July 4th may be my favorite holiday. It has nothing to do with religion and everything to do with freedom. It's a chance to celebrate the founding of this country which, though seriously flawed and in grand decline, is still the place I choose to call home above all others. This year, we also raised a glass to gay marriage in New York! What a day. It dawned clear and warm after days of torrential rains and lightning storms. G had to stand outside in the downpour for hours the day before to smoke the first half of the 60 pounds of pork we served to the hoard of hungry revelers. It was nothing short of heroic. Gin cocktails were sucked down, pickles were scarfed, ice cream sandwiches demolished. Groups congregated in the screened-in porch, on the lawn and front patio, and even in the house. Dogs frolicked and begged. Screams of laughter rang out, joints were passed and kids got purple popsicle juice everywhere. In short, a great party. 
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Low and slow, that's how we cook it. Our two 12-pound Boston butts from Dickson's, rubbed with a heady mix of chile powder, cumin, brown sugar, salt and cayenne, were on the smoker by 10am the morning of the 4th. G actually prefers smoking on the Weber, because it retains the heat much better, but ours is just not big enough to accommodate all that pig. Several hours of smoking over hickory and apple wood chips, a couple in the oven, an hour to rest and then G and Philip were up to their elbows chopping barbecue. I almost fell flat on my face in the kitchen, the floor was so slippery.

After they pulled and chopped the smoky, fatty pork, I doused it with an Eastern North Carolina hot sauce made from vinegar, Tabasco and red pepper flakes. It's an irresistible combination: salty, tangy, spicy, smoky richness. Then this gets piled on a cheap, soft potato roll, smothered in pickles (dill or bread-&-butter, your choice), with perhaps an extra dash of hot sauce, and you've got some authentic barbecue. A high-falutin' roll is not welcome; you need something that breaks down easily and sops up all that juice. And though we don't generally do white flour in our house, this is a worthy exception.
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The drinks were devoured at an alarming rate, G's barbecue was delicious, and the freezer went on the fritz endangering the ice cream sandwiches and liquefying the popsicles. All in all, our July 4th festivities were a great success, but I can't really attribute that to the menu. It was all about old friends (and new) coming together to enjoy each other's company, the haven of a cool porch in the summer heat, the lush green of the yard. There were excited dogs and kids underfoot, tours of the garden and lolling in the hammock. Laughter, loud music and the lingering smell of applewood smoke filled the air. A core group followed the last rays of the sun out to the front patio and somehow the bugs stayed away as we lit sparklers and celebrated our freedom. So, yes, the gin cocktails and "special" brownies certainly didn't hurt, but it was love and friendship that made the day.
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My dear friend Mirena taught me pretty much everything I know about Korean food—which is actually not that much, but enough so that everyone looks to me to order when we go out for barbecue on 32nd Street. I know how to grill the meat over hot coals and wrap it in lettuce with a smear of fermented soy bean paste; and how to say dumplings (man doo); and that a seafood pancake is a must; and of course that both types of meat—bulgogi (rib eye) and kalbi (short rib)—must be ordered. On my regular stop at Dickson's in Chelsea Market this week, I was pleasantly surprised to see thinly sliced short rib (vertically sliced) all ready for homemade Korean barbecue. I found recipes for the classic marinade and dipping sauce from Jenny Kwan, an owner of a popular Korean restaurant, Dok Suni, in New York's East Village. I picked up a great tip: she has you massage the meat with kiwi juice, a natural tenderizer containing enzymes that break down protein! Now that grilling season is upon us, I think you should give this easy preparation a whirl.
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