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Berry BBQ Sauce — The Finishing Touch on a Memphis Sunday

September 2024. Fall in Memphis, and I am 65, walking the neighborhood in my light jacket, watching the leaves turn on the oaks and maples that line Deadrick Avenue. The smoker is happy in fall — the cooler air holds the smoke lower, keeps it closer to the meat, and the results are always a shade better in October than in July, as if the season itself is a seasoning.

Walter Jr. came by with the grandchildren, bringing the noise and energy that grandchildren bring, the house expanding to hold them the way a good pot expands to hold a good stew. Trey at the smoker, learning, absorbing, his hands getting steadier each visit, the fire recognizing him the way fire recognizes those who are meant to tend it.

Ribs this week — spare ribs, dry-rubbed, five hours at 225, no foil, no rush. The Memphis way. The bark cracked when I bit into it, and the flavor was layered: smoke first, then spice, then the sweetness of the pork, each layer arriving on its own schedule, patient as a sermon. Rosetta ate two ribs and said nothing negative, which is a standing ovation from the toughest critic in my life.

Sunday at Mt. Zion, the choir sang and I sat in my pew and let the music hold me. The bass notes I used to add are quieter now — my voice is aging, the way everything ages — but the listening is its own participation, and the church holds me the way the church has held this community for a hundred years: faithfully, unconditionally, with room for everyone who shows up. I show up. That is enough.

Those spare ribs came off the smoker with a bark that needed nothing — but Rosetta has a way of looking at a sauce bottle that reminds me I am not the only critic in this house. A Berry BBQ Sauce is what I reached for: something sweet enough to honor the fruit of the season, tangy enough to stand up to five hours of smoke, and layered enough to let the pork speak underneath it. It felt right for a Sunday like that one — a little sweetness after the sermon, a little warmth to close out the day.

Berry BBQ Sauce

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 12 (about 1 1/2 cups)

Ingredients

  • 1 cup fresh or frozen mixed berries (blackberries, blueberries, or raspberries)
  • 3/4 cup ketchup
  • 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
  • 2 tablespoons brown sugar, packed
  • 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
  • 1 tablespoon honey
  • 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
  • 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon onion powder
  • 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
  • 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
  • Pinch of cayenne pepper (optional)

Instructions

  1. Simmer the berries. Combine the berries and apple cider vinegar in a small saucepan over medium heat. Cook for 5–7 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the berries break down and release their juices.
  2. Mash and strain. Use a fork or potato masher to break up any remaining large pieces. For a smoother sauce, press the mixture through a fine-mesh strainer and discard the solids. Return the liquid to the pan.
  3. Build the sauce. Add the ketchup, brown sugar, honey, Worcestershire sauce, smoked paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, salt, pepper, and cayenne (if using). Stir to combine.
  4. Cook down. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer uncovered for 15–18 minutes, stirring frequently, until the sauce thickens to a pourable, glossy consistency.
  5. Taste and adjust. Sample the sauce and adjust sweetness with honey or tang with a small splash of vinegar. Remove from heat and let cool slightly before serving.
  6. Serve or store. Brush over smoked ribs, pulled pork, or grilled chicken during the last 10 minutes of cooking, or serve warm on the side. Store in a sealed jar in the refrigerator for up to 2 weeks.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 45 | Protein: 0g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 11g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 160mg

Earl Johnson
About the cook who shared this
Earl Johnson
Week 441 of Earl’s 30-year story · Memphis, Tennessee
Earl "Big E" Johnson is a sixty-seven-year-old retired postal carrier, a forty-two-year husband, and a Memphis BBQ legend who learned to smoke pork shoulder at his Uncle Clyde's stand when he was eleven years old. He lost his daughter Denise to sickle cell disease at twenty-three, and he honors her every year by smoking her favorite meal on her birthday and setting a plate at the table. His dry rub uses sixteen spices he keeps in a mayonnaise jar. He will not share the recipe. Not even with Rosetta.

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