KatieOnce a year, on the weekend before Labor Day weekend, we host The Barbecue at our house. The Barbecue is a sacred occasion on our calendars, and though the attendees change from year to year, the heart and feel of the day are always the same: Friends. Family. Love. Food.
It began as a challenge from a friend who just couldn’t believe that what I said about barbecue in Washington, D.C. was true: that it simply didn’t compare in any way to what I knew of barbecue from my Southern roots in Alabama. “So if it’s not the same,” he said, “make some yourself so I can tell the difference.” I’m a working musician, so when somebody throws down a challenge like that, I know how to direct my attention, learn what I need to know, and practice until I get it right. And so I learned about smoke rings, and slow heat, and the alchemy that springs from fire, time and a patient hand. I come from and learned from lines of good plain Southern cooks who were adept at using simple flavors to capture the richness of love and the exquisite moments of grace and thrifty genius in the products of their kitchens and fires, and it wasn’t long before I was able to summon the spirit of those Southern dishes that spoke to me and bring them to my own table.
The delicacies that are now at the heart of the day are largely the same now as they were at the first gathering, though the offerings brought by attendees shift and change every year. Every once in a great while, one of them will be so good, so memorable, that they join the ranks of beloved dishes that attendees ask for every year. “Will so-and-so be here this year? Are they bringing those things again?” These dishes have come to form a closely woven fabric of memory, feeling, and savor that I carry with me and treasure.
“All y’all come on, we have plenty.”
Even as we all shared these dishes together, the flavors of my friendships, my work, and my musical life began to blend together too through the connections made in the crisp air of my backyard over cups of sangria and juicy sandwiches, the ones I love coming to love each other and make their own connections. That first year there were 34 people. The following year there were almost a hundred. The year after that, people asked me when it was going to be so they could plan their vacations around it. By year ten I was hosting more than 300 people over the course of the day, a vast milling mixture of my friends and musical family both from where I live and as far-flung as I ever could have imagined. Invites are always informal, and when asked who they can bring, my answer is usually “All y’all come on, we have plenty.” I consider it the highest compliment when a friend brings her mom, or their children, or a new love, or a friend I haven’t met yet, simply because they feel like we should know each other.
Marriages have begun at The Barbecue as flirtations over glasses of iced tea. Bands have formed while deciding on the best sauce for a sandwich. Hilariously, when my first husband and I split up, the first question most people asked after expressing their condolences was a hesitant inquiry about whether the Barbecue was still happening, followed by a relieved sigh when I said it was. My friends estimate that conservatively, more than a million dollars of performance revenue has spun up and taken flight from those lawn chairs.
All y’all, always.
For my own part, these connections have saved me, uplifted me, sustained me, time and time again. The genesis of all of this has been an outpouring of love from this Barbecue community so immense, so incredible, that it has literally changed my life. So, if you are reading this, you are a priceless part of this heritage, this fabric, this family, forever. May we all continue to enjoy the wonder and alchemy of these flavors of food and friendship.