By Started Christmas planning. The ham — that's the center of it, same as last year, same as Betty's kitchen every Christmas going back to before I was born. Ordered a bone-in ham from the butcher on Southland Drive, sixteen pounds, which is too much for the number of people coming and exactly right for the number of sandwiches I intend to make from the leftovers. A Christmas ham is not judged by the day it's served. It's judged by how long it lasts afterward and how many ways you find to use it, and a sixteen-pound ham can last into January if you're disciplined, which I am not, but Connie is.
Connie and I went to a Christmas tree lot Saturday. She picks the tree. I carry the tree. This has been the division of labor for thirty-one years and it works because Connie has an eye for symmetry that I lack and I have a truck bed that she lacks. She picked a Fraser fir, seven feet, full and straight, the kind of tree that looks like it volunteered for the job. I carried it to the truck and my back whispered a warning and I ignored it because you don't put a Christmas tree in the truck carefully, you put it in the truck like a man and you deal with the consequences later.
Decorated it Sunday. Connie has ornaments from every year of our marriage, each one dated and labeled in her handwriting, and putting them on the tree is a chronological tour of our life together — 1991, the year we married, a glass ball from Walmart that cost ninety-nine cents. 1993, Travis's first Christmas, a baby bootie ornament. 1996, Amber. 2000, Clay. 2003, the year we left Evarts — no ornament for that year because we were too broke and too scared to buy decorations. 2008, the year Earl died — a coal car ornament that Connie found online and I can't look at without feeling the weight of the mountain. The tree is beautiful and specific and it tells the story of a family that survived what it survived, and I stood back and looked at it and Connie stood next to me and we didn't speak because the tree was speaking for us.
When you order a sixteen-pound bone-in ham and you’re already thinking about the sandwiches before the holiday even arrives, you need a sauce that can pull double duty — something worthy of the Christmas table but sturdy enough to carry those leftovers all the way into January. Red-eye sauce is as Southern and time-worn as the ham tradition itself, built on coffee and smoke and just enough sweetness to make you come back for another sandwich, and then another. Connie keeps the ornaments; I keep the leftovers. This sauce is how I do it.
Red-Eye Barbecue Sauce
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 16 (about 2 cups)
Ingredients
- 1 cup strong brewed black coffee
- 1 cup ketchup
- 1/4 cup apple cider vinegar
- 1/4 cup packed brown sugar
- 2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
- 1 tablespoon butter
- 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
- 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1/2 teaspoon onion powder
- 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- Salt to taste
Instructions
- Combine base ingredients. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter. Add the ketchup, brewed coffee, and apple cider vinegar, stirring to combine.
- Add seasonings. Stir in the brown sugar, Worcestershire sauce, smoked paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, cayenne, and black pepper until fully incorporated.
- Simmer low and slow. Bring the sauce to a gentle simmer, then reduce heat to low. Cook uncovered for 20–25 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the sauce thickens slightly and the flavors meld.
- Taste and adjust. Season with salt to taste. Add a pinch more cayenne if you want more heat, or a touch more brown sugar to balance the coffee’s bitterness.
- Rest before serving. Remove from heat and let stand 5 minutes before serving alongside ham. Store cooled sauce in a sealed jar in the refrigerator for up to two weeks — it only gets better as it sits.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 35 | Protein: 0g | Fat: 1g | Carbs: 7g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 190mg