Cherry Noble BBQ Sauce

April 14, 2018. The wedding.

Saturday morning I was up at 5 AM — not that I'd slept much, between the Thursday overnight smoke and the Friday afternoon spent transporting pulled pork to the community center and prepping the ribs that went on the smoker at 6 AM Saturday morning. Five hours at 225. The ribs would be done by 11. The reception started at 5. The math was right. The ribs were right. Everything was right.

The ceremony was at 2 PM. Mt. Zion Baptist Church, decorated with white roses and greenery, the pews filled with two hundred people from both families — the Johnsons and the Fosters, Orange Mound and Covington, brought together by a boy with a guitar and a girl with a casserole. Marcus stood at the altar in his suit, and he looked like what he was: a good man about to make the best promise of his life. I stood in the front pew, Rosetta beside me, and I was not going to cry. I told myself this. I said it to Rosetta on the way to the church: "I am not going to cry." She said, "Yes you are." She was right.

Angela walked down the aisle on Harold's arm, and she was beautiful — not just the dress, not just the flowers, but the whole of her, the way she looked at Marcus like he was the only person in the room, and Marcus looked at her the same way, and the room held its breath. Pastor Williams read the vows. Marcus said, "I do." Angela said, "I do." The rings — my safekeeping duty fulfilled — were exchanged. Pastor Williams said, "By the power vested in me," and I cried. Of course I cried. Rosetta squeezed my hand and she was crying too, and we were a mess, two parents dissolved by the happiness of their son, and the dissolving was beautiful.

Mama was there. Front row, left side, blue dress, navy shoes, sitting in a wheelchair because the walker was too much for the distance. She watched the ceremony with clear eyes — the clearest I'd seen in months — and when Marcus and Angela kissed, she clapped, slowly, her small hands making a sound like a heartbeat. I looked at her and she looked at me and she mouthed the words: "He did good." Yes, Mama. He did good.

The reception. The community center. My pulled pork, my ribs, my baked beans, my coleslaw, my cornbread. Angela's sweet potato casserole. Dorothy's pecan pie. Rosetta's green bean casserole. The food of two families, laid out on long tables, served to two hundred people who ate and danced and laughed and celebrated. Marcus's students played jazz — "It Had to Be You," "At Last," "What a Wonderful World" — and Marcus picked up a guitar and played for Angela, and she cried, and I cried again, and at this point the crying was just the baseline, the default setting, the only response adequate to the joy.

I stood behind the pulled pork table and served plates, as I always do, because Big E serves. That is who I am. The father of the groom, the pitmaster, the man behind the table with the tongs and the white bread and the vinegar sauce, feeding the future one plate at a time. Harold Foster came through the line and I served him and he said, "Earl, this is the finest meal I've ever been part of." I said, "Harold, it's a family meal now." He shook my hand. His handshake was different from the first one — warmer, tighter, the handshake of a man who is no longer evaluating but belonging.

I gave a toast. I stood at the microphone with Rosetta beside me and I said: "Son, you found a good woman. Now spend the rest of your life being worthy of her. That's what I've been doing for thirty-four years, and I still haven't caught up." The room laughed. Marcus laughed. Angela laughed. And in the laughter was the truth, because marriage is a race you never win and the running is the prize.

Denise was at the wedding. Not at the table, not in a chair, but in the empty space beside Charlie in the bridesmaid lineup, in the white roses that were her favorite flower, in the Stevie Wonder song that the band played because Marcus asked them to because Marcus remembers his sister and honors her in the ways he can. She was there. She's always there. And the wedding was more beautiful because of her absence, not less, because absence is just love with nowhere to land, and love with nowhere to land fills the entire room.

Every plate I served that day — the pulled pork, the ribs, the white bread soaking up the drip — had this sauce on it, and Harold Foster came through my line and called it the finest meal he’d ever been part of, and I believe the sauce had something to do with that. Cherry Noble is what I reach for when the occasion is too big for ordinary: the sweetness of the cherry balancing the smoke, the depth holding up under two hundred servings without ever thinning out or going flat. If you’re going to feed a wedding, you need a sauce that rises to it — and this one does.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 24 (about 3 cups)

Ingredients

1 cup dark cherry preserves
1 cup ketchup
1/4 cup apple cider vinegar
2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
2 tablespoons brown sugar, packed
1 tablespoon smoked paprika
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon onion powder
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/4 teaspoon ground mustard
1 tablespoon unsalted butter

Instructions

Combine base ingredients. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, whisk together the cherry preserves, ketchup, apple cider vinegar, and Worcestershire sauce until smooth and combined.
Add the dry spices. Stir in the brown sugar, smoked paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, black pepper, salt, cayenne, and ground mustard. Mix well to fully incorporate.
Simmer low and slow. Bring the sauce to a gentle simmer, then reduce heat to medium-low. Cook uncovered for 20–25 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the sauce thickens and the flavors meld. Watch the bottom — the cherry sugar wants to catch if you leave it alone too long.
Finish with butter. Remove from heat and stir in the butter until melted and glossy. This rounds out the acidity and gives the sauce a rich, lacquered finish that holds up beautifully on ribs and pulled pork alike.
Cool and store. Let cool to room temperature before transferring to a jar or squeeze bottle. Refrigerate for up to two weeks. For a wedding, make it two or three days ahead — it only gets better.

Nutrition (per serving)

Cherry Noble BBQ Sauce — The Sauce That Fed Two Families Into One