Cold Smoked Meat with the Hillbilly Hamhouse

The hillbilly ham house hootenanny concludes today. Catch up on Part One: Why Build a Hillbilly Hamhouse and Part Two: How to Construct a Hillbilly Hamhouse.

So there she was, in all her glory. I ran her for a couple weekends to churn out some smoked meat to give away for Christmas. I poked me a thermometer thru the tinfoil a few times to check’er, and she was about 100 dee-grees, and that book on smokin’ meat—charcoalabalooza or somesuch name, it had—ennyway, I had Rachel read parts of it to me and it said 100 de-grees is about right.

I hadda go buy me some fish to smoke—they’s not bitin’ down at the crick, and them’s all got like two heads and talk funny and what-not ennyway, I ‘spect that comes from livin’ in the run-off of the coal-mine down the way, that’s a whole different story-- but in true Mr. Tayse Christmas fashion, I foun’ me some pig roastin’ meat in the freezer, and made me up some o’ that good ol’ Canadian backbacon.

And, durned if that hillbilly hamhouse didn’t turn out some of the best durned backbacon and smoked salmon ever I laid a tooth to, even usin’ that ol’ oak that fell down two years ago for the smokin’ firewood instead o’ some fancy aldermanwood or whatever. Kinda tasted like some o’ that fancy wine they get outta Californi-a, that chardocuternnay or whatever, that kind all them pussies what drink white wine call “oaky”…

That son-in-law o’ mine, he brought out a sign fer the hillbilly hamhouse, so’s them’s seein’ it fer the first time’d know what she was, but me, I figger if you dunno by lookin’ what she is, you’re dumber than I is. But I’m right proud o’ that ol’ hamhouse, it dresses up the neighborhood, besides makin’ good eats.

I’m thinkin’ ‘bout mebbe expandin’ on it. I been wantin’ to smoke a whole hog, now. I gots me this ol’ chevy up on blocks out back, an’ I figger if set fire to that rustbucket, you know, to get rid o’ the plastic and stuff inside, then I could pipe the ol’ barbecue smoke down the hill into that chevy. I reckon could sit me a whole hog up in the driver’s seat to smoke, now there’d be a sight to please any hilljack—it’d be lak that ol’ hog’s drivin’ along in a cloud o’ smoke, mebbe I’d put a pregnant Winston in ‘is mouth just for show—and when he’s done, we’d have us some good eats too…

Constructing the Hillbilly Hamhouse

Rachel's dad Mitch is contributing to the blog this week with his Mark Twain-esque story about making a hillbilly ham house. Start with Part 1 where he reasons out why to engage in the project. Today's part 2 reviews the construction process. Fer me, makin’ Christmas presents has jest one rule—I gotta use stuff I got aroun’ the house. I’s not spose to go roun’ buyin’ special tools an’ such. But that ain’t no big thang aroun’ my place—I saves me ‘bout ennythin’ a body’d ever need. I figger one day my life’ll depend on me makin’ me a washin’ machine or somethin’ outta the scrapwood, sheetmetal, and electric motors lyin’ roun’, and I’ll be set.

I already had me a durn good barbecue pit, so’s all’s I gone do was rig me up somethin’ to give that smoke fu’ther to go, a smoke-stack, to chill that smoke down, so i’d not be cookin’ that meat, but smokin’ it. Then I had to come up wi’ the house, somethin’ big enuf to lay the meat in, at t’other end.

For the stack, I’s thinkin’ I’d use me some o’ that CPVC tube I been savin’, fer when I put me in some indoor plumbin’. But I ain’t no dumbbell, whatever the little woman says, and I knowed that tube might likely melt, up near the pit end anyway. Plus, I done worked with that tube before, and turnin’ corners and glue and cuttin’ and all…sounded like more work than this ol’ briarhopper’s signin’ up fer. Then I lit on this ideer of usin’ tinfoil—it orta cool that smoke right quick, an’ I gots me a pile of it already—or the little woman do, anyway, an’ she won’ miss it.

That ol’ tinfoil tho’, I did ‘low it wouldn’t hold up by hisself. But I keeps chickenwire aroun’, jest in case I need to ketch me sum critters or whatnot, so’s I hacked me off a coupl hunks o’ that chickenwire and took to wrappin’ it roun’ a piece o’ that ol’ CPVC, for to get me that tee-yoobyoo-lahr shape on that chickenwire , don’t y’ know. Then I took an’ slid that ol’ chickenwire off that CPVC, slick as u please, and commenced to bendin’ it and crimpin’ it to itself, till I got me bout’ half the bend I was wantin’. I done that whol’ thang again with t’other hunk o’ that ol’ chickenwire, an’ I hooked them two pieces up together, crimpin’ them little hexie mesh bits down t’ each other, till I had me a tube lookin’ kinda like a P-trap under a sink (if I had me a sink, that is), maybe six feet long and ‘bout 3 or 4 inches wide.

