Julie Porter

Northeast Barbecue Championship

Big Bob from Big Bob Gibson’s Bar-B-Q
with the “smell my pits” t-shirt
says a good smoke ring is essential
in the presentation portion of judging.

Mary Lou from the Boston Butts tells me
in her Southie accent,
Bahbecue is like an adult rave but
instead of ecstasy we do meat.

Carla puts a Santa hat on her pig,
says her soon-to-be prize winner
beat out her children
for the Christmas card photo.

A potbellied man with a bull horn tells competitors,
Get your bib and napkins, ‘cause you’re gone need ‘em.
The lip-smacking beginning
of your heavenly pork journey is now boarding.

I say there’s nothing like a piece of pig
slowly gestating within the steel walls of a smoker.
A Boston butt with textbook marbling–
hearty, husky smoke billowing from the barrel–

the opening and closing of smoker lids,
the soft sound of smoking meat.
Hickory, maple, fruit woods, and mesquite,
fourteen hours cooking low and slow.