A bastion of barbecue tradition in the Piney Woods of East Texas
Baptist church in Huntsville will nourish your palate and soul
A rusty, old smoker sits in the grass, having made way for a shinier, newer Ole Hickory that now turns out smoked meats on weekends at the New Zion Missionary Baptist Church Barbecue in Huntsville. There are a couple of tables and a bench outside this small, rectangular building. Inside, there are tables laminated with local ads and walls covered in tacked-on snapshots of satisfied customers.
The Rev. Clinton Edison works the counter and acts as pitmaster Thursdays through Saturdays. On Sundays, he mans the pulpit at the church next door.
Profits from the barbecue business help fund the religious activities of the church, a tradition that dates back decades in East Texas and western Louisiana.
If you grew up in places such as Tyler, Nacodoches or Woodville, driving through the piney woods of the Sam Houston, Davy Crocket or Angelina National Forests was a rite of passage.
For me, East Texas feels as much a part of Louisiana as it does to the rest of Texas. The culture here, influenced by Cajun traditions as well as the history of the American South, does not embrace change enthusiastically.
One example is the area’s barbecue, traced back to the Southern style of barbecue brought to East Texas by slaves and former slaves before and after the Civil War. It is a style based on pork rather than beef because pigs were cheaper and more plentiful then.
Tomato and/or vinegar-based sauces also were more prominent then, conventional wisdom being that they were needed to mask the flavor of old meat that had grown rank in a time before refrigeration. East Texas menus often featured smoked chicken and, eventually, the beef barbecue tradition of Central Texas migrated eastward.
Unlike the high-profile Central Texas barbecue joints that have been mythologized over the past half-century, East Texas barbecue mostly is a low-key affair. An exception is the New Zion church’s longtime installation, long celebrated as the essence of East Texas barbecue.
New Zion is a descendant of the “church barbecue” traditions of the American South. Even today, when driving through East Texas and west Louisiana, you will see signs for “Camp Meetings” — the temporary or semipermanent camps set up to bring religious services to rural residents. In the past, the faithful would camp for days to listen to day-long sermons.
Cooking large amounts of barbecue, usually in coal-fired underground pits, was a way to feed the many attendees. Individual churches would cook barbecue to collect donations and feed parishioners. You will still often see “Church BBQ” signs on the side of the road on weekends in East Texas.
New Zion went one step further, cooking barbecue every weekend for the general public to support its church activities. By the late 1970s, New Zion was gaining a reputation for making the best East Texas style of barbecue. Pork ribs, brisket, sausage and chicken still are the staples served every Thursday through Saturday.
You’ll find a three-meat plate of lightly smoked brisket, pork ribs and sausage covered in a sweet sauce (ask for it on the side if you prefer). Side dishes are the traditional beans and potato salad. Buttermilk and sweet potato pies round out the menu.
Some say the lighter smoke flavor of this barbecue doesn’t live up to the preeminent Central Texas style, but I disagree.
New Zion’s barbecue isn’t necessarily better or worse than elsewhere in Texas — it’s just different. I often have to make this point to barbecue fans not familiar with East Texas-style barbecue. Don’t expect heavily smoked meats devoid of barbecue sauce.
I make the trek to New Zion at least once a year, a refuge from the overhyped contemporary Central Texas barbecue. There’s comfort in knowing that some things remain the same.
I’ll always drive into Huntsville and look for the “Church BBQ” sign. I’ll park next to the church and walk into the low-slung wooden shack next door and wait patiently in line, perusing the frayed snapshots of diners and parishioners stapled to the walls. Rev. Edison will take my order (sauce on the side), and I’ll sit at a table covered in advertisements for local businesses intermingled with Bible quotes that, along with the barbecue, will nourish my soul.