started over 30 years ago, when John P. Beck, Sr. decided to build his
home on the banks of Bayou Lafourche. Nestled between Donaldsonville
and Belle Rose, John and his wife agreed this would be the perfect
place to raise their family.
Known throughout the region by the
locals as a master storyteller, poet and historian, John enjoyed
passing a good time and sharing the stories of Boudreaux with his
family and friends.
As his family grew John, his wife
Jeannette, and their three children would spend their afternoons near
the bayou’s edge boiling crawfish, crabs, shrimp, the traditional
“Good Friday fish fry, and of course, the big Sunday barbeque.
It was at one of these Family Sunday
Barbeques that a strange tradition gave birth. It started as John
began his usual routine of firing up the large brick hearth then
filling it with pecan wood.
Once the flames began to die down and
John would admire another perfect bed of coals, he would sit quietly
and consume a tradition in southern Louisiana, an ice-cold can of
Dixie Beer. When he would get about half way, he would set the can on
the edge of the hearth and open another.
Again he would consume about half and
set the remaining on the edge of the hearth. Once he had three cans
half full; he would double check to ensure that the amount of beer
remaining was precisely half. After he was absolutely sure he would
call out to his wife Jeannette to bring on the birds.
Jeannette would bring out to the hearth
three whole chickens that she had marinating overnight in a special
blend that was handed down to her from her mother. John would then
take the birds, reaching for one of the cans of Dixie and carefully,
like a skilled surgeon, slide the can, top up, into the cavity of the
bird and then gently placing it on the grill over the hot bed of
Once this was complete Jeannette would
call out for the kids to come out and play. The children would
always gather around the hearth to watch their father carefully baste
the birds as they roasted over the hot flames. From time to time the
flames would explode up around the bird, and it was one of these
times, that one of the children, to this day no one knows for sure
which, blurted out, “look it’s a Chicken Rocket!”
From that day on the tradition began, it
was never the same old barbecue. I can’t count the hundreds of burnt
cans behind my father’s house from years of blasting off another
We have now refined this tradition into
the perfect device for launching your next barbecue. It’s called the
Chicken Rocket. We the Beck family, invite you to try our Rocket, if
it doesn’t give you the moistest, maintenance free chicken you ever
had, send it back and we will gladly refund your money. No questions
asked. That’s our promise from our family to yours.