Selective BBQ Memory, or S.B.MA

Let me set the scene up for you…..you’re sitting around the dinner table, and your significant other mentions “By the way, the Church is having their annual fundraiser and needs someone to cater the event.”  What are most of you thinking right about now?  Well, in my house the standard Pavlovian response would be “Easy, I can do it….call the Pastor and tell him to sign me up”. (Warning warning…..you have just become victim to “selective barbecue memory”, or SBM for short) 

 Let’s stop for a moment and think back to your last “catering event”.  Cut to scene: …..it’s 2am on a Friday evening.  You’re sitting in the dark tending a log burner loaded with 15 pork buts, 10 briskets, 10 racks of ribs, and there are 20 more racks of ribs and a ton of chicken waiting to cook before it’s over.  You’ve spent the entire week preparing for this event. 

Monday, you went to the local Food Warehouse and bought up all this meat.  You brought it home and realized that you don’t have storage space for it, so you rent a fridge or borrow a bunch of coolers. 

Then on Tuesday, you set down to prepare your spices and rubs…..oh darn, you’re all out of garlic powder….so back to the Food warehouse to pick some up.  While you’re there, you pick up some extra spices cuz you won’t make that mistake again (don’t worry, there are plenty other mistakes to make yet).   Now you’ve got spices, meat, and…..oh, I guess we need to PREP everything. 

So on Wednesday, you trim all the fat caps on the butts and briskets, you pull the membranes off all the ribs, you cut the ribs St. Louis Style….wait…..did I mention the mess you’re making in the kitchen?…..who’s gonna clean all this up?….we’ll come back to this…..OK, fast forward….. 8 hours later, it’s 3am in the morning and the meat is finally prepped.  You need to catch some shut-eye before 6am, when you need to get up for your DAY JOB.  That’s right, DAY JOB……remember, most of us are just regular schmoes who do this for…..uh, fun? 

Thursday morning, you stumble into the office….red eyed and looking like you’re coming off a major bender….but you still have enough SBM to brag “hehe grunt….yeah…I’m cooking a catering gig this weekend for the Church.  I’m cooking a ton of “que” for it”.  To which your co-workers reply.  “That’s great Randy…..by the way, what SIDES are you serving?”  RUH-ROH……”sides?!?!?!”  OK, 5:01pm you jettison out of work and head to….you got it…..THE FOOD WAREHOUSE and pick up all the sides you need to serve.  You get home and…surprise, you have no storage space for it all…..repeat fridge renting, cooler borrowing, and swearing….(I’m just guessing about the swearing, but if it were me…….)  It’s Thursday evening, you’ve had one heckuva week, and you finally got the side dishes under control.  You’re about ready to collapse and you walk through the door of your house.  There, in her best hairnet, fuzzy pink robe, and matching slippers (one of which, by the way, is tap-tap-tapping at your approach) is “The Little Woman”.  Before you can say “Honey, I’m home”…..your gentle dove starts in with “Do you realize the mess you left me this morning?”  RUH-ROH….

4 hours, much apology, and a nice (read: EXPENSIVE) restaurant dinner later….you’re ready to finally hit that bed for a good night’s sleep before your weekend gig.  As you lie down with thoughts of “sawing wood” you sit up in fright……a cold sweat breaks on your forehead…….sawing wood….why does that sound so ominous?  OH-MY-G-G-G-goodness…….I NEED COOKING WOOD.  So this Thursday night, while the world is comfortably resting in their warm beds, you’re out back in the yard.  It’s much too late to run a power saw of any kind, so you have an old and rarely-used rusty axe, splitting some old oak that you were “lucky enough” to have in the yard.  Fast forward…split wood, stack wood, split wood, stack wood, get axe stuck in wood, pry axe out of wood, cut finger, swear, split more wood, stack more wood, finish up, go inside and remove 4 splinters from hands, bandage 3 blisters, and continue swearing where you left off.  2am, you get to bed.

Friday – you fumble through work until noon at “THE JOB” and burn a half-day of vacation so you can be ready to start your “weekend cook” (hmmmm, heckuva misnomer as I see it.  This has taken a lot longer than a weekend so far).   Fast forward……..…..it’s 2am on a Friday evening. 

You’re sitting in the dark tending a log burner loaded with 15 pork buts, 10 briskets, 10 racks of ribs, and there are 20 more racks and a ton of chicken waiting to cook before it’s over.  Although your friends comment how they’d love to help you next time you have an “all-nighter”, ironically they’re all booked this weekend preparing for the Church fundraiser (yeah, even your best friend may have to spend TWO WHOLE HOURS making a couple signs for the event….no one appreciates me, *sob*).  As you sit there on a 40-degree damp evening, covered in smoke, soot, and a liberal dose of garlic powder….you feel sorry for yourself.  “Why oh why did I volunteer for this”….*stop to stoke the fire*……”what was I thinking?”……*adjust vent*……”I actually LIKE doing this?”…….*stare blankly at the starlit sky*….*swear incoherently*………”I’m NEVER gonna do this again!”….*firmly believing it this time, and continuing to feel sorry for yourself*…..this exercise continues for the next, oh…15 hours.

My friends, this is the moment in time you must secure……this is the critical time that you must remember….document your feelings, write it all down, tell a friend, get a tattoo (er, forget the tattoo thing, it’s been a long night).  Whatever you do, don’t forget the PAIN and EFFORT this has taken.  Don’t be a victim of SBM……..

Fast forward to the serving……your Church fundraiser is a huge success.  Everyone has enjoyed your food and you’re a hit!  The Church makes enough to put in that new <insert thingy here>, and you feel like a million bucks  (You look and smell horrible, of course, but you “feel” like a million bucks).  At this point, SBM starts to creep in with its sultry whisper…..”it wasn’t THAT bad, was it?” she says.  SBM continues her onslaught now since she knows you’re vulnerable.  People are shaking your hand, telling you how good your food is….in fact, you’re even starting to think that you could do this full-time…..and still she whispers in your ear “see, it’s not that bad….it’s fun….you like doing this”.  SBM, with your soul firmly in her grip now, begins to ease back and blur this memory into a fine accomplishment.  All the pain fades into a minor hurdle, all the effort, an entertaining anecdote for social events; “*grunt* yeah, I cater big events all the time”……..until the next time, around the dinner table a few months later, and your wife comments “By the way, the local boyscout troop is looking for a caterer…..”  Now that you’re more informed, what is your response?

My brethren, you have been warned.

-To be continued?……