35. Big Mama’s Kitchen
Chapter thirty-five
Big Mama’s Kitchen
Lei
The staff cleared our plates and started bringing us new cloth napkins, forks, knives, spoons, and water as a palate cleanser.
Everyone began to settle back down in their seats.
Seconds later, Banks stepped up onto the stage with his signature swagger, flanked by his three assistants—Sweet, Savory, and Salty.
Moni crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh my God. What does my cousin have planned?”
Once on stage, Banks signaled to DJ Hendrix, who immediately dropped a jazzy, upbeat tune that made the whole crowd sit up a little straighter.
What is this?
Drums pounded. A saxophone wailed as a horn blared and then a man’s voice rang out, loud and powerful, “Hot Barbecue!”
The beat was infectious. The sound of saxophones, deep bass, and jazzy piano riffs filled the air as Banks and the women began to move in sync.
“O-kay.” Moni bounced in her chair to the beat. “He’s going to give us a show.”
The crowd clapped with them.
Banks and his assistants danced to the rhythm, hips swaying in unison as the man on the track kept shouting, “Hot Barbecue!” every few seconds.
When the saxophone took over the solo, Banks got in the middle and slowly twirled with the smoothness of someone who knew how to put on a show.
His white apron flared out like a cape.
And the women shook their hips next to him.
Jo yelled, “Boy, this isn’t a dance competition!”
Moni hit her arm. “Leave him alone.”
Jo took out a joint from her jacket and a lighter. “And you know Banks and the girls were practicing this shit all last night.”
Moni looked at her. “But Banks didn’t even know there was going to be a Grill Off—”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Jo snickered. “Dude was going to do this dance regardless.”
“Oh God!”
Jo lit her joint and when the man in the song yelled out, 'Hot Barbecue!' she yelled along too.
Banks’s assistants spun around making a full circle around him and he did this slick little side to side movement.
His mother, Aunt Betty, stood up, clapping her hands to the beat. “Go on, baby! Do your dance! That’s my oldest boy right there!”
Her friends started moving to the music as well.
At the Mahjong table Aunt Min looked fresh off a win and began dancing in her seat.
On my right, Aunt Suzi and Chloe cheersed their wine glasses and drank.
Oh no. I hope Aunt Suzi didn’t pour her wine.
When I was twelve, she’d given me my first class of wine, explaining that in China the drinking age was always ridiculously low. Mom was pissed.
Aunt Betty shouted, grabbing my attention. “Go on, Banks, show them how it's done!”
A ripple of laughter washed through the yard.
Those who weren’t clapping or dancing were hollering out in delight.
Sweat was glistening off Banks' forehead, but he didn't stop dancing with his assistants.
And once again, I noticed some of my Four Aces getting rather close to the stage to get a better look at Sweet, Savory, and Salty.
Yeah. I really need to let them all get a break. They need some sex.
Soon, the music died down to a simmering rhythm and Banks executed a final spin.
Jo blew out smoke. “Is he going to feed us or just perform?”
Moni grinned. “He’s almost done.”
“Still,” Jo shook her head. “I’m taking points off for the bad dancing.”
“You better not.”
DJ Hendrix put a slower song on and kept the volume down super low so that it remained just this chill background vibe.
Banks grabbed the microphone, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and smiled at the crowd. “That was Hot Barbecue by Jack McDuff.”
A few people clapped.
Banks gestured to the three women on stage. “And shout out to my lovely assistants, Sweet, Savory, and Salty.”
As the women strutted off the stage, many of the men in the audience hooted and whistled.
Banks watched them go. “Mmmhmm.”
A few guys whistled again.
“I don’t know about you, Chef,” Banks pointed to Chef Foo, “but I can’t cook one thing unless a pretty Black woman is around. You ever had a nice Black woman in your life?”
Chef Foo blushed and shook his head no.
Aunt Betty yelled, “I got two Black women for you, Cooking Daddy! Come on down to the South! You won’t leave!”
Moni cringed, “Oh God. Make it stop.”
“Mama’s always right.” Banks chuckled. “But if you got a really nice-looking Black woman in your kitchen. . .shit. . .something about those hips make a brother like me want to get a frying pan out and cook her up something just right.”
The crowd erupted in laughter and even Chef Foo cracked a smile, raising his beer in salute.
