The Spice of Life

I have written before about my friend Laurie Matherne. Laurie is a south Louisiana lady who relocated from New Orleans to Tegucigalpa, Honduras. Among other things, she feeds and shares the love of Christ with destitute children in a very poor and dangerous neighborhood. She is both hero and inspiration to me, and I am glad to be able to call her "friend."

Laurie also writes an excellent blog about her experiences, which you can read here.

In a recent post, Laurie waxed eloquent about New Orleans. Now I won't disparage the Crescent City's charm, as I am a fan of her also. I could point out that the first Mardis Gras celebration in The U.S. was held in Mobile, ALABAMA in 1703, but I won't.

The quote from her blog that I take issue with was as follows:

"The grocery stores in Tegucigalpa generally carry Louisiana spices. Not Texas spices. Not 'Bama spices. Louisiana spices. Smart people."

Now Boo (or is it "Cher?" I never could figure out the linguistic difference between 'Boo' and 'Cher'--I only know that my Cajun friends always address the ladies as one or the other), I believe you done gone and besmirched the honor of the great State of Alabama. I feel I obliged to defend Her.

First, you aren't going to get an argument that south Louisiana produces some of the world's best eating opportunities. There are folks down there who cook up some mighty tasty dishes that can't be duplicated anywhere else that I know of. Some of these dishes even feature critters that we refer to as "bait" here in the Heart of Dixie.

But Alabama has her own distinct culinary culture, too, which is also based on what the landscape gives us to work with. We have peanuts from the Wiregrass region; blueberries from Clay County; peaches from Chilton County (so sweet and juicy that you better not have your good shirt on). We have tomatoes grown on Sand Mountain, satsumas from Baldwin County, catfish from the Black Belt and chickens produced in the whole north half of the state.

But spices?

The Red Head said, "She's got us there. We don't have any spices. Vices, maybe, but not spices."

Ladies, I beg to differ. Alabama does have a unique spice. One that you can't find in south Louisiana, or Honduras either, for that matter. Our spice is hickory smoke.

Now don't argue that hickory smoke doesn't qualify as a spice. Spices enhance the flavor of a dish. They bring out the finer qualities and subtleties of the taste. Hickory smoke does just that, and it can't be sprinkled out of a jar with a picture of a fat Louisiana chef who I always get confused with Dom Deluise.

You have to work for our spice--sweat--maybe even shed some blood. A hickory tree does not "go gently into that good night." It is knotty, heavy, hard, and cantankerous. It is usually found only on hillsides and steep slopes. Let your mind wander while felling one and your next meal may be angel food cake. In addition, it must be properly seasoned to burn, which requires six months to a year of drying time.

Hickory smoke is the key spice in preparing the finest dish man ever figured out how to cook: bar-b-que pork. Oh the rapture of pit roasted, hickory-smoked pig flesh. There is absolutely nothing that can compare. Sliced, pulled, chipped, or chopped on the block. Served smothered with a tomato-based sweet sauce or slathered with vinegar-based "yellow jacket" sauce, or better yet served without sauce of any kind. Put it on a bun or just eat it right off the plate.

So don't sing me a song about the virtues of Tabasco, Prudhomme, or Chachere. Give me a few sticks of dried shag bark hickory and a match any day and we'll do some cooking.

Laurie, next time you're in the States the Red Head and I will meet you in New Orleans. We'll eat some etouffee, po'boys, crayfish, boudin, jambalaya, and gumbo. Then we'll head up to sweet home Alabama and hit some of my favorite bar-b-que houses from Opelika to Birmingham. Order up some hickory smoked pig and maybe finish off with some peach cobbler, banana pudding, or a big slice of peanut butter pie. Wash it all down with a big ol' glass of sweet tea.

We may not settle the spice wars, but I bet we'll put on a couple of pounds.