Ox on white, a Sussex County tradition: UPDATE

UPDATE: Vice-president elect Joe Biden will be attending Thursday's Return Day celebration.

If you're in Georgetown today, lift your nose in the air and breathe deep.
The aroma of smoky, slow-roasted beef around the Sussex County Courthouse and The Circle the day after an election has been a Delaware tradition since at least the 19th century.

Sometime around 10 this morning, Mark Pettyjohn and his crew of workers will begin hauling out about 500 pounds of charcoal and firing up three cinderblock open pits.

Then, for the next 24 hours, they'll roast roughly 2,200 pounds of beef for Return Day, on Thursday.

The day isn't just about celebrating the political winners -- and giving a conciliatory pat on the back to the losers. It's about getting one of those free beef-on-white sandwiches.

More than 1,400 sandwiches are handed out during the festivities. The crowd this year is expected to reach at least 30,000 people. (Organizers say it's always higher after a presidential election.) The parade steps off at 1:30 p.m. Ox roast sandwiches are served after the returns are read from the courthouse balcony at 4 p.m.

The carnival atmosphere has been a part of Georgetown's Return Day since as early as 1792. While a town crier announced the results of an election, the area around the courthouse featured booths serving up opossum, rabbit, fish and oysters, as well as cakes and candies. Beginning in the 19th century, roasted ox sandwiches were served to the gathered throng.

Some of the food traditions remain unchanged, but the ox roast has been tweaked.

"Well, it's not an ox. It's steer now," says Pettyjohn, who has been tending to the roast beast every Return Day since the mid-1990s.

The ox roast committee once only barbecued bulls, but no longer.

"It was a mess. Everyone was just suckin' in a lot of smoke," says Pettyjohn, who now roasts 10- to 15-pound chunks of meat.

The cooking technique was changed in 1990 after a fire broke out in the shed where two bulls were being roasted the day before Return Day. Firefighters reportedly used foam to extinguish the blaze, making the meat inedible.

A decision had to be made, or there would be no free sandwiches. Pettyjohn says the cooking crew purchased quarters of beef.

"It was easier and it cooked a lot faster and you got more meat. From then on, we got quarters and rounds," Pettyjohn says, but adds that he still buys one steer to roast on a spit to maintain some sense of tradition. The beef is purchased from the Haass Family Butcher Shop, in Dover.

This year, the pit is set up on South Race Street, next to Domino's Pizza. You can smell and see the beef roasting tonight as three bands begin playing 6-11 p.m. for a street dance.

Don't ask for a slice or sandwich just yet.

Pettyjohn and his crew will be babysitting the meat until it's time to slice and serve it on Thursday.

Throughout the night and into Thursday morning, the crew will mop the beef with a homemade basting sauce.

"They make up their own recipe for the sauce. They don't divulge all the ingredients," says Rosalie Walls, president of the Return Day committee.

But Pettyjohn will say that the sauce includes vinegar, crushed red pepper, Texas Pete hot sauce, poultry seasoning, salt, pepper and a few other ingredients. The taste, he says, is similar to the barbecue sauce that's slathered on barbecue chicken sold at roadside stands operated by local VFW organizations and fire companies in Kent and Sussex counties.

"But we delete the egg," Pettyjohn says. He says the fiery red Texas Pete hot sauce provides the kick.

"We put it in a 5-gallon bucket and we mop it on all night, every 15 to 20 minutes or so. It's like a regular, old-fashioned mop. We let it drip on and splash."

Sandwiches are served to "anyone who wants one," Pettyjohn says. "It goes from 45 minutes to an hour. You're constantly handing out sandwiches."

Pettyjohn will give the beef a few taste tests during the barbecuing, but after tending the fire, mopping and standing near the pit for more than 24 hours, he'd rather eat anything but an "ox" sandwich.

"It's kind of like afterward I don't want to even want to see a hamburger," he says.

Guess that's another Sussex County ox roast tradition.