Yeopim Pork Men
by Kitty Boots
Ten of the best hog cookers in the state were invited to the East Carolina Barbecue Cook-Off. The Yeopim Pork Men, consisting of Mike, his brother, Eric and friend, Danny Ray, were stunned by the invitation. Mike kept walking around saying, "Man, I don't fuckin' believe it! Goddamn, we gotta chance. We finally gotta chance!"
Mike is the local go-to in Hertford to cook a hog. Got a community fund raiser, wedding, truck-pull, Pow-Wow, family reunion? Call Mike. His hogs are as legendary as his six-foot something Lumbee-Tuscarora presence. A warrior at the grill.
The trio stuffed their grilling equipment in a battered van and left for Dixieland Speedway at 4:30 am. The hog had to be on by 7:00, salted and peppered, skin side down. Eric rode shotgun cradling a jug of homemade sauce, his specialty. Danny Ray sat in the back of the van steadying the hand-painted Yeopim Pork Men sign.
Firing up the coals, Mike got the hog on. At 8:30 Eric and Danny Ray had started on the weed and liquor. By 12:00 noon they were totally fucked up and had attracted a crowd of like-minded hangers-on. Mike toweled his face, slogged through the August heat to the van and said, "Hey, you motherfuckers, get the hell out of here. This ain't what we came here for. Sorry-ass fuckers."
The judges came around for the first part of the competition, the sauce. Mike
poured the required amount from the jug into the judge's glass jar. Eric, shirtless, barefoot and wearing shortie overalls cut to the nuts, staggered out of the van, grabbed the jug of sauce from Mike and zig-zagged through the crowd after the judges, his size 15 feet raising atomic mushroom clouds. "The sauce, hey, the sauce, you forgot the sauce," he yelled, and disappeared into the crowd.
About 1,000 barbecue aficionados had gathered in the bleachers. A disc jockey from station W05.7 Country was introducing the participants. "From Hertford, we have the "YEE-OH-PUM" Pork Men." Eric stomped up bleacher seats, joggling sticky-faced kids and weather-beaten grandmas. Grabbing the microphone from the disc jockey, he said, "It's "YO-PUM" you asshole." They were immediately disqualified.
The crowed screamed and hollered. Eric scrambled down the bleacher seats
and tackled Danny Ray. "It's all your fault, motherfucker," screamed Eric. They traded fists, rolled around in the dust. Eric picked Danny Ray up by the heels and spun him around in a circle about six inches off the ground. Danny Ray's prosthetic leg came off in Eric's hand.
|
5
favs |
617 views
15 comments |
448 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
Coastal North Carolina...not the pristine beaches of the Outer Banks, crammed with huge vacation homes, but the rivers, Perquimans, Chowan,Yeopim. Communities with names like Chocowinity. Fields of cotton, soybeans, corn, peanuts and tobacco. Cypress trees draped with Spanish moss, tea-colored water. After a meal of collards cooked with fat meat, fried pork chops and freshly pulled turnips, (and a few glasses of homemade scuppernong wine), my friend told me this story. I dedicate this to Mike Revels, a direct descendant of Henry Berry Lowry.
Other stories by Kitty Boots
Tags
This story has no tags.
Comments
You must
log in
to post comments.
Wow.
Is it the pork that drives men crazy? *
Thank you, Gary.
Thank you, Tim. He, he...good question! They've mellowed quite a bit through the years!:)
They put on a show, for which they should have won something.
Thank you, David. I tend to agree, but these East Carolina folks take their barbecue seriously! :) It's a miracle they all didn't end up in jail!
Hey, Kitty! Sounds like you have visited my stomping ground. It's in the sauce.
And the misbehavior!
Lively story! I lived in Windsor when I was a kid--on a farm with pigs. I don't remember BBQ but I remember country ham. I remember seeing hams hanging and curing in a shed. Very salty stuff.
Hey, Angela, might be! Thanks for the read and comments!
Thank you, Dianne. Yeah, Layden's Grocery still cures their own meat and makes their own sausage. You go into the store and hams and smoked meat are hanging on the wall. I'm sure you know about "Catfish" Hunter...he was from Hertford, and Wolfman Jack's house is still there in Belvidere. Yup, got to see it all! Goin' back again soon!
Haha, a kick ass fun/funny of a story, Kitty! Will hafta get me some of those "shortie overalls cut to the nuts" for summer wear doing my own bbq!
Hey, Ed! Thanks for the read and comments. Yeah, when Mike told me this story, I just had to share it! Glad you enjoyed it! :)
Great read, Susan. Enjoyed. *
Thank you, Sam. I'm sure you're familiar with the area. Going back next week for a visit. I sure do like it there.:)