From a tent in the woods to a smokehouse in Sugar Hill.
AUGUST SWINE: DOWN HOME COUNTRY FAMILY AND THE TRADITIONS THAT BIND.
I’m Christian Obi, but everybody calls me Chris. My Daddy raised me side the pit.
I been stokin coals and moppin meat as long as I can remember.
In the 1920s, my Big Daddy was born the son of sharecroppers. He was 16 years old when his folks passed on. Big Daddy found himself flat busted broke. He and his 3 lil brothers had to live in a tent in the back woods of Southwest Georgia and trapped wild hogs to get by.
Big Daddy understood the ways of them hogs and knew the “Art of the Pit”. He was a natural. Farmers paid him first to trap hogs, and again after he passed them over that pit. It came to be known as, “Eatin High on the Hog”.
Yes Sir! By the time he was 20, it was said in counties near and far, “He ran the Best Pit and Smoke House in all of Southwest Georgia”. He didn’t believe in slopping his swine. They ate well. Big Daddy kept his swine on wooded land, where they roamed and rooted free as a bird.
Big Daddy had a family story for every cut and dish. He said,“My barbecue got to be better cause I make it with love every step of the way.”
Big Daddy ran that pit 5 days of the week for the rest of his life. But his pride and joy, was smoke season in the fall.
EVERY August, Big Daddy picked through his sounder of hogs, for the best of the best. These, he pinned and fed special till they was ready for the pit or smoke house.
Momma said, “The Who’s Who paid good money and waited on list”.
They said,“Willie, let me know how that August Swine is coming along.”
The spirit of August Swine comes from real folks – the pit masters, farmers, and storytellers whose names still echo around the smoker.
The patriarch in the truest sense of the word. This father of 12, single handedly lifted his family and taught us all to succeed. For many he was the Barber, Dentist, Carpenter, Bible thumping Preacher, Farmer, Butcher and most famously, The “Pit Master”.
“I been stokin coals and moppin meat since I was knee high to a duck.”
One of six boys and he was the tightest. He didn’t share much and he was known to squeeze two nickels to make a dime.
“I hope Big Momma put up some leftovers before Big Bill get here.”
They say he was a gnats hair shy of 14 pounds when he was born. The midwife told Big Momma, “Another one like dat could kill ya”. I seen him eat 24 ears of fried corn and sleep like a log.
“This food so good, I wish I had two stomachs.”
He was the “Deacon”. Strong, tall and the quiet type. Those that knew leaned in to listen when he spoke. Those that didn’t know learned. I don’t care how sunny the day, if you stood side him, you stood in the shade.
“Slow down Boy. Dat bone need a break.”
Now comes our dignitary. South Georgia couldn’t hold him. As a classically trained chef, he widens our exposure and refined his craft in Chicago’s best restaurants. Mentioning his name still carries weight on Lakeshore Drive.
“Hey big fella, it’s naked if it ain’t wearin my meat dressin.”