I’s ‘bout ready to slap together some kinda box to be the hamhouse, mebbe some 1x2’s or 2x2’s knocked together and covered with more o’ that tinfoil, when my eyes lit on an ol’ roastin’ pan, ‘r box, ‘r whatever y’ call it, covered, sheet aluminum, a nice piece, what we’d not used in y’ars. Fact is, I’d bought it at a church ga-rage sale way back when, and the little woman never wanted to use it. It’s a big ol’ thing, only good for turkeys ‘r hams r such. Turns out when she cook them turkeys she likes to leave ‘m up open an’ uncovered most o’ the time anyway. Says she get better skin that way. Well, I reckon so. I sure gots no complaints where my vittles is concerned, I eats right good for an ol’ briar, so I’ll leave it up to her.

Ennyway I took me this ol’ covered roaster and figgered it’d finally get some use. The onliest problem I had was how to hook that there smokestack tube to this roastin’ box I had. I kept starin’ at that thang, wondering if I should maybe drill me some holes and’ hog ‘em out till they’s a big enough hole fer the stack, or mebbe try a hacksaw. I’s about ready to just beat on the thang with a hammer, that allus works good for most thangs.

Then I had me another ideer, and here’s whar another Christmas tradishyun come in—I allus have to borry some tools from my son-in-law Alex. Sometimes I even axe ‘im first ‘fore I takes ‘em. This time I stole a coupla hole saws. I chucked the bigger one—3 or 4 incher I dunno—and commenced to cuttin’ on the bottom of that roastin’ box.

Man I’ll tell you what, that steel cuttin’ tool went thru that aluminum like my ol’ clasp-knife slicin’ a sausage, and I was hummin’ and feelin’ good, like a pig in slop, why I’s just as pleased as I could be. Then that ol’ hole saw done cut thru on just a teeny little spot, and that drill she done grabbed that roastin’ pan and ripped it clean outta my hands. Yeah, I’m tellin’ y’ what, it like to busted my wrist-bones, right that, and that roastin’ box flew by my knee goin’ like sixty. I’s commencin’ to cussin’ a blue streak, an’ felt my ol’ wrist throbbin’ like I’d been muckin’ out stalls all day, but I picked him back up off that floor and I kep’ at it. That ol’ box, y’d think he was an ol’ catfish I’s guttin’, the way he shook and whined and twisted and bounced aroun’. Ennyway it did finally cut enough I could punch thru, an’ I had me the hole I’s wantin’.

Now it was time to hang this whole thang together so’s I could get to smokin’ me some meat. I wired that stack right up to the chimney pipe o’ that barbecue pit out on m’ back deck, and I lay that stack along the top of the deck rail. I snugged that hamhouse right up ag’in that ol’ chickenwire stack. I drilled me a few holes to take a few sheetmetal screws into that hamhouse, right up nex’ ter that hole I done cut out o’ it, like maybe at the 90-degree spots around the circle, about a quarter-inch from the hole. I wrestled that ol’ chickenwire stack thru the hole so’s I had an inch ‘r two of it stickin’ thru, and I bent it back like the bell on my ol’ pal Glenn’s trumpet, so’s I could screw it down to the hamhouse from the inside. I used a couple washers to glom onto that chickenwire a little better, but I di’n’t worry much bout it—it aint lak I’s fixin’ to put enny load on it, it ‘uz just to keep it hangin’ together..

Then that ol’ hamhouse wanted to move around. Yes it did, I sw’ar! It wuz gonna fall off the deck, or tip that good ol’ meat off into the woodpile or somethin’. I sw’ar that ol’ hamhouse, he ‘bout alive, the way he fought me and fought me…ennway, that deck what I’s workin’ on, the one on the back o’ my house? Well, it’s a downright tradgedy, is what it is, it’s so old and fallin’ apart, I figgered what’s one more mess on’t. I coulda done somethin’ purty like build me a nice OSB shelf on it—I done used that stuff to make that front door, don’t y’know, and it looks right nice there once I used a couple leftover cans o’ Rustoleum to cover up the saw marks. But that ol’ deck, it needs burned down or somethin’, and I ain’t about to spend time makin’ it look purty. Ennywho, to make a short story long, as it were, I just drilled a coupla more holes in the bottom of that hamhouse and jammed a coupla drywall screws right into the top rail o’ that ol’ deck, and thar he sat, tight down to that deck.

Then I commenced to wrappin’ that stack up with that tinfoil. I reckoned it’d cool’at smoke right down, and I foun’ out later I warn’t wrong on that too. I wrapped a few spots what looked like they’d leak some with that briarhopper band-aid, duct tape, but I warn’t too worried bout’t. In fact, I’s worry’tin about the fire gettin’ enuf draft, is what I was worry’tin about. I had it figgered if it wouldn’ draft good, I’d just rig me up a fan outta one o’ them ol’ cornpewters I keep lyin’ around fer just that reason, but I’s still a lazy ol’ hillbilly and I’s happy to leave that off if I could, and a few leaks here and there would help her to draft good, I figgered.

