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Goat-Milk-Fed Kid

And if your taste is anything like ours you'll tackle not only suckling pig but a fine plump goat-milk-fed kid one day. That's just the kind of outdoor shocker to astound sophisticated city guests who'll swear the kid is baby lamb of unusual piquancy. There's no need to tell 'em different until after they've filled up on it; you don't have to stop at anything in this adventurous eating epoch which has suddenly burst into flame over public park fireplaces, charcoal pots, portable grills, backyard cooking in the ashes, frying eggs on flat hot stones or bald heads, with everybody busy over pits and spits, snacking on wild turkey smoked over green applewood, picnicking on meats broiled over coals of corn cob and walnut bark, bringing grandmother's herbs back into play, seashoring with lobsters and clams and throwing on a final wreath of seaweed to steam everything pungent.

We don't know how it all started-maybe by reading about that old-fashion barbecue in "Gone With the Wind," and perhaps the return of the old-fashion cocktail itself started our national mouth watering for pioneer cooking. Anyway, in penthouse and trailer we're going native American, while on the road nothing quite fills the hole of hunger like one of those soul-satisfying barbecue sandwiches that have turned some of the old Robert E. Lee highways into one continuous chops-licking sign that reads: "Old Style Pit Barbecue with Green Hickory Wood."