A little barbecue for those who need it

On hills and in the valleys, people live and still work ranches. There are still a few real cowboys around the edges of town.. A drive to Mount Gainor between Wimberley and Dripping Springs is surprisingly rural and empty when you consider the development on Ranch Road 12 and U.S. 290.

But, in short while, you are in ranch country and people and houses are few and far between. It harkens back to a culture when you had to rely on your neighbor because there might not be anyone else close enough to help out.

And there are people in the area that are in need, especially with the shutdown and pandemic.

Going up a hill, maybe the second highest point in Hays County, opening and closing cattle gates, Rob Moon and his working farm and ranch greet you surrounded by valleys and hills. It is one of those places that seem like that when you look out, it goes on forever. It is truly pastoral, only Central Texas style.

But on Wednesday afternoons the activity starts, with meat already soaking in brine more preparations get underway for the banquet of BBQ sandwiches. The signs will go out on Mt. Gainor Road welcoming anyone who might want, or need, a bite to eat. The white tent will go out the next day. Rob Moon is a happy man in serving those who, out here, might be missed.

He’s a private banker at Merrill Lynch and when the lockdown for the pandemic came down, he was downright bored. He was used to working from home, he had been doing it for eighteen years with research and most of the legwork done before having to meet face to face with clients.

“During the lockdown part in March and April, I was bored stiff, and I was very aware of all these people that were being displaced and losing their jobs. And I love to cook. I was trying to figure out a way I could give back. Well, why don’t you just smoke up pork butt every Wednesday night and hand out free sandwiches on Thursday. And I tried it and it was a hit,” said Rob Moon.

“I usually do about 10 pounds. You get about three sandwiches per pound. I produce anywhere from 30 to 35 sandwiches every Thursday and I generally move all of them, from eight to ten cars, the average car grabs two to three sandwiches.

“And each Thursday, of the eight to 10 cars, about half are repeats and the other half are new,” he said.

“Everybody that stops is in a beat up pickup truck, or it’s a bunch of cowboys. You know, if you charged for sandwiches, that’s $20 that’s a $20 value. There’s $5 each for sandwiches.” He continued.

“I always ask, ‘How many people are in your household?’ and it’ll be like a single father. He’s like, it’s me and my three kids, so I’ll give them usually eight sandwiches. So you know, stuff like that. Yeah, helping the kids out.”

Rob has been doing this for about a year, with little advertisement except the hand painted signs that are on the sides of Mt. Gainor and a notice in two church bulletins, as he used to be a part of St. Vincent Society, which helps the poor.

The feeling of giving to others, those less fortunate, is a motivator. Another reason is, “I get to cook every week. So that’s great. Just the process of making the sandwiches and I experiment with different things. Like I pretty much have the same exact brine and marinate. But I experiment with putting different things on top of the sandwiches like a fresh salad or like mustard and cabbage.”

It has become a threeday ritual, starting Tuesday night with the meat soaked in brine, Wednesday night it goes on the fire to cook at 9 p.m. and taken off at 2 p.m. Thursday, then the sandwiches are made up, wrapped and taken down to the tent.

“I do it from 4:30 to 7:30 p.m. It’s pretty much over by 7 or 7:10. Most of the stops are from 5:30 to 7. I did notice in the wintertime when the sun was going down earlier, shoot no one was stopping after six. Yeah, I think a lot of cowboys because it’s dark. They’re already home.”

Neighbors will help out with supplies and a pecan pie every once in a while, his favorite. His generosity will go on, “I’ll do it until people stop stopping.”