It 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 coals.

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 chicken. 

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.