January 5, 2001

Mel prides himself on being a good cook. He's always in the kitchen concocting something for sopping, basting, or smothering.

One of Mel's specialities is barbecue. All else being equal, my husband judges the quality of a barbecue joint by their sauce, and he likes to critique them all. Some barbecue restaurants that rank high on Mel's list are Rudy's in Austin, Cooper's in Llano, and Schoepf's in Belton. Still, he seldom finds anyone whose sauce he feels measures up to his own.

Not long ago, however, we stopped at a little hole in the wall in East Texas where Mel seemed particularly fascinated with the homemade sauce.

"Now THAT'S real barbecue sauce," Mel announced, after sampling the first bite. "Somebody 'round here knows what he's doin'."Mel swished another slab of brisket round and round in the pool of sauce, put it in his mouth, and savored it for a few minutes. "This fellar's onto sump'n. I can't quite put my fanger on whut gives it that li'l kick it's got."

My husband continued to lick and lap the sauce, flicking his tongue quickly against his palate, as if he were judging a taste contest. "Now that's larrupin'. You need to try some of this here stuff," he said, dipping a rib in the reddish-brown substance and shoving it at me.

"Mmmm," I agreed. "Tangy. I like it."

"Course, it's still no match fer mine," Mel opined.

"I wouldn't say that," I smacked, helping myself to another generous dollop of sauce on the half-eaten rib.

Mel brushed off my comment with his own spin. "Like I was saying, this sauce is innerstin'...not half bad."

"It's plenty good if you ask me," I said, sucking the last of the meat off the bone. "Maybe you could pick up a few pointers from the guy that made it."

Mel's eyes narrowed to little slits. He ripped off a piece of meat, dowsed it with the sauce, and popped it into his mouth.

"It's tolerable, I s'pose. Sump'n's missin', though. For one thang, it needs more salt," he grunted.

"I think it's just right. You always stub your toe on the salt if you ask me," I replied, swirling a French fry in the puddle of sauce. "This guy should think about bottling and selling this stuff. If I were you, I'd try to get the recipe."

Mel was a tad indignant. He was not pleased with my high praise of this unknown competitor's sauce, but being a fairminded individual, he got the attention of the guy who seemed to be in charge and inquired, "Say, who makes yore barbecue sauce?"

The proprietor bowed his chest and said, "Me."

"It's pretty good stuff," Mel conceded.

"Really good," I chimed in, whispering to Mel, "Ask him for the recipe."

Mel glared at me and then continued his probe. "I can't figger out whut gives it that li'l kick. Can you tell me whut you put in it?"

"I could," the barbecuer grinned, "but if I told you my trade secret, I'd have to kill you."

Mel contemplated the man's proposition and replied, "Well in that case, could you tell my wife?"