“Food, Banks!” Jo yelled. “This is a Grill Off. Not Dancing with the Stars or an Who’s the Best Comic contest. Food. Get back to it.”
Banks shot Jo a middle finger. “There’s always going to be haters in your life, people. Just stand strong and God will make it right.”
Then Banks turned serious as the staff started to serve his three dishes.
Let’s see if he can beat Chef Foo.
I smirked.
I doubt it.
However. . .this fiercely delicious aroma hit me while the staff began plating our dishes near the grill and the scents were rich and comforting. In fact, the smells made my stomach rumble despite being halfway full from Chef Foo’s food.
Okay. He has me drooling a little bit.
That was a big deal because I was pissed with him for starting this cookout off on a ridiculously stupid note. I was hoping with this Grill Off that he might get humbled this evening with an embarrassing loss.
“So check this out, guys! I’m not classically trained like Chef Foo over here,” Banks began. “I can’t tell you the history of barbecue for the States, at least not any factual shit, but I can tell you what Big Mama told me. Anybody ever had a Big Mama?”
Some of the people looked confused.
Banks touched his chest. “That’s what I called my grandma.”
Many of the confused people now nodded their head.
Aunt Betty’s voice rang out. “Tell them what she said, baby! Go on!”
Moni turned to Jo with raised eyebrows. “Did you give Aunt Betty gummies because she is lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree?”
“Girl. . .” Jo ashed her joint on the ground. “Where do you think I got the gummies from in the first place?”
“No wonder,” Moni muttered.
Banks wiped away more sweat. “Big Mama told me that some Spanish explorers showed up in the West Indies, Jamaica and Cuba and saw the Taínos cooking meat on open flames. They had never seen any shit like that before in their life.”
I quirked my brows.
“And of course you know how colonizers be. . .the motherfuckers named it barbacoa like they invented it or something.” Banks shrugged. “Big Mama knew a lot of shit so. . .may she rest in peace.”
“Rest in peace.” Moni let out a small, sad sigh and I gently squeezed her hand under the table.
“Anyway,” Banks’ expression grew more animated as he dove into his story. “When I was six, Big Mama caught me trying to sneak outside. She said, ‘Boy, you got the devil in you. Get over here and help me shell these peas.’ I gave her the sweetest smile and said, ‘Big Mama, I was just going outside to see the sun and thank Jesus.’ She sucked her teeth and said, ‘You’re a goddamn lie. Get over here.’”
The crowd roared with laughter.
“I hated shelling peas, especially that day because Big Mama was right. I was walking right with the devil that afternoon. I’d stolen matches and five dollars from her purse and was about to buy firecrackers to blow up some shit in strangers' cars just to see what would happen.” Banks paused and he gazed at the stars for a second, before turning back to us. “But Big Mama always knew when I was about to be up to no good.”
I checked Jo and even Moni.
Both had these sad smiles on their faces.
I glanced over at Chloe and while she was clearly sipping wine, she also wore that same sad smile.
And I didn’t know why, but my chest swelled with this strange warmth. I could tell that although they’d all experienced the loss of their grandmother, these memories that Banks was bringing up, were giving them a lot of comfort too.
And. . .it just made me happy to know I would be a part of their family too.
On the stage, Banks let out a long sigh. “I know you all want to eat but let me get some of this out.”
Aunt Betty yelled, “Take your time, baby!”
Jo muttered, “Well, don’t take too much time. Like damn. You danced. You talked about colonization. Like—”
Moni shushed her.
Banks scratched his head and then put his view on the spades table where his mother, Marcelo, Gunner, and others were at. “Once, I was in the house with Marcelo and we were about to head out to help our boy Tiny, who wasn’t so tiny, but anyway. . .Tiny wanted to get revenge on some dude who kissed his girl. Mom wasn’t home, so we were like let’s do this.”
I watched Marcelo.
He lit a cigar and blew out smoke.
Banks continued, “I had a hammer and a knife, ready to go. Marcelo had this large butcher knife. Then the phone rings and it’s Big Mama. She says, ‘The good Lord told me to grab you today. Come shell these pecans and bring that bad-ass Marcelo with you. We’re going to make some pecan pies for the church.’ I tried to get out of it, but she said she was going to whip our asses, if we didn’t show up. And if anyone knew my Big Mama, it didn’t matter what age and size you are. . .that hand was no joke. Marcelo was more scared than me.”
