Barbecue Seasoning

Hot sauce day. I spent all of Saturday processing peppers — cayenne, habanero, and the new Scotch bonnets from the garden. The kitchen was a war zone, baby. Eyes watering, nose running, windows open, the fan on high, and still the capsaicin was everywhere, in the air, on my fingers, in my dreams. I wore gloves this time — learned that lesson in 2007 when I rubbed my eye after cutting habaneros and spent two hours with my face under the kitchen faucet while Earl stood behind me saying, "I told you to wear gloves, Dot."

The Scotch bonnet sauce is a new recipe — different from my usual cayenne-habanero blend. This one has mango. Fresh mango, cubed and pureed with the Scotch bonnets and garlic and vinegar. The sweetness cuts the heat, but only a little — it's still hot enough to make your ears ring, which is where hot sauce should be. If your hot sauce doesn't make your ears ring, it's ketchup.

I bottled twelve jars of the regular sauce and six of the mango-Scotch bonnet. I labeled them all by hand. The regular ones say "2019 — The Year of Firsts." The mango ones say "New." Because they are. Because I am. Because everything after Earl is new and unfamiliar and I am making new things because staying exactly the same would be another kind of death.

Denise stopped by and tasted both. She said the regular was perfect and the mango was "surprisingly tropical," which from Denise is high praise because that woman does not give compliments about food unless she means them. She took two jars home. Robert will eat one in a week. That man puts my hot sauce on everything, including cereal, which I choose to believe is a joke though I'm not certain.

In the evening, I sat on the porch and ate a tomato sandwich and listened to the marsh. The frogs are loud this time of year — a wall of sound, a chorus of things alive and insistent. The marsh doesn't grieve. The marsh just continues. I am learning from the marsh.

Now go on and feed somebody.

All that time standing over a cutting board with cayenne and habanero got me thinking about the other ways I reach for heat in this kitchen — and one of the oldest ones is a good barbecue seasoning I can mix myself and keep in a jar on the shelf, right next to the hot sauce. If you’re already making your own condiments, you might as well go all the way. This dry rub has the same spirit as a Saturday pepper session: you make it by hand, you label it yourself, and it carries your name on it every time somebody uses it.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 10 min | Servings: 16 (makes about 1 cup)

Ingredients

1/4 cup smoked paprika
2 tablespoons dark brown sugar, packed
1 tablespoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon coarse black pepper
1 tablespoon chili powder
1 tablespoon garlic powder
2 teaspoons onion powder
2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper (or more, to taste)
1 teaspoon dry mustard powder
1/2 teaspoon celery salt

Instructions

Combine dry ingredients. Add all spices and brown sugar to a medium bowl. Whisk together until fully blended and no clumps of brown sugar remain.
Taste and adjust. Dip a clean finger or spoon and taste the blend. Add more cayenne for heat, more brown sugar for sweetness, or more salt as needed for your preference.
Transfer and store. Spoon the finished seasoning into a clean glass jar with a tight-fitting lid. Label with the date. Store in a cool, dry place away from direct sunlight.
Use it. Rub generously onto chicken, ribs, pork shoulder, or vegetables before grilling, roasting, or smoking. Use 1 to 2 tablespoons per pound of meat. It also works stirred into ground beef for burgers or shaken over popcorn if you’re in that kind of mood.

Nutrition (per serving)

Barbecue Seasoning — Making Something New When Everything Has Changed