The sign read “BBQ Tonight:  The Sandwich.” I was going  to see if my cooking was good enough for paying customers.  I have been feeding family and friends for years, receiving many compliments along the way.  Having people pay for the privilege of eating my food is another matter.  Tonight I test the waters of professional cookery.

The venue was a bar in the CBD with an outdoor patio where folks often sit on a warm New Orleans evening.  The bar used to serve sandwiches that were a cut above the usual pub grub, but that was shut down a few months ago. I heard that the owners were talking about reviving food service, but were unsure about the direction in which they wanted to go. I saw this an opportunity  and offered boldly to provide an evening of BBQ on a Tuesday night when the bar hosted a well-attended Open Mike night.  Much to my surprise, my vague offer was accepted vaguely.  All I needed to do was to figure out how I was going to pull this off with no real kitchen facilities, no promotion or publicity, no patron expectations of food, and no purveyor’s license.

Last things first, I decided to ignore the need for official approval.  I have always felt it better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.  Once I got the go-ahead from ownership, albeit only hours from when I would need to start serving, I was proudly defiant.  Food police be damned, I was going to be a rebel cook for the night.  I also knew that hungry barflies were not going to be deterred by my lack of governmental sanction.

What was I going to cook?  No question that my signature dish has been the classic slow smoked pork butt with a vinegar-based sauce that I experienced my first night in Chapel Hill, NC in 1973 As a Yankee who thought BBQ was a verb, as in “Gonna BBQ some burgers,” I learned quickly that in Carolinas, BBQ is a noun, as in “Gonna eat some BBQ tonight.” Another revelation for me was that in Eastern North Carolina, does not include any tomato.  It’s the taste of the meat, the rub, and the smoke.  Put it on a cheap hamburger bun, top it with sweet Carolina cole slaw, and finish with a dash (or more) of Texas Pete hot sauce (the geographically challenged pride of Winston-Salem).  That’s it: a ticket to porcine heaven on the hickory and oak railway.  Nine hours of cooking later (and the addition of some Louisiana pecan shells to the smoke), I had my pulled pork.

At 5:00 on the day, I received a text to the effect that I could serve that night, but ownership was talking with some established local BBQ operators to take over the food service.  I had one chance to get my food into people’s mouths and souls.  While I had debated with myself about an expanded menu, I decided to strip this down to basics:  BBQ sandwiches.  This would be easiest – bring the warm  meat in a half-pan along with the cole slaw, buns, hot sauces, bowls, napkins.  Make individual sandwiches.  One dish, one price, no fuss.

As for advertising and promotion, I was really on my own.  With no “pre” publicity, I needed something to let folks in the bar know what I was doing, that I was not giving the food away.  I had the sign that read “BBQ Tonight:  The Sandwich” describing my one and only dish and, of course, the price.  “Eastern NC BBQ with Cole Slaw on a Cheap Hamburger Bun with Texas Pete Hot Sauce to taste. $5.00”

With all this stuff in hand, and my guitar for performing at some point in the evening, I got to the bar. The bar tender, who is one of the owners, told me I could set up anywhere, so I took two tables out on the patio and laid out my goods.  Since I was a regular performer, those who knew me were curious about what was going on.  I sold my first sandwich to a friend, who seemed impressed.  The key however, would be if strangers would take a bite.  To that end, I walked the patio and the bar offering free samples.  Then I sat back and waited.

Over the course of the next few hours (except when I was on stage), I had steady flow of customers even though it was a sparse crowd.  I talked with them about the tradition of Carolina BBQ and they responded with more orders.  One young lady even came back for a second sandwich, which I considered the ultimate compliment.  Some of my friends, who self-identified as “foodies” praised my “Q” with phrases such as, “I wouldn’t tell you this if it wasn’t true.” Or “If I didn’t think it was any good, I would tell you.”   Some people even waited till after I performed to get their sandwich, having waited until they needed that mid-evening boost of piggy goodness.

I packed up around 11 PM and headed home a happy man.  I actually sold more sandwiches than I have sold copies of my music CD.  I was also reminded that while listening to music can be a soul-satisfying moment, food satisfies and sustains us.  This may have been my first foray into the world of cooking for pay, but I know my customers got more than their money’s worth – I ran out of napkins.  Now that’s the sign of good cook, professional or otherwise.