Real Barbecue

Barbecue means pulled pork in a vinegary sauce in South Carolina, ribs with a tomato-based and peppery sauce in Louisiana, and dry-rubbed beef brisket in Texas. Insisting on a single definition can lead to fightin' words, but you can stay safe if you remember to agree on this: real barbecue is always cooked slowly over a wood fire.

It's not easy to find real barbecue anymore. It takes time, and some national chains cut corners by steaming their ribs first, then glazing them with sauce. But anyone can make real barbecue if they have a place to build a fire and some time.

The Pit

If you use your outdoor cooking appliance to make real barbecue, it becomes a pit. Mine's a Weber kettle, the standard issue American barbecue. Anything will work if it's got a lid and enough volume to accommodate your fire and keep your meat at least six inches from the heat.

Hibachis and similar fire-based outdoor cookers can't do real barbecue and are not pits. They're grills, and perfectly fine for grilling, but don't get the two things confused.

The Meat

Real barbecue means meat. I like pork butt or rolled shoulders for Carolina-style pulled pork, but my brother in Houston has opened my eyes to brisket. Whole chickens are good, too. And there are always ribs.

Rub the meat with a spice mixture. I get Fiesta Market's "brisket rub" from my Houston connection, but you can make up your own 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.

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. Try to find something similar, but if you can't, regular charcoal briquets will do. Avoid the self-lighting variety; they're presoaked with lighter fluid and can impart a nasty flavor to your meat.

Don't even use lighter fluid. Spend $15 for a charcoal chimney, a simple combustion device that looks like a large coffee can with a few holes around the bottom (you can make you own from a can, for that matter). You wad up newspaper in the bottom, pour in the charcoal on top, and light. Simple thermodynamics get things burning quickly, and an insulated handle (or your big channel lock pliers, for the do-it-yourselfers) let you pour the ignited charcoal into your pit. Long-handled tongs and heavy leather gloves are not a bad idea.

The secret to barbecue is low heat and smoke. Bank the hot charcoal to either side so the meat isn't directly over it. Keep the vents clear and open to allow enough air to keep the fire burning. I sometimes crack the lid a bit to get the charcoal burning faster, then put it on tight to slