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An Ortho Synagogue Throws a Barbeque Party

By syndicated columnist Ted Roberts

Apocrypha, Book of Barbecue
Chapter 12, verse 5

To understand what goes on at the Anshei Sphard-Beth El Emeth Synagogue in Memphis, Tennessee, you must have some familiarity with the culinary themes of the Old Testament. Also, you must be aware of the native-born Memphian’s fascination with vinegary, peppery barbecue sauce. Begin by understanding that Memphis, in this first year of the 3^rd millennium, is one of the twin capitols of barbecue, Kansas City being the other. These two saucy towns rule the world of Que like Rome and Constantinople governed the ancient world.

Under the smoky skies of America, lovers of charcoaled chicken, beef and pork kneel by their grills and pray, facing the city by the River, before they light up. Here in Memphis the inquiry; "what’s the best you ever had?" can be addressed without blush to man, woman, or child. The subject is barbecue.

This Memphis madness comes to boil every year in a jubilee called Memphis in May. Alongside the river, they hold the world’s championship barbecue contest. 200 or more cookers – victors in contests around the barbecue circuit – camp down by the riverside and cook their hearts out for over $30,000 in prize money. The sauced up main course is naturally a pig with a curly tail, little squinty eyes, cloven hoof, and a mouth that – sadly – does not chew cud and therefore, forbidden to the palates of orthodox Jews. You can read all about it in Deuteronomy - - not Memphis in May but the prohibitions against pork.

Well, the thoughtful members of Anshei Sphard-Beth El Emeth, (ASBEE) the orthodox synagogue on Yates Road, watched the Memphis in May mania with wonder in their eyes and hands over their nostrils lest the porky haze that hangs over Memphis enter therein. But does the Jewish palette tremble with lust as it sniffs the perfume of charcoal-roasted meat? Does not the Jewish palette crave the tang and tingle of spicy sauce? And if that cloven hoofed, non cud-chewing entrée is forbidden, well, why not a KOSHER barbecue contest? Pigs-Schmigs. What’s wrong with beef ribs and beef brisket from an animal mercifully dispatched according to ritual?

Orthodox eaters – fundamental followers of the Old Testament culinary code – are denied a kitchenful of entrees. Moreover, the animals allowed to them must be dispatched in a humane and merciful way. And there are even more rules dealing with the segregation of meat and milk dishes, an elaboration of Exodus 23:19 which tells the diner, "Thou shall not seethe a kid in its mother’s milk". Farewell to cheeseburgers, Rueben sandwiches, and beef stroganoff polluted with sour cream. But the main forbidden fruit id Porky Pig and his unclean relatives.

Food is a noble and ancient Jewish obsession, since we’re not only the People of the Book but the People of the Plate. An anorexic Jew is as oxymoronish as a hymn-singing atheist. the five books of Moses are full of feasts, cooks, and condiments. Blue plate specials and barbecues. We’re only half way through Genesis before Abraham roasts up a fat ox for the three divine emissaries who come to tell Abraham of Sarah’s incredible, post-menopausal fertility. Early on, in Exodus, quails pour down on the hungry Israelites. "What good are quails without a little vinegar and hot pepper?" it probably says somewhere in the Talmud, since no topic is too sublime or trivial for this classic compendium of Jewish with and wisdom.

And didn’t Boaz snatch the heart of Ruth the Moabite with fresh homemade bread and a bowl of "vinegar"? (So says the stately King James translation.) Ruth was the great grandmother of King David and obviously a barbecue lover who would have been as happy in Memphis as Moab; since "vinegar" is clearly barbecue dipping sauce. And notice, no mention of tomatoey ingredients.

It’s all there in the Book of Ruth, chapter 14. Consider among the great "Ifs" of history; no sauce? Well, no marriage of Ruth and Boaz. Consequently, no Obed, the grandfather of King David. Therefore, no David. And even the most uninformed babbler of scripture knows that David the King or David Hamelech, as we call him in Hebrew, is the progenitor of the Messiah – the ethereal emissary who HAS saved the world or WILL save the world – depending on which half of that big book you prefer.

And remember that Queen Esther, in a "Jerusalem is my home town" T-shirt, pleaded for her people at a banquet table loaded with briskets and piquant sauces. Recall that King Ahasveros, captivated by her briskets and her newly proclaimed Jewish identity, whispers, "Let’s have one more helping of that tangy – not too hot, not too sweet – brisket and then go hang your adversary, Haman". Check it out in the Book of Esther.

Pious, knowledgeable Memphians of all faiths like to point out that nowhere in their holy book – not in the old or new testament – is there a single Aramaic, Greek, or Hebrew word which translates into "tomato sauce". Real Memphis barbecue sauce is vinegar based. Maybe a smidgen of tomato; juiced, sauced, or crushed. But not sludgy, not choked with red tomatoes. Leave that poison to Texans and Californians with dusty bibles on the top shelves of their bookcases. The 11^th Commandment, when we discover it some day in a cave looking out over the Dead Sea, will probably state; "never mess up your barbecue sauce with too much of a red, mushy fruit that grows on a bush and is worshipped by Italian chefs." When asphyxiated bluebirds fall out of the sky as they fly over your smoky backyard, you know you’ve used too much tomato sauce.

Whatever the sauce ingredients, on September 9^th at ASBEE, 120 East Yates Road North, you will find a flock of cooking teams encamped around the ASBEE synagogue on this the thirteenth year of the contest. since the kosher rules are strictly obeyed, the synagogue, to insure purity, supplies all materials; meat (brisket and beef ribs), grill, and even the sauce ingredients – which each team specifies confidentially – in a whisper – to the synagogue providers.

The basic idea is the same every year. Why gild the lily? It’s a barbecue cookoff just like Memphis in May, except that the three little pigs could attend as guests with no fear of first-degree burns. The five events are Brisket, Beef Ribs, Barbecued Beans, Best Booth, and Best Name. Last year the cooks sported names like Adam’s Rib Shack, the Kozy Kosher Kookers, and Cafe Au Jews; get the idea?

Whatever the name, this is an IntraJewish ecumenical event with participation from the Boy Scouts, Chabad of Memphis, Hebrew Academy, Baron Hirsch Synagogue, Temple Israel, Beth Sholom, the University of Memphis Jewish Student Union, and of course Anshei Sphard-Beth El Emeth. Kroger of Memphis is a generous sponsor. They provide rabbinic supervision so that the most devout Jew can enjoy his brisket with total peace of mind.

The Sisterhood serves up their usual tasty temptations; sandwiches, snacks, and barbecue brisket, too. So you can have a nice lunch then stroll around with your kids and watch the dozens of competing teams sweat over a bed of white, hot charcoal. There’s nothing more exhilarating than sipping a cool iced tea and watching somebody else work, observed a famous non-Jewish humorist named Mark Twain.

And there’s all kinds of treats for the kids; pony rides, kiddy carnival rides, and the famous antique fire engine that’ll take 15-20 screeching kids around the block. (For a buck donation from each adult they’ll turn off the siren. For 2 bucks they’ll leave town!) Try and find that ride at Disney World! Festivities begin around lunchtime and run through the afternoon.

Last year, one of the Kozy Kosher Kookers swore he saw Elvis chewing on a kosher beef rib and swinging his hips to the tune of Hava Negillah.