Sauced and Found

Making dinner on the grill is a family tradition. I have memories of my dad lighting charcoal with a coffee can chimney when I was Charlotte's age.

I was in fourth grade when we moved to Rock Valley, and the house we bought already had a gas grill permanently installed in the backyard. It was connected to an underground gas line. That allowed Dad to grill all year round. It wasn't uncommon for me to come home late after a football game, a wrestling tournament, or a track meet and be greeted by my folks and a grilled steak.

My first grill was a used gas unit fed by a propane tank. It worked fine, but keeping track of the propane was a pain.

I discovered how much better it is to grill with charcoal in the late nineties. A vintage Weber grill was an impulse buy at Goodwill, but when I got it home I discovered that I had no clue how it worked. There were no instructions.

 My first Weber looked like this one.

My house didn't have the internet, so I did a lot of research at the library. "They're called books, kids!"

I read as many cookbooks as I could get my hands on (books on camping have a lot of grilling recipes, too). In June you can't throw a stick at a magazine rack without hitting a "Summer Grilling!" issue. I still flip through those, but back in the day I would buy one or two every season. They were tools that were as valuable as my meat thermometer.

I'll admit that grilling with charcoal is less convenient than grilling with gas. I'd compared it to listening to a LP on a home stereo versus streaming a YouTube song on your computer. You arguably get the same product, but one experience is much more satisfying than the other.

I now have quite a few outdoor cookbooks at home, but I didn't toss those old magazines - they are full of great recipes and memories. That is why the past nine months have been so frustrating. I've been wanting to make beer-can chicken on the grill since May, but I can't find the magazine with the recipe I use for white BBQ sauce. I know I made the white sauce at our old house, but we haven't lived there for four years. A lot of things can get lost in four years.

I can't even tell you the magazine's title. All I know is that it contained a reprint of an old recipe that was easy to make and had simple ingredients.

Is having the white BBQ sauce that big of a deal? I suppose not, but have you ever lost something you really liked, and you can't stop thinking about your loss? I'll get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and when I get back in bed I can't get back to sleep because I can't remember where I put that dang magazine.

I have looked through all the magazines on our cookbook shelves at least once a month during the past summer and fall. I checked our recipe box, and our family cookbooks several times, as well. I know the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. So yes, searching for this thing is driving me a little crazy.

Where are you?

We have great BBQ in Des Moines. If you believe the results of the National BBQ Circuit, we have some the best BBQ in the nation, if not the world. I know the local joints have their own white BBQ sauces, but I want to make mine.

So, I did what you would do, I googled "white BBQ sauce recipe".  I found a slew of recipes. Sadly, none of the them looked right. They listed ingredients like lemon juice, corn syrup, garlic, hot sauce, creole mustard, sugar, paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, and even hickory smoke powder. I don't recall using any of those.

Each time I read through a new recipe's ingredients list, I think, Nope. It just wasn't this complicated. 

An online article about white sauce on Southernliving.com confirmed my thinking:

"As for the ingredients, well, purists such as Myra Grissom, owner of Miss Myra’s Pit Bar-B-Q in Birmingham, insists there are only four: mayonnaise, vinegar, salt, and coarsely ground pepper. 'Everyone says they have a special recipe, but there’s really no secret. You start with the basics, and you can’t go wrong,' recommends Myra."

There was a recipe link on the bottom of the Southern Living page, but that recipe listed also garlic, spicy brown mustard, and sugar. Cue buzzer sound here.

Last week, while I was thinking about motorcycles, I remembered a stack of car magazines that were stored in the basement. I ran downstairs, flipped through those, and taa-daa!, tucked between Old Skool Rodz and Hot Rod Deluxe was Food & Wine's "Grilling in the U.S.A." June 2000 issue!

The recipe is on page 152. My greasy fingerprints in the left margin are now old enough to vote.

The "Grilling in the U.S.A" feature was written by BBQ Guru Steven Raichlen, "White barbecue sauce is served throughout northern Alabama. It sounds weird. It is weird. But one taste of the chicken at Big Bob Gibson Barb-B-Q in Decatur - smoked to the color of mahogany, then tossed with a creamy, peppery white sauce - will make you a believer. Don McLemore, the third-generation owner of Big Bob's, says his grandfather came up with the recipe in 1925, using [only] vinegar, mayonnaise and black pepper. My own contribution is spoonful of prepared horseradish."

I knew it! The recipe isn't complicated! I'm writing this recipe down in case I misplace my magazine again.

White BBQ Sauce

MAKES ABOUT 1 1/2 CUPS

1 cup mayonnaise

2 to 4 tablespoons cider vinegar

2 tablespoons freshly grated or prepared horseradish

2 tablespoons water

1/2 teaspoon black pepper

1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper

Combine all of the ingredients in a bowl and whisk until smooth. 

Make Ahead - The sauce can be refrigerated in an airtight container for up to one week.

Since I haven't been to Alabama, and couldn't buy a bottle of authentic Big Bob's sauce in 2000, this is the white sauce  I "grew up on". I'm pumped to use it again.

If it wasn't going to be so cold on Super Bowl Sunday, then I'd have a chicken thawing in the fridge and my hickory chips soaking in water, but I'll have to wait a bit more before firing up the grill.

Now that I found Food & Wine, June 2000, I can breathe easy again. Waiting will be a snap.