An’ so it was, in th’end—one I had her all wired up I started a fire in th’ ol’ pit, and sure enuf, she drew just fine. That hillbilly hamhouse, she filled up with smoke till it’d make yer eyes water, I sw’ar. Last thang I did wasta take and put in a couple ol’ short jelly glasses in the bottom o’ that ol’ hamhouse. I reckoned that meat needed to be up high in the house where all that smoke’d be, so them glasses raised the rack I up off the floor o’ that hamhouse. Turns out them glasses kep’ the meat up out o’ the juice and funk what drip down and collect on the bottom of her, too, which I hadn’t thunk of, but I didn’t let on that when I’s showin’ off to my fambly; it jest look like I’d been knowin’ that all along, an’ a man in my condition don’t need to be givin’ his fambly more ammunition when it come to pokin’ fun at ol’ Dad, y’see..

Tomorrow, the conclusion of the hillbilly ham house hootenanny: smoked meat!

Why Build a Hillbilly Hamhouse?

While the Hound family is vacationing, Rachel's dad is taking over the blog with a hillbilly hamhouse hootenanny. Stay tuned all week for the full story.

The thing is, I’s spose to make me something for to give away at Christmas. That’s what it started out as, ennyhow. I’s made sum burnt-wood pitchers in past y’ars, and oncet I made me a walkin’ stick outta some branch what fall on th’ roof one night. Man, I ‘lowed I’d never make one a’ them again, I’s sandin’ and planin’ and I dunno what-all, fer days and days, to that there walnut stick, tryin’ to get me 8 flat sides on the durn thang. So’s I could put me sum writin’ on it, don’tcha know. Ennyhow, It turned out all righ’, I reckon, leastways dotter Meg she said she lakked it real good. I’m still pickin’ sawdust outta my store-boughts, though. And, lemme tell y’all, thar ain’t nothin’ worse than bitin’ down on a good ol’ roastin’ ear and findin’ a walnut chip ‘tween yer gums and yer store-boughts.

Ennyway, dotter Rachel—she runs this cornpewter thang what’s called a bee-log, must be somethin’ to do with honey, I dunno—she done axed me to write me up somethin’ on how the hamhouse got bilt. Now I calls it a hamhouse, y’ know, cuz that sounded kinda high-toned fer them city folk what I done it fer. But ‘tween you ‘n me, t’ain’t nothin’ but an ol’ box for smokin’ some good ol’ pig parts. Anyway, she axed me to tell y’all how it wuz done.

I’d done decided I wasn’t gone make me no more wood stuff this y’ar. Mostly cuz my ga-rage’s all full up wi’ dotter Heather’s furniture an’ stuff, and I weren’t gonna blow sawdust all over all them nice things what she picked up down at the Goodwill store. I done that last y’ar and it warn’t pretty when the little woman seen what I done. My wife Cindy, she come out thar to that ga-rage and lak to bust a blood vessel when she seen all that sawdust all over that purty stuff out thar. I tried to tell ‘er I’s just coverin’ up the mouse turds, but when I showed ‘er that she swell up and ‘bout passed out cold.

Ennyhow I decided then and thar I’s not makin’ ennymore wood stuff till I had me a ga-rage back. I thought about usin’ dotter Sarah’s ol’ room, but i’s full o’ some more dotter’s stuff an’ ol’ squirrel pelts an’ fiddles an’ I dunno what-all, so I’s just givin’ up the belt-sander and workin’ with wood fer naow.

Lord how I do run on...ennyhow, about the hamhouse. I’s allus loved me some bacon, and barbecue, and I even lak me that smoked salmon, too, tho the boys down at the barbershop think I’s gone city on ‘em, eatin’ on that fish, all hoity-toity alder-wood juniper-berry cured smoked pickled, an’ sliced up real purty. Ennyway, I done heard you caint make bacon in a reg’lar barbecue pit, you gots to have a real smoke-house, so the smoke she get good and cold ‘fore it hit that meat. And it takes all kinda other stuff to make real smoked meats and stuff, I heard, so I figgered I’d just never get to make it. Shoot, the meat-cutter does a plumb good job with bacon, so I’s jest let it be.

Now an’ also, thar’s no way in the worl’ a married man lak me is gonna get away with spending hours an’ hours putterin’ aroun’ buildin’ some thang when he orta be cuttin’ the grass or some blamed thang. Exceptin’ when it’s Christmas. Then’s the time when all the wimmenfolk go plumb crazy and figger all us gone crazy too, and then’s the time we-uns menfolk can gets us somethin’ done. So I done decided I’d make me up a right fine cold smokin’ hamhouse and smoke me up some Christmas presents.

Stay tuned tomorrow for Part 2: Construction.