On the same day that we went
to the Clay on Fire pottery exhibit (see previous post) we also planned to go
to the Blue Ridge BBQ Festival,
located in Tryon, NC, about two hours away. Scott had looked forward to it for
weeks. You would think 2 hours is a long way for assorted smoked meat but them
Texans take their BBQs seriously.
Along the way, we stopped at Stowe Dairy Farms where we paid a visit back in December. There’s no dairy to be had but plenty of fresh cut Christmas trees that were so plump and fragrant that even Scott wanted to bring one home (for those who don’t know, he’s Jewish). This time, we found a vegetable garden sprouting young squash and pepper plants, a family of goats bleating in unison at the runaway lamb that was wandering around the yard, chickens pecking at bugs in the dirt and squawking roosters fighting over a fresh egg. Gwen the proprietress made a mean lemonade (with a secret recipe she guards as tightly as Coca Cola does with Coke) and sorghum cookies that were soft, chewy and wholesomely delicious.
It was now early evening, time for the grand finale of our day – the BBQ fest – where we expected to come away happy with a meat-induced stupor. After paying $8 a piece for admission and buying $30 worth of food tickets, we eagerly walked in to survey the scene. We saw funnel cakes, corn dogs, curly chips, fried onion blossoms… and a crafts fair. But… WHERE WAS THE BEEF?
There were exactly four – four vendors out of a couple of dozen – that sold BBQ. One was closed in the afternoon after it ran out of food; the second ran out right after we got in line (luckily after everyone fled the scene, we went to the front and Scott was able to scrounge together the last bits of brisket to make a sandwich); the third ran out of ribs when we were still 30 people deep in line, and the fourth announced they were about to be out of everything after we had already waited for half an hour.
Dejected and hungry, we decided on Plan B – back to Saluda to try the BBQ restaurant whose sign we spotted earlier.
On our way out of the festival grounds, we walked past the campers that were parked in the lot. We noticed that each of them had a smoker but most seem to be vacant. Scott approached one that appeared to have trays of BBQ meats available. The man there explained that the festival was mainly a competition where contestants arrived from all over and spend the weekend in their campers. After the competition, they are not allowed to sell their BBQ, though they could offer “samples” for a “donation.” We tried a bite of brisket but didn’t like it enough to make a donation, so we moved on.
Further down, Scott spotted a few guys hanging out by their smoker. I was complaining that we should never come back again when, as a last ditch effort, Scott approached to see if they would sell us something. While we made conversation with a couple of the guys, I noticed that one stood up to pick at something in the smoker. I was hoping that he was assembling some samples for us. Moments later, he came toward us not with a couple of bites, but with a huge pile of meat on a plate.
They were the B4 BBQ Team who fed us a heaping portion of pulled pork and brisket. The amount would have been two full orders at a restaurant. Once we sat down at their table, they even brought us an icy cold beer to go with it. Despite our insistence, they refused any form of payment. That was Southern hospitality in its finest. (A BIG “thank you” to Mike, Bill, John, Ryan, Dan, Joe and Gary!)
Along the way, we stopped at Stowe Dairy Farms where we paid a visit back in December. There’s no dairy to be had but plenty of fresh cut Christmas trees that were so plump and fragrant that even Scott wanted to bring one home (for those who don’t know, he’s Jewish). This time, we found a vegetable garden sprouting young squash and pepper plants, a family of goats bleating in unison at the runaway lamb that was wandering around the yard, chickens pecking at bugs in the dirt and squawking roosters fighting over a fresh egg. Gwen the proprietress made a mean lemonade (with a secret recipe she guards as tightly as Coca Cola does with Coke) and sorghum cookies that were soft, chewy and wholesomely delicious.
After a quick stop for lunch in
Saluda – a cute town so small that you have to zoom in super close to spot it
on Google map – we arrived at Hendersonville late in the afternoon where Scott
wanted to visit a new novelty shop whose owner he’s friendly with.
By now we’ve seen quite a few
small towns in the Carolinas, many of which are eerie places with dusty antique
shops manned by equally antiquated shopkeepers, and rows of store fronts that
look shuttered for the better part of the decade. Hendersonville, by
comparison, was vibrant with commerce and filled with people dining on sidewalks
in front of restaurants. A live band at a street corner played 50s tunes that
pandered to a retirement aged crowd seated in neat rows of chairs. The street
in between was closed to traffic and was turned into a dance floor where a couple
or two swirled to the music. It took some pleading, but I successfully dragged
Scott to join in.It was now early evening, time for the grand finale of our day – the BBQ fest – where we expected to come away happy with a meat-induced stupor. After paying $8 a piece for admission and buying $30 worth of food tickets, we eagerly walked in to survey the scene. We saw funnel cakes, corn dogs, curly chips, fried onion blossoms… and a crafts fair. But… WHERE WAS THE BEEF?
There were exactly four – four vendors out of a couple of dozen – that sold BBQ. One was closed in the afternoon after it ran out of food; the second ran out right after we got in line (luckily after everyone fled the scene, we went to the front and Scott was able to scrounge together the last bits of brisket to make a sandwich); the third ran out of ribs when we were still 30 people deep in line, and the fourth announced they were about to be out of everything after we had already waited for half an hour.
Dejected and hungry, we decided on Plan B – back to Saluda to try the BBQ restaurant whose sign we spotted earlier.
On our way out of the festival grounds, we walked past the campers that were parked in the lot. We noticed that each of them had a smoker but most seem to be vacant. Scott approached one that appeared to have trays of BBQ meats available. The man there explained that the festival was mainly a competition where contestants arrived from all over and spend the weekend in their campers. After the competition, they are not allowed to sell their BBQ, though they could offer “samples” for a “donation.” We tried a bite of brisket but didn’t like it enough to make a donation, so we moved on.
Further down, Scott spotted a few guys hanging out by their smoker. I was complaining that we should never come back again when, as a last ditch effort, Scott approached to see if they would sell us something. While we made conversation with a couple of the guys, I noticed that one stood up to pick at something in the smoker. I was hoping that he was assembling some samples for us. Moments later, he came toward us not with a couple of bites, but with a huge pile of meat on a plate.
(These are their official competition entrants)
They were the B4 BBQ Team who fed us a heaping portion of pulled pork and brisket. The amount would have been two full orders at a restaurant. Once we sat down at their table, they even brought us an icy cold beer to go with it. Despite our insistence, they refused any form of payment. That was Southern hospitality in its finest. (A BIG “thank you” to Mike, Bill, John, Ryan, Dan, Joe and Gary!)
It was an experience that
warmed our hearts as much as our bellies. It sure took a lot of effort to get to
our plate of BBQ, but in the end, it was more than worth it.
