The Gospel of Barbecue

for Alvester James Long after it was necessary, Uncle Vess ate the leavings off the hog, doused them with vinegar sauce. He ate chewy abominations. Then came high pressure. Then came the little pills. Then came the doctor who stole Vess’s second sight, the predication of pig’s blood every fourth Sunday. Then came the stillness of barn earth, no more trembling at his step. Then came the end of the rib, but before his eyes clouded, Uncle Vess wrote down the gospel of barbecue. Chapter one: Somebody got to die with something at some time or another. Chapter two: Don’t ever trust white folk to cook your meat until it’s done to the bone. Chapter three: December is the best time for hog killing. The meat won’t spoil as quick. Screams and blood freeze over before they hit the air. Chapter four, Verse one: Great Grandma Mandy used to say food you was whipped for tasted the best. Chapter four, Verse two: Old Master knew to lock the ham bacon chops away quick or the slaves would rob him blind. He knew a padlock to the smokehouse was best to prevent stealing, but even the sorriest of slaves would risk a beating for a full belly. So Christmas time he give his nasty leftovers to the well behaved. The head ears snout tail fatback chitlins feet ribs balls. He thought gratitude made a good seasoning. Chapter five: Unclean means dirty means filthy means underwear worn too long in summertime heat. Perfectly good food can’t be no sin. Maybe the little bit of meat on ribs makes for lean eating. Maybe the pink flesh is tasteless until you add onions garlic black pepper tomatoes soured apple cider but survival ain’t never been no crime against nature or Maker. See, stay alive in the meantime, laugh a little harder. Go on and gnaw that bone clean.