in tandem with my own birthplace of Sherman, a slow town that rests an hour north of Dallas and mere minutes from the Oklahoma border. Also, like so many in the African American community, the greatest moments of my life have been punctuated by the most familiar comfort food, and what many would like to claim the “OG” of all soul foods – barbecue. Barbecue, is more than the “OG” of all soul foods, it is the food invented on these soils that celebrates the most significant holidays in this country from the 4th of July to Juneteenth here in Texas. Yes, of course, beef reigns supreme here in the Lone Star state, but we still have a reverent appreciation for various regionally prepared cuts of meats prepared over a long tedious slow roasting flame. My cousin born and raised in other neighboring East Texas towns recall two very different methods of preparing meat. My cousin Derrick recounts, “Some people had tiny smokehouses where they would smoke their meats. Another preparation my cousin recounts, is we always would do it the old-fashioned way by digging a hole about three feet deep in the ground, gathering our wood and charcoal and then seasoning up our hogs with a bunch of spices or sometimes a vinegar mix before cooking. We’d leave it like that for hours until it was time to eat.”
My grandmother’s hometown holds the honor of belonging in the oldest county in the state – Houston County. From carmine-colored viscous sauces begrudgingly sliding from the wet mop eager to kiss seasoned pork ribs, to rich creole roux-colored gravies that nestle discreetly between chopped beef and small pearls of fat right before it disappears into the white bread it sits atop.
Yes, it is true that barbecue has been a Texas staple for as long as the steer have roamed our state, but what’s also true is that having lived in a state as expansive as Texas will allow you the opportunity to sample a varied array of different sauces and techniques. Techniques and intellectual property that were undoubtedly carried with the enslaved Black women, men and children, like my Bigmama’s paternal ancestors who traveled long ago from southern states like Alabama and South Carolina. They brought with them decades of memories unlocked when they shared oral history to be passed down from one generation to the next, or cooking methods that they were taught by their parents and grandparents.
Written By: Deah Berry Mitchell
