Barbecue Sauce For The British

One of my best friends is English, he lives in Manchester

. I met him a few years ago when I was romantically involved with his next door neighbor, a lovely woman, who dumped me flat. He too, had recently become single unexpectedly, and we spent a few days together, in the local pub, feeling sorry for ourselves, drinking and eating. Pub food is not that great, but it must have helped, maybe because it replaced heartbreak, with heartburn. We were having an evening meal of bangers and mash, a particularly heavy concoction of sausage and mashed potatoes, when I remarked that a little barbecue sauce would do our dinner a world of good. He grabbed a bottle of ketchup, and a bottle of Worcestershire sauce, poured a big blob of each on a saucer, mixed them together with a spoon, and presented me a serving of English barbecue sauce.

With the possible exception of a few temperamental British chefs, with American television programs, the Brits just don't know how to make good meals. Baked beans and eggs for breakfast, greasy deep-fried fish and potatoes, for lunch, the aforementioned bangers and mash for dinner, and maybe some spotted dick, which isn't as bad as it sounds, but isn't really good either, seem to be the highlights of the English menu. And, a real, hearty, savory barbecue sauce is nowhere to be found. Before I left, I told my friend, if he ever made it to the States, I'd show him a good time and we'd have some genuine barbecue.

We kept in touch, by email, and last month he finally came for a visit. His first night here, we had dinner at my house. I poured some of my dad's secret recipe barbecue sauce over a couple of Louisiana hot links. I called it Yank bangers, and my friend loved it. The next evening we went to dinner at a local joint that specialized in Northern Alabama barbecue sauce, a whiskey flavored sauce, and the night after that, we went to my brother's, where we had a real, outdoor family barbecue, featuring a turkey basted in mom's barbecue sauce.

The night before he flew back to Manchester, we had the grand finale dinner. I took him to a Syrian restaurant where they marinated a goat, in the Arabic version of barbecue sauce, and then cooked it in a pit. It was sensational.

The next day, before we left for the airport, I presented him with some of my family's secret barbecue sauce recipes. It was the least I could do, because, after all, I'd ruined English cuisine for him, for ever.

by: John Schnieder

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