Mutton aside, Owensboro doesn’t seem exotic. It’s an old, leafy city, fairly large for this part of the country (population 55,000), in the rolling country of the Ohio Valley. But if you take the Parrish Avenue exit from US 60 (Wendell Ford Expressway) on the west side of town and head east four blocks, you’ll see the Moonlite Bar-B-Q Inn, the biggest mutton dispensary in the country. It moves 10,000 pounds of sheep meat a week.
You can’t miss it. Out front there’s a black iron pot big enough to boil a hippo in, symbolizing Owensboro’s annual World Barbecue Festival, held the second weekend in May. A sign welcomes you to “Owensboro, the World Capital of Barbecue.” The huge parking lot is dominated by another that reads, “If It’s Not Owensboro Barbecue, It’s Not Real Barbecue.”
When Hugh and Catherine Bosley bought the Moonlite Bar-B-Q Inn in 1963, it seated 35; now it seats 350 and has 120 employees, and though chicken, beef and pork have been moving up, mutton still accounts for most of its business.
“About half our customers are from Daviess County,” says marketing director Pat Bosley. “But 8% come from out of state. There are pilots who fly in from nearby Air Force bases and have barbecue.” The number of out-of-staters is bound to go up–this seems to be the year the outside world has discovered Owensboro, with sizable mentions in the recent “Celebrating Barbecue” by Dotty Griffith (Simon & Schuster) and “The Barbecue America Cookbook” by Rick Browne and Jack Bettridge (Lyons Press).
To the left of the restaurant’s busy gift shop (barbecue sauces, Moonlite bill caps, country hams) is the entrance to the butchering operation. Bosley shows a cold room where mutton carcasses hang. “I figure I buy 10% of the fat ewes for sale in the country,” he says. "The average lamb might run 70 pounds. I look for a 2-year-old sheep weighing about 150 pounds.
“Mostly they’re from what I call the Midwest–Texas, Colorado, Minnesota, Iowa and the Dakotas. There are only five major plants in the country that slaughter sheep of any age. Two or three are in Texas. They ship most of their mutton to Mexico.”
Mutton by Mail
The reason for having a butchering operation, complete with a resident USDA inspector, on the restaurant’s premises is that the Moonlite also sells meat wholesale to restaurants, grocery stores, schools and Wal-Marts from Louisville to Paducah. It doesn’t ship raw mutton out of the area, alas.
But it does ship barbecued mutton, cooked for about 12 hours in huge double-deck hickory pits 24 feet long and so deep the cooks have to move the meat around with pitchforks. You can order sliced mutton or chopped mutton, the latter being trimmings, which some people prefer because they include extra-browned bits.
The Owensboro way of serving mutton is on a hamburger bun with barbecue sauce, sliced onions and pickles, accompanied by a thin sauce called “dip”–mostly vinegar, brown sugar, Worcestershire sauce and spices. This is about all that’s left of America’s centuries-old mutton tradition. But sheep meat seems to have struck deep roots in northwestern Kentucky, so Owensboro barbecue should be around a long time.