Editor’s Letter// January 2012// The Territorial Barbecue Eater

The Paris Review Daily published a piece last month by John Jeremiah Sullivan titled, “There is a Gold Light in Certain Old Paintings.” It’s not exactly in my nature to be critical (That’s a lie–it is!), but I would like to call your attention here in order to identify and error.

But before I do so, you need to know that Mr. Sullivan is one of my favorite writers whom I have followed for many years. He wrote a piece for GQ back in 2004 that completely ploughed the way I read features. Around this same time, he was writing a music review for New York magazine in which he covered Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan, two of my favorite songwriters. (He also reviewed Nirvana, for whom I still possess a tremendous feeling of un-showered, denim-donning, Doc Marten-wearing, revelrous nostalgia.) In fact, a nonfiction professor of mine exceptionally embarrassed me one day by informing Sullivan, who had walked into a workshop of mine, that I was a self-proclaimed groupie of his (Sullivan teaches at my alma mater).

That being said, Mr. Sullivan, we need to talk about this North Carolina barbecue business you bring up.

In this lovely story, Sullivan, Denis Johnson, and Ben George go to a BBQ joint on the coast of North Carolina. Johnson is thrilled to find that the sandwich he eats at Parchies is one that he has been searching for since childhood. That’s wonderful. I’m glad you enjoyed this, Mr. Johnson, but there is something you need to know.

Sullivan writes, “In the Cape Fear country, and throughout the piedmont of the state, we have this unusual kind of barbecue [sic], which uses a light vinegar sauce instead of the red stuff and tastes totally different than what you expect if you grew up west of here.” True, true, JJS, it is a lot different than what you might find elsewhere in the States or even the South, but it is not so homogenous. I hail from said piedmont of North Carolina and it is here that we are producing something very unlike a Parchies pig: Lexington style barbecue.

Lexington style (sometimes called Western style) differs from Eastern style in that ketchup is added to the vinegar-based “sauce” which is actually referred to as dip, and while Eastern roasters cook the whole pig, you’ll only find the dark, fatty(er), shoulder meat in Lexington style. The subjective difference is that Eastern is less flavorful and its sauce more sour. When you cook the whole shoulder (unbasted) over hickory, like we do in the western part of the state, you’re going to get something that is dimensionally flavorful versus flat.

Now, here I will make my concessions: Mr. Sullivan’s mistake was an understandable one, considering none of the parties involved in the meal at Parchies that day are North Carolina natives. And there is even a whole other breed of barbecue being made west of Lexington in our mountain counties that some refer to as Asheville barbecue, about which I concede that I know very little.

I remember the first time I tried Eastern style barbecue. I was in high school, and my parents and I were driving to Wilmington to visit my older brother in college. About two hours shy of our destination, we decided we were hungry. We pulled off at exit 312-Garner, Clayton, Fuquay-Varina, which is just east of Raleigh. Without warning, my father pulled into the “SCNB” (Smithfield’s Chicken ‘n Barbecue) parking lot.

“We have to do this,” he said, “if we want to defend Lexington.”

We dined with the devil that day. The meat wasn’t terrible, but it was not Lexington style. It was unexciting and alien. We ate most of the meal in silence, afraid that conversation might reveal our identities and someone would report back to the west that we had eaten with the enemy. “We tell no one about this,” he said as we got back into the car. Until just now, I’ve never talked about that day.

The lines are unclear, though. Somewhere between Burlington and Raleigh, there is a dubious, invisible line that separates dip from sauce and whole hog from shoulder. As an editor, I am inclined to be impartial to the question of superiority, but I am going to ignore that inclination and say that Lexington style barbecue is better. Period. I’ve had both in numerous forms and from numerous purveyors, but I can honestly say that there is nothing quite like a fatty hog shoulder slow roasted over hickory. Nothing in this world.

I write this not to pick some puerile fight with Mr. Sullivan or with The Paris Review. I write this to spread the gospel of Lexington style barbecue to Sullivan and to anyone who might read this and be lead to believe that Western and Eastern practitioners of hog roasting are kin to one another. And also to say that if you and I ever find ourselves in the piedmont of North Carolina at the same time, Mr. Sullivan, I will gladly buy you a large chopped tray with slaw and hush puppies.

[Wipes mouth of barbecue stains, takes a swig of pale ale, and clears throat.]

That being said, you’re looking at some new goodies here on rtm. We’re expanding our horizons and talking to more than just musicians. We’ve also opened submissions for our newest domain: words.redthoughtmedia.com. This is where you’ll be able to submit creative works for publication; it functions like a literary journal.

I’m not really one for “themes,” but this month it looks like we’ve found ourself exploring place–be it metaphorical or physical–and how that doesn’t always agree with ourselves or the ones around us. Not a bad thing to think about here at the kickoff of the year as you’re taking a good look at where you are and how you got there, and deciding how you’re going to eat your barbecue.

This month, hear from visual artist Anna Reser as she writes about her own work in terms of thievery, and I speak with collage artist Brandon Spence about how to get friendly with Elmer’s glue. Writer/Visual Artist Rod McClain presents a pretty convincing argument for how horrible it is to be a writer and an artist, but why it’s impossible to stop. You’ll also find more music from the East as rtm talks to Israeli band, Acollectíve. Later this month, you’ll hear poet Melissa Range‘s take on being a Southern writer, and also hear from Yael Warach on that art oh, so foreign to me–the ballet. And there’s still more to come, but I can’t dish just yet–February is music month and we’ll be talking to some of my favorites.

Happy New Year. May it be full of great blessing and new discoveries. And as always, thanks to all our readers and for your love and support. Keep up the freakness.

Cheers,

em