Here in the South, Bar-B-Que is kinda a big deal. Even with the recent showdown in Garden and Gun magazine between shrimp-n-grits and pulled pork b-b-q, with congrats to shrimp-n-grits, you just can't beat a good plate (or sandwich) of Bar-B-Que. I don't have anything against big chains, I really can appreciate a Smithfields chop sandwich from time to time. Really, I don't have much against anyone so long as they don't skimp with the amount of meat per serving.
I am
the reason America is obese.
Recently, while in the rural areas of Jacksonville (NC), I was directed down a side-street and told to keep my eyes keen for The Lickin' Pot. I had already driven by 2 other Bar-B-Que joints, both on a fairly busy highway and looking in very good condition. Pulling up to The Lickin' Pot completely shattered that image. No bright red tin roofs, no log cabin exterior, no professional signage and no discernible parking as I could tell. This wasn't a business, this couldn't be, I'm in a residential neighborhood. The words painted on the side of the building and the rag tag street sign were proving me wrong.
A small white house sits about 30 yards off the side of the road. "The Lickin' Pot' is painted across the front. As you pull in there is an alcove with a sliding window on the side; painted there are the words "Drive-In Window". Just as it says, you pull up next to the building and butt the front of your car against the building, and then you back out. Though, this sure isn't Sonic. Curious about where to park I pull around back on this half gravel/half crab-grass driveway and parked next to a beat up bicycle with my front tires resting inches from a rusted out shovel. I see a car and the sign on the building said open, so I approach the screened porch to find a latched backdoor and walk around to the front. I look through the screens and notice all the patio furniture looks like it was grabbed during a weekend of yard sale hunting. I feel a grin coming on, cause I finally get a whif of the food, and just the look of this place starts to remind me of home.
I cut into the front door and take in the smokey smells and sizzling sounds coming from the kitchen. The foyer/lobby/waiting area is about 6 foot by 10 with four seats for waiting customers. Just as the lack of cars proved, I'm the only one here. A stout black man swings around the corner with a smile on his face and starts with introductions that disarm me and sets me right at home. He doesn't recognize me and asks if this is my first time, I assume this was due to my lost look as I searched for a menu. I confess my first-timer status and his smile grows as he opens a menu as he breaks down the categories. I can't give much detail here as my brain turned off when he said "pork ribs" and "Mama's homemade sauce". THAT. I WANT THAT. I ordered up some mac-n-cheese and collard greens for sides. He swings around the corner to put in my order with "Mama", the cook, and comes out just as quick with my sweet tea.
While waiting on my order I let my eyes wander over the walls in the waiting area. Newspaper clippings of the business, sporting events, fliers for local churches, a poster for a girl that looks about 13 trying to start her singing career; they all cover the walls. I grab up a menu and browse through and start to read "The Story of a Dream" and how the business came to be:
The dream started back in 1975 in a small town in Pennsylvania. Rose was selling dinners on the side of the road. The dream was delayed but no forgotten, it was reborn when Rose and Robert dug the first hole in 2002. Robert put the dream on hold yet again in order to help the Hurricane Katrina victims in New Orleans.
With help from friends and family, Rose and Robert believed God's promise that He would give them the desires of their hearts. So it was through much prayer, faith, and perseverance that the dream has become a reality.
Through much prayer and faith, and from the sound of it, a lot of patience too. It's not till after I left that I felt the desire to ask more questions, a delay that I now regret, between those lines seems to lie a much greater story. I will however put this absent-mindedness to the arrival of my plate. A fold over to-go tray that, when opened, revealed a pile of meat and sides. I was expecting a little less from this little family run shop, boy, that was a reminder not to underestimate others. The pork ribs sat piled upon each other covered in sauce. I picked up my first bone and (oh sweet heaven) the meat slid off! With a bit of excitement, I ignored the fork on my plate and just picked up the meat with my fingers and dove in. Tenderness of meat was no factor here, chewing this would have been easy for a toothless baby. The meat had enough browning to still taste the smoke, taming that smoke was "Mama's" sauce. It was clear enough by the smell this had vinegar as it's base and the taste was just as true. Flakes of cayanne floated through the sauce, but there was just enough red of the tomato to mask those flakes and even thicken the sauce. The consistency was wonderful. A sauce that clung to the ribs with just enough fluidity to drip like paint from a brush. Thick paint that stretches so slowly you have that sliver of hope you'll catch it before it hits the floor, but slick enough to go ahead and drop.
Whilst suckin' on a bone, I turned to my sides, set down the bone and picked up my fork. The mac-n-cheese was all it should be, creamy yet clumpy with stretches of cheese trailing the fork. The collards were a thing of heaven. I've had a few, and many have had some sort of bacon or bacon fat cooked into them, I've even seen them with peppers mixed in from time to time. Vinegar is a given. These however, were chunked with peppers that provided enough of that vinegar bite that I didn't have to add a bit. To my surprise, no bacon was visible. Instead, there were chunks of pulled Bar-B-Que mixed in. Each bite was the right amount of flavorful, an I still had two ribs to go (5 in total).
This was a meal that ruined me for the day. How could someone eat this good and go about his or her day
without a nap? Sadly, that was my fate. To anyone in the Jacksonville area with time to kill and an longing for good food in a non-traditional environment, find The Lickin' Pot. They are located at 573 Rhodestown Rd. Jacksonville, NC. Their hours are seasonal, but during the spring and summer they are open Tue.-Thur. 6A-8P; Fri.-Sat. 6A-11P; closed Sunday and Monday. If they weren't so far away, I'd definitely take up their catering service.
Support your local stores, but definitely find The Lickin' Pot while in Jacksonville. Enjoy Ya'll.
Super delicious, super easy and makes a serving of four that comes out to a price around $3.50 per person. It is possible to come out cheaper as I was using fancy speghetti, fresh mozarella and a la-de-da blend of parmesan and romano cheese. I think it was quite tasty.
Such a cute creature, I wish that I could have kept it and had a pet raccoon. I mean, most animals bath themselves in someway. What about a pet that could wash it's hands before every meal?! That's just awesome. As I held the tiny creature, my heart melted when those dexterous fingers wrapped around mine and I felt it's weak grip. God doesn't lie when he says he will use the weak to humble the strong. I hope it survived. Jess' family hasn't heard or seen from it again. However, if they do, I may have to start up my own wildlife shelter. I think my wife will be okay with that so long as I don't bring in any opossums. (She doesn't like rat-like, hairless, tails.)
