There may be something that will induce lip smacking more than well prepared baby back ribs, but I can’t imagine what it would be. Maybe beef brisket? What do you think?
We’re rapidly approaching the time of year when millions of men (and a few women) will be scorching millions of pounds of good beef and pork on any manner of back yard cookers. They will use gas grills, $10 Walmart portables, hibachis, home made drums, kettle grills of varied design, dry smokers, wet smokers, fancy gas grills, not so fancy gas grills, charcoal braziers, and even open fires. They will buy brisket flats, whole briskets, pork loin, pork tenderloin, pork shoulder, pork chops, steak of all sorts, ground beef, weiners, baby back ribs, country ribs, St. Louis ribs, ham, chicken cut up forty different ways, and even fish and assorted sea foods. They will smoke, bake, grill, and braise the meat over open flame, direct heat, indirect heat, slow wood smoke, fast charcoal smoke and maybe even a flame thrower. They will fuel their heat with compressed charcoal, lump charcoal, charcoal pellets, hickory chunks, oak, pecan, cherry and mesquite with some wood scraps of unknown derivation thrown in, natural gas, lp gas and, in a pinch a dash of gasoline or diesel.
What, you say, does all of this have in common? Well, we all call it barbque or BBQ, or bar-b-q, if down under, we might even say barbie, or if in Africa we’d say braai. But it’s all the same. It’s the method and apparatus for cooking meat with heat and smoke. And more to the point of this blog, it’s more than likely to be over done or verging on the raw. It will almost certainly lack moisture and will either have no flavor or only flavors enhanced by mysterious condiments and sauces that have no relationship to the meat they disguise. How do I know this? Well, I’ve been doing it for decades, and it’s only recently reached a critical stage. My darling wife has categorically refused to eat my ribs, my brisket, my chicken, or, come to think of it, pretty much anything that I cook outside. Last week she offered to cook the beautiful brisket that I bought at Kuby’s ( at great cost I might add) in a slow cooker in the kitchen. This, my friends, was an blatent affront. A call to arms one might say. Action was called for and I’m no shirker.
As usual, rather than develop a plan, one was thrust upon me. My youngest male child called asking if I’d be interested in attending a cooking school taught by “ Pitmaster to the Stars” Conrad Haskins wherein we would be given privy to the secret techniques and mysterious potions required to create the perfect portion of singed meat. Conrad, for some unfathomable reason, determined to hold this seance at a location that strained the power of Google Maps and my Tahoe’s GPS. I can only say that we crossed over forty seven ice crusted bridges while leaving DFW far behind in our rear view mirror while heading somewhere north and west of civilized territory. About two hours later we arrived at what was charitably referred to as a “rural bed and breakfast” location populated by a few emaciated chickens and an assortment of high end pick up trucks. We approached the barn like structure with a massive smoker, BBQer, trailer device perched nearby only to find fifteen or so frigid souls hulking behind crooked folding tables. Iron chef Hastings manned another table at the front littered with assorted cooking paraphernalia waving surgically gloved, bloody hands in the air. It was thirty one degrees with wind gusts to thirty mph. And I had paid $200 bucks and driven two terrifying hours to be here. I shoulda caved in to the brisket in the slow cooker and went home.
Not to be. Over the next six hours we heard Conrad opine on everything from the superiority of Costco’s meat to the conflicts in the rules of the Kansas City BBQ Society and the Texas Rib Rules. He excoriated Bobby Flay (my hero) and damned Guy Fiero with faint praise (my other hero). Went briefly apoplectic regarding the French sale of Exocet missiles to the Argentine. Huh? And dosed everything in sight with massive doses of some chipotle drench powder that he evidently bought by the ton at Sams. He briefly mentioned a bad divorce and subsequent move to Austin. All the while he was preparing and putting various cuts of meat and chicken on the cooking apparati outside….in the wind….at 30 degrees. And all of us dutifully trailed behind him from the semi-cold, semi-barn to the outright, really cold outdoors to watch him put the meat on the grill. I kept thinking of my $200 and two hour drive.
We were rewarded, however, for our perseverance. We got to eat what he cooked. First the boneless chicken breast….it was delightfully moist, done perfectly. It faintly tasted of smoke and the chile powder and garlic based rub he coated it with. Then the pork tenderloin followed by the pork loin that melted in your mouth. Both tasted too heavily of chipotle for my taste, but I had to admit this was grilling above the nets. I’d never been there. Sadly my patience and my desire to watch the NCAA basketball tournament exceeded my curiosity about how his ribs and brisket would taste and persuaded both of my sons to leave early. It wasn’t a hard sell though. I silently conceded that there really was a difference between real pit masters and the rest of us.
So here’s what I learned”
1. Buy good meat. Preferably from Costco, but in a pinch, Sam’s is ok.
2. Put lots of his personal recipe rub thoughout
3. Cook it “au point” as the french say
4. Never daub it with sauce, unless you’re in a contest and want to win
5. Use lots of tinfoil.
Not bad for $200 bucks. But I did get to spend most of a day with my sons. A pretty good investment, I’d say.
BTW….didja know that the term BBQ is etymologically derived from the french “barbe a’ queue” which literally translates from beard to tail. And all this time I thought it came from a ranch in south Texas.
