John Bishop decided he needed a better way to support his family. A longtime brick layer, he was undecided between opening a mortuary or a barbeque restaurant. He mulled it over until one night he had a dream he was running a restaurant next door to his home. In 1958 he and his family opened Dreamland Barbeque next to his Tuscaloosa home. That’s the story they tell today but I tend to believe his nickname played a part as well. A guy who answers to “Big Daddy” probably knows his way around a rib and brisket platter.
The place looks the same today as it does in the photos from ‘58. My son and I ate at Dreamland when we were in town for an Alabama football game a couple years back. One of my best friends is a ‘Bama alum and said it wasn’t to be missed. My son, a skinny swimmer, dove into a full slab of ribs, eating to the point of physical discomfort. Sauce dripping over a broad grin, he looked like a rodeo clown at a funeral. This was the start of his love for great barbeque and over time it’s spread to our other two kids as well.
It was this love that took us to Clemson University on our college tour this spring. After seeing a couple schools in North Carolina the next stop was to be in Atlanta but Clemson is almost, kind of, on the way. In addition to being home to football’s reigning national champions, it’s also near The Smokin’ Pig, a famous BBQ joint that the hosts of ESPN’s Gameday speak of reverentially. The boys were not about to miss this opportunity. We did our own walking tour of the Clemson campus, with obligatory trip to Memorial Stadium, before arriving at The Pig at 10:50 am for the 11 am opening.
I’ve found that the roadside BBQ joints have the same general vibe but every one is still unique. The Smokin’ Pig is outside Clemson, on the edge of Pendleton, South Carolina. The restaurant itself is small but situated on least three acres to accommodate parking and a waiting area where guests can have a drink and play cornhole or catch while waiting for a table. With my family playing cornhole, I thought I’d chat up the hostess. She looked to be in her early 20s, maybe a college student.
After exchanging how-ya-doins I wanted to learn a little more about the place. “I see you have a lot of people here on a Thursday morning. I’m curious why you’re only open Thursday through Saturday?”
She had a slow, southern accent but like many young people nationwide, she answered with a declarative sentence in the interrogative voice, her tone higher at the end of the sentence than the beginning, thus sounding like a question. “Ya know, I never really thought about that? I s’pose it’s cuz folks just don’t eat barbeque durin’ the week?” This habit only drives me slightly nuts. I’m some distance from perfect myself which might explain why we were seated so quickly. She’d had enough of entertaining this bozo from California.
About now you’re wondering, where the hell is he going with this? Maybe with a dash of why am I even still reading this? I’m getting there, I am. My family gave me a smoker last month for Father’s Day. It’s a Weber Smokey Mountain which looks like someone took R2-D2 and painted him black. It was a nice gift but do you have any idea the kind of pressure I’m now under? I’m trying to follow in the smokesteps of an individual called Big Daddy, for God’s sake.
I’ve been doing some reading and watching some Youtube videos and feel like I’ve learned a little bit, enough to avoid a total write-off cook. Last weekend we were doing a pork butt (also referred to as a pork shoulder or Boston butt, there’s more jargon around every corner) and found myself in the local barbeque store looking for a new meat thermometer. This group is overly helpful, like wish-I-never-walked-in helpful. “So what are you cooking this weekend?” the big man asked.
“Well, my boys and I are smoking a pork butt and need a new meat thermometer.”
“Great, sounds great. And what are you injecting it with?”
I smiled sheepishly, “Uhh… Love?”
His chin moved slightly left, eyebrows up to about the ceiling. It was like I had wet my own pants right there on his floor. It turns out you can buy giant syringes to inject marinade throughout the six to eight hour cook. OK, so now I know. I managed to fight him off this time, walking out with just my new thermometer and a couple new seasoning rubs. I may not be so lucky next time.
The smoker is truly magic. Sure the food’s pretty good but I’m getting hours and hours of time with my kids, at least one of them helping the entire time. And that time is long – like up to eight hours, split between serious conversation, good laughs, a little learning and some solid BS-ing. They haven’t figured out yet that you don’t have to stay with the smoker through the entire cook and I’m sure not telling.
I’m very lucky. If Big Daddy Bishop had chosen differently, I just may have gotten a black suit for Father’s Day.
Great post, Patrick. It does seem like the world of barbecue is a world unto itself. But it’s wonderful that your new smoker gives you the chance to spend such quality time with your kids.
By the way, I didn’t see any mention of Villanova as part of your college tour…
Thanks for reading Jim. As to Villanova, we have one looking at animal science programs and another interested in a couple schools in the Midwest. Maybe our third will give it a look. I have a cousin who went there and absolutely loved it.
Well, we certainly do not have an animal science program, and we’re not in the Midwest. Although we do refer to Notre Dame as the Villanova of the midwest 🙂