Hog Heaven
Published in the MetroBEAT of July 29-August 4, 2003 Written by S.C. Davis
The pig at Bucky’s Bar-B-Q is a thing of plain & simple goodness.
Somewhere deep within the crypts of every man’s inner being is the knowledge that now is the time to eat smoked pig. Summer has always been the season for barbecue, the time for cooking pork over smoldering charcoals, for picking apart slender strings of swine and stuffing it into the mouth and swallowing over and over again.
Most of us under 50 - and probably a vast majority of those over the mid-century mark - have never even ventured outside into the warm night air to begin the long labor of cooking a pig over wood and smoke. But far down inside, we know that our forefathers did it, and we know they did it at this time of year, when the cold didn’t come looking for them after the sun went down and the singsong of crickets kept them awake as a hog sweated over steaming hickory. That’s why we think of barbecue when thermometers begin to roll towards 90, and we start going well out of our ways to drive by favorite old pig pits, and we order up a plate of pork without even realizing why we’re doing it.
Judging by the crowd of males I found in line at Bucky’s Bar-B-Q on Roper Mountain Road the other afternoon, more gents than just me have been strangely afflicted with a craving for summer pork. The cramped L-shaped restaurant - whose exterior slightly resembles a small, prefab metal warehouse - draws patrons aplenty near the noon hour. On a thick, humid July day, dirt-coated construction workers, retired gabbers in straw hats, camouflage enthusiasts and white-collar workers ambled in to sample the wares, joined here and there by, of all things, a sprinkling of women. They waited patiently to order inside walls covered by a row of caps, sports memorabilia from the nearby Shannon Forest school, old-style advertisements for bacon and other colorful decor.
It’s a good thing all of us found our way to this place because the pig at Bucky’s is a thing of plain and simple goodness that bucks the Upstate’s legacy as a home for sub-par ‘cue. For a populated region south of the Mason-Dixon line, our area has historically produced shockingly mediocre barbecue, and apart from stalwarts like Henry’s Smokehouse, Smokin’ Stokes and a handful of other outposts hither and yon, there hasn’t been much for pork loyalists to get excited about around here.
The pork here arrives glistening and warm, diced up just lightly enough to be rendered into steamy shreds but not so much that all life is banged out of it. The meat is moist and pink and accented by crusty, near-black chunks of skin that sparkle with the flavor of wood smoke. Unlike some other pig purveyors, Bucky’s largely leaves the swine alone to taste the way swine tastes without heavy doses of seasoning or sauce already cooked into the meat. It’s the clean, unadorned taste of pork that you’d find at a good pig pickin’. While I don’t like pre-added sauce or heavy blasts of seasoning, I do like the addition of a little punch to plain pig. That’s why I was pleased to encounter balanced, tasty sauces, placed conveniently at every table for those who like to mix in some zest. The mustard-based sauce comes on strong and seems ready to submit to sweetness in the beginning, but a peppery flurry at the finish puts it right where it needs to be. Likewise, a ketchup-flavored concoction starts off by bowing to sugar, but the longer it’s in the mouth, the more it is bolstered by a bracing vinegar tang. Both merge effortlessly with the tender pig.
The smoked chicken here is also a solid bet, coming to the table with a crispy brown exterior and meat so moist it nearly sags away from the bones. The poultry features the same soothing pink hue that the pig does, and the smoke softens up the meat and draws out its flavors. A side dish of Cajun pinto beans delivers hearty, almost beefy flavors that simmered with spicy verve. As blasphemous as it was to consider such things in summer, it’s hard to deny that the beans would have been blissful on a gray December day. Less winning was a side of macaroni and cheese. The creation was enlivened with pepper and actually tasted better than it had any right to, but it’s always preferable to find the tough, leathery hide of melted cheese atop macaroni.
Summer - as hard as it may seem to believe - is already slipping away from us, and soon enough the leaves will litter the roadways and footballs will float through the air. Barbecue like this will still be good then. But it’s even better now. Get it while it’s hot.
