That Pig Joint in Blahvil

It seems like a shame starting out with the best so early in the trip, but that’s more to do with the logistics of my summer traveling rather than preference. In the interest of full disclosure, I was born and raised in the heart of the Mid-South--Mississippi County, Arkansas (named for the river rather than the state).

Just about an hour away from Memphis, and on the other side of the river, lies a small town full of unsung heroes in the art of true barbecue--my hometown, Blytheville, Arkansas, where home-grown barbecue establishments with years of history almost outnumber national chain restaurants. What other town has a resident “porkologist” like Ray “Red” Gill . (Just as a side note from the author: if you are into quality home barbecue and haven’t heard of the River City Spice Company, go there and by something!)

Exposure to such great barbecue throughout my life is why I’m such an unbearable barbecue snob.

Because I didn’t have as much time as I would have liked to devote to my barbecue habit -- I had family to visit, and that’s pretty important-- I had to limit my trip to just one barbecue establishment. (Keep in mind it was the same day that I hit Couch’s in Paragould, so two stops in one day isn’t a bad barbecue day).

By only reviewing one barbecue place in this town, I will probably alienate a certain segment of Native Blthevillians that may read this. My sincere apologies to both Penn’s BBQ locations, Benny Bob’s, the Kream Kastle and the many other -- but no less important --barbecue establishments in this fine town. I had time for only one barbecue stop. But if you only have time for one barbecue restaurant when you go to Blytheville, I’m sure all Blythevillians would agree, you could do worse than the famous Dixie Pig.

You gotta give props to the Dixie Pig immediately just for the name and the character/mascot on the sign and the t-shirt’s they sell. He looks not unlike Porky Pig or the Piggly Wiggly pig from the grocery store chain, but this guy is wearing what appears to be a Confederate soldier hat-type thing.

I should also say at this point that I’m no stranger to this fine establishment. In fact, I’ve been in this place hundreds of times. It’s walking distance from Blytheville High School (home of the Chickasaws). And I spent many an off-campus lunch at this place. But I tried to take particular note this visit to set the scene for those not fortunate enough to have a Dixie Pig in their hometown.

The walls are adorned with sports memorabilia, mostly of the Razorback variety. I’m talking about the good ole stuff with the old, crazy-lookin’ hog with slobber coming out of its mouth, not the toned-down, friendly version we’re familiar with now. The next prevalent mascot seen on the walls is of the mighty Blytheville Chickasaw. Car plates recognizing the various state championships won in their conference are in the plain sight.

But it should be pointed out that the odd Mississippi State Bulldog sticker can be seen, and (sigh) at least one Ole Miss Rebel bumper sticker (at least it’s upside down). Although most SEC loyalties in Blytheville lie with the Arkansas Razorbacks, the town is geographically closer to the campuses in Starkville, Miss; Oxford, Miss and Nashville,Tenn (Vanderbilt).

There is also a strong showing of Arkansas State paraphernalia, most of which is of the Arkansas State Indian, the mascot the NCAA deemed too politically incorrect for sports. The team name of that college in Jonesboro is, of course, now the Red Wolves.

Perhaps the most seemingly out-of-place piece adorning the walls of the Dixie Pig is a large print in the corner of the north dinning room. Amongst all of this dominant red (U of A) and maroon (Blytheville High), is the unmistakable color of Arkansas’ nemesis from the old Southwestern Conference. I’m talking about the burnt orange of Texas.

Why would a barbeque joint in the heart of SEC and thousands of miles from the Texas boarder, in Arkansas no less, have such a thing? Upon closer inspection, it can be seen that the print is of former University of Texas head coach and Blytheville Native Fred Akers. An autograph can be seen in one corner made out to the owners.

Just goes to show you don’t have to be a fan of the Hogs to be welcome at “the Pig.”

I guess I should talk about the barbeque now. There are many various items on the menu to be enjoyed, including the Pig Salad and some fine ribs (only served on Saturday nights unless specified by the sign up front), but my personal favorite is the Pig Sandwich. Served on wax paper, not on a plate, with the SLAW ON THE SANDWICH.

The good people in the back do not put any sauce on the sandwich for you. There is bottle of famous Dixie Pig Barbecue sauce on every table next to the salt and pepper shakers, and you can put a little or a lot depending on preference. This is the way it should be.

A word about the sauce: the sauce is definitely a vinegar-based sauce. Other than that I have no idea what’s in it that makes it taste like heaven on earth. It’s spicy, salty, not sweet and maybe a little smoky. Words fail me (great writer, huh?) The sauce is contained in a glass bottle not unlike a ketchup bottle complete with a white top. Proper procedure is to grab the bottle like a hand brake and place your thumb over the small hole in the top of the cap and shake. It is recommended (by me) to put a napkin between the thumb and the cap while doing this, because we don’t know where you’re thumb has been. The clear glass allows you to look at the spices “floating” around in the bottle. It’s the same theory as an Italian dressing except it tastes NOTHING like an Italian dressing.

A proper shake brings all of the spices closer to the top, allowing you to open your bun and dowse the pork and slaw with liberal amounts of this spicy goodness through the hole in the cap without fear of ruining your sandwich. If you take your sandwich spicier than others, simply repeat this process until the proper heat level is applied.

Dancing around in that bottle is a generations-old, closely guarded secret recipe. When I asked the waitress, “What’s in this stuff, anyway?” I get the same well-rehearsed response. “I could tell ya, but then I’d have to kill ya.”

I get this response every time, but it always keep asking in hopes a new girl will slip up one day. But then again, I don’t really want to know. The mystery is part of the experience.

Another thing you’ll notice immediately is that there are no “fluffy” buns like you’ll find at other bbq places or even a burger joint. The entire sandwich has the appearance of being “pressed.” In other words, the buns are flat. Once you’ve had a pressed bbq sandwich, you’ll never want fluffy buns again. This allows you to taste the meat/slaw/sauce combo with the bread complementing, but not getting in the way of, the good stuff.

You can mimic this pressing at any bbq establishment by placing both hands on the top of your sandwich and then lean on it. Try to push that son-of-a-gun into the table. If it’s good bbq, then your sandwich will be better for it.

A family member once told me of a time he was in eating barbeque in an establishment up the river in Missouri. He proceeded to press his sandwich and the owner actually said, “You must be from Blytheville.” When asked how he knew that the owner said, “You’re doing the Blytheville press.”

See? We’re famous.

I could write a novel about how good this place is, but in closing, I’ll just go on record as saying you won’t find barbeque better than this place. Everything is good: the ribs, the bbq beans, the fries, the atmosphere. It’s no wonder the Dixie Pix gets this barbeque snob ranking of SOTBDBOTP or Some Of The Best Damn Barbeque On The Planet.

Nuff Said.

Footnote that has nothing to do with bbq: The correct pronunciation of Blytheville is Blah-vil. Accent on the first syllable. Like a lot of great Southern towns, the locals say quite differently than it looks, like Norfolk (Nah-fuk), Virginia; or New Orleans (Naw'lins), Louisiana; or however the hell they say Louisville (?), Kentucky. So when the fair River City of the Arkansas Delta comes up in conversation, pronounce it correctly. Let everyone know how cool and well-read you are. And under no circumstances pronounce the "th" in Blytheville around a Blytheville native. A fella could get his ass beat.