The crowd laughed, but I caught the shift in Banks’ tone, the weight of what was coming next.
Banks looked down at the stage for a moment. “Tiny. . .well, Tiny died that day.”
A couple people gasped.
Moni gave no response telling me she not only knew the story, but had probably grew up with Tiny too.
“Tiny went to fight, but those guys didn’t have hammers. They had guns.” Banks shook his head. “And I’ve always wondered. . .what if I’d told Tiny to come with me and Marcelo to Big Mama’s instead. Would he be alive too?”
I glanced over at Marcelo, whose face had hardened. Even with the smoke rising in front of him, his eyes looked glassy like he was holding back tears.
Banks took a deep breath. “Anyway, I’m dedicating these dishes to my Big Mama. She taught me everything I know, from snap peas to black-eyed peas.”
Aunt Betty yelled, “Talk that shit!”
“She taught me how to make mac and cheese so good it melts in your soul, how to make the toughest meat fall off the bone, and how to put together a plate of food that’ll make you forget you’re at a wake, grieving for someone you lost.”
“That’s right, baby!” Aunt Betty yelled some more.
One by one, the staff placed Banks’s plates in front of us.
Immediately, I could tell Banks’ approach was different from Chef Foo’s. Where Foo’s dishes had been meticulously arranged, almost like art, Banks’ food looked like it came straight from a mom-and-pop joint—hearty, messy, and undeniably inviting.
Wow.
The aroma hit me hard, making my stomach growl to the point that it hurt.
I rubbed it.
Banks gestured to the first dish. “This here is called my ‘Kick-You-in-the-Stomach-and-Make-You-Call-Off-Work Bourbon’ Chicken, served with sides of collard greens and mac and cheese because you can’t have a cookout without those sides.”
Hmmm.
I cut into the chicken, tried some, and the flavor practically exploded in my mouth. The bourbon glaze was sweet and smoky, with just the right amount of spice.
The collard greens were perfectly seasoned, and the mac and cheese was so rich and creamy, it felt like it could melt right down to my bones.
Oh shit. Banks can really cook.
I glanced at Dima who was watching me with the same disbelief.
Who fucking knew?
I shrugged.
Dima put his fork down, pulled out a notebook, and jotted something down.
“Dear God!” Chen ate it up. “I have no idea who will win! This is giving me anxiety!”
Fen pushed the glass of water in front of him. “Try some more of this, Chen.”
“Dear God! He cooked water too! Genius!” Chen picked it up and began gulping the water down. “Delicious!!”
Oh God. Maybe we will take him to the hospital.
I glanced further down the Judges’ table.
Chloe bobbed her head. “I might have to give this one to my cousin, although I loved Chef Foo’s dishes.”
Smiling, Banks pointed to the ribs. “These are my ‘Slap-My-Mama Ribs,’ slow-cooked for hours until the meat falls right off the bone. Served with baked beans and cornbread. If you pick those up and meat doesn’t fall off and land in your plate, then you can personally go over there and slap my mama.”
“Say what now, baby?” Aunt Betty widened her eyes.
A few people snickered.
But just like Banks had said, as soon as I picked a rib up, the meat fell off.
Mmmm.
I had to fork it up, but once I put it in my mouth I almost sang.
Well damn.
The ribs were tender, juicy, and packed with flavor. The smoky barbecue sauce clung to each bite. The baked beans had a hint of sweetness and the cornbread was so fluffy it practically crumbled in my hands.
Wow. This is insane. I really thought Banks had no chance.
Banks looked around. “Anybody need to smack my mama?”
“Boy, you better stop playing!” Aunt Betty mumbled between bites of chicken.
That being said, no one got up or even laughed.
Everyone was too busy eating ribs.
Chen didn’t even use a fork he was just grabbing portions with his fingers like a starved man.
And sure enough I gazed around in the crowd to catch Duck filming him.
I would have stopped him, if I weren’t so absorbed with getting more ribs into my own mouth.
In fact, I didn’t even feed any to Moni. They were that good.
Banks smiled proudly as the staff brought over the final dish. “And I don’t know if you all fuck with oxtails in the East, but in the South, baby, we don’t play about our oxtails.”
Several of Rowe Street Mob hooted.
“Big Mama used to say, ‘The reason Black folks love oxtails is because, back during slavery times, the masters would eat the whole ox and leave the tail for us. And you know how we do.’” He spread his hands out and grinned. “You can’t let Black folks step through the door with anything. We’ll take it over and make it better! Make you wish you hid the thing from us in the first place!”
A few in the crowd clapped.
“I kept the oxtails last because. . .uh. . .” Banks turned to Moni. “Cause you know. . .the dish came out of motherfuckers being evil, but still everything worked out. And that’s how I see this cookout. Because. . .”
Banks put his view on me. “It looks like whether we’re all down for this new. . .relationship or not, the South and the East may be spending more time together than we thought we would.”
I swallowed.
“So. . .let’s hope that shit is just as tasty and successful as these oxtails and this fucking dope ass cookout too.” Banks winked at me, dropped the microphone like some rock star and then strutted off the stage.
Moni leaned my way. “That’s his way of saying sorry.”
DJ Hendrix put on Hot Barbecue again.
The music blared and the crowd cheered louder as Banks sauntered over to Chef Foo.
And to my surprise, Chef Foo handed him a beer and they began laughing and talking like two best friends.
DJ Hendrix spoke over the song, “Alright, judges. Paper and pen is being handed out to all of you. Remember. Only one name can be written on that paper. Foo or Banks. That’s it.”
Aunt Suzi pouted, “This is so unfair!”
Chloe bobbed her head. “I think they both won.”
I dug into the oxtails and my mind was blown. Once again, the meat was tender, flavorful and rich.
Enjoying the hell out of the food, I checked on Barbara Whiskers and sure enough, she was tearing into her plate with an intensity I hadn’t seen in a cat before.
She’d practically demolished her oxtails.
Who will win?
Looking across the table, I saw Dima and Rose chuckling and sharing a private joke as they savored their food.
Moni nudged me gently. “What do you think, baby?”
I leaned back, staring at the remnants of Banks’ dishes, then at Moni’s satisfied face. “Honestly, this isn’t fair. They’re both incredible, in different ways. I agree with my aunt and Chloe, I think they should both win.”
Moni laughed softly, nodding in agreement. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
Jo shook her head. “Naw. There can only be one .”
I grinned. “We can’t make it a tie?”
“Naw. That’s sucker shit, bro.” Jo ashed her joint. “We have to dig deep and pick the winner, even if it’s hard.”
DJ Hendrix went on a whole Michael Jackson jam session, playing various songs by the legend.
Dima really scared him good.
DJ Hendrix seamlessly transitioned from the haunting Thriller to the upbeat, infectious rhythms of Bad .
The smell of the oxtails still hung heavily in the air.
The staff began cleaning up our dishes, while other waiters brought out pieces of paper and pens.
“Fuck.” Moni looked at me. “They both cooked their hearts out. We have to say it’s a tie.”
“I must admit that they did.”
Jo jumped in, “There's no such thing as two winners in a competition. That's not how it works.”
“Alright, Jo.” Moni frowned and picked up her pen. “Damn.”
As the music played, I could hear some of the crowd engaging in heated discussions over who should win.
Some argued that Chef Foo's dishes were more creative and refined while others said that Banks' food had soul and authenticity that couldn’t be beaten.
Shit.
I looked down at my paper and wondered which name I would write.
DJ Hendrix's voice echoed over the speakers. “Alright judges, times almost up!”
Shit.
I went ahead, scribbled down who I thought should win and then I folded it.
Moni wrote hers down and folded her paper too. “Who did you vote for?”
I winked at her. “I’m not telling.”
“Oh, that’s fucked up.”
A waitress came by with a hat and we all dropped our votes in there.
Moni looked up at the second level of Lotus Blossom. “I hope TT is still enjoying herself.”
Jo chuckled. “TT is living out her dream. She’s about to solve that damn map or whatever. Watch.”
“Did they take up plates to her?”
“I saw Aunt Min making plates and giving it to someone and then pointing towards her room.”
“Okay. Cool.” Moni sighed.
DJ Hendrix turned off the music. “Alright, guys. It’s time to announce the winner. Who is going to get that big trophy tonight?”