Why they call it a barbecue up in these parts, I have no idea. If you're only cooking hamburgers and hotdogs, it is NOT a barbecue. Okay? Okay! Getting off my soapbox now.
So word hit us that this was going to happen, and, of course, Ronnie JUMPED at the chance to dust off his smoker. You see, it's been more than a month of Sundays since we had eaten decent barbecue. We told the neighborhood that we would take care of the meat if they took care of the fixins.
As usual, smoking starts in the wee hours of the morning. By the time the girls and I rolled out of bed this morning, Ronnie had been up for several hours making sure the temp stayed right. After church, I started up the beans and slaw and tea. Finally, it was time!
Oooooo, don't they look pretty?!?!
Who doesn't have a trampoline in their garage?
Of course, doin' it up right also included breaking out the 'shine. My dad had sent a full Mason jar of it home with Ronnie last time we visited Florida. We made some cherry hooch and it was just right for breaking out with dessert.
