Smoke
   Your
    Own


Jim Dixon   




























Illustration: Luke Knowland

















 






Everybody loves good barbecue, but what exactly is it?  If you are in South Carolina, it's pulled pork in a vinegary sauce; it's brisket
in Texas, and it's the sweet-and-smoky tomato flavor on everything from potato
chips to McNuggets to the uninitiated. Sticking to a single definition can
lead to fisticuffs in the wrong crowd, but real barbecue must be one thing: cooked over a wood fire.




















    

To build the fire


Here in Portland, Oregon I buy "lump briquet" from Albina Fuel, a company
mostly known for delivering home heating oil. It's real wood charcoal,
burned in ricks in Louisiana and sold in 40-pound bags for about US$15. Try
to find something similar, but if you can't, regular charcoal briquets will
do. But don't buy the self-lighting variety. They're presoaked with lighter
fluid and can impart a nasty flavor.
















































Actually, you shouldn't even use lighter fluid for the flame.  Instead, spend $15 for a charcoal chimney, a
simple combustion device that looks like a large coffee can with a few
holes around the bottom (in fact, you can make you own by waddding up newspaper in the bottom of a can, pouring the charcoal in on top, and igniting).

Simple thermodynamics get things burning quickly, and an insulated handle
(or your big channel lock pliers, for the do-it-yourself-ers) lets you pour
the ignited charcoal into your pit. Long-handled
tongs and heavy leather gloves are not a bad idea.


The secret to BBQ is low heat and smoke. Bank the hot charcoal to either
side so the meat isn't directly over it. If you're cooking a pork butt or
brisket, you will need to replenish the fuel periodically, so figure out in advance how to lift the grill off to access the fire. For the smoke, you can buy chunks of hickory
or fruitwood. I use grapevine cuttings and trimmings from an
apple tree. Soak them in water for an hour before lighting up, then add
small amounts of during the cooking process.



























The Pit


My pit is a Weber kettle, the standard issue American BBQ, but all you need is something enough volume to accommodate your fire and keep
your meat at least six inches from the heat, and a lid. It is important to keep the vents clear and open, 
to allow enough air to keep the fire burning. Sometimes, I crack the lid a
bit to fan the flames, then slow them down.


The Meat


Real BBQ means meat. I like pork butt or rolled shoulders for
Carolina-style pulled pork, my brother in Houston swears by 
brisket, and whole chickens and ribs are never unwelcome.


Rub the meat with a spice mixture. I get Fiesta Market's "brisket rub" from
the Houston connection, but you can easily make up your own rub with salt, pepper,
paprika, cayenne (go easy), chili powder, cumin, garlic powder, and
whatever else you like. Put the meat in a large bowl, pour on the rub, and
massage. If you use tenderizer - though I don't really think it's necessary - let the meat sit overnight in the refrigerator.




























  
















The Mop


Another controversial aspect of the art of "real BBQ" is the mop.  A mop is a basting sauce. It adds
flavor and keeps the surface of the meat moist.  A traditional mop has an acidic base of vinegar, lemon juice, or wine, which also helps tenderize. When I mop, I
make a jarful of apple cider vinegar flavored with prepared mustard,
worcestershire, and whatever else in the cupboard looks interesting, but
never anything with sugar. Sugar will caramelize and eventually burn, so if
you're inclined to brush on any bottled, tomato-based sauce, don't until
the last few minutes.


The application of the mop is also very important: mop sauce must be daubed  rather than brushed onto the meat. You want to
avoid wiping off the rub. Cooking shops sell miniature mops, or you can get crafty and tie
a clean rag onto a wooden spoon with baking twine. If a brush is your only option, just
don't brush it on ... daub it. Daub the mop every half-hour or so. Daub more often, and you'll let the heat and smoke out of the pit.

 

















Cooking


When you've got your fire going well, place the meat in the center of
the grill so it's not directly over the coals. Put the lid on and watch it
for the first 20 minutes to make sure the fire doesn't get smothered. You should
see lots of smoke coming out of the top vents. If you see flames from
dripping fat, close the vent a bit to choke off the oxygen supply, but you must open it back up before too long to make sure coals don't go out.


Real barbecuers don't just walk away from the pit. Cooking BBQ means tending the fire,
especially if you're cooking a pork shoulder or brisket, a 4-5 hour
process. After an hour, you'll probably need to add more charcoal. It's
best to light the charcoal in you chimney first, then add pieces to either
side, but not directly under the meat. Add more wood for smoke, one or two
chunks at a time.



Cook until done. If you need more information, use an instant-read
thermometer to check for doneness.








































Taste in BBQ runs the gamut.  For the time-pressed, a bottled sauce, doctored up to suit your tastes, is the way to go.  For the true BBQ aficionado, the process of tending your BBQ is as much about the perfectly seasoned rub and mop as it is about the pit, flame and smoke.  But remember, BBQ originated as a way for poor folks to make the rougher cuts of meat more palatable, so don't bastardize your BBQ by going gourmet.  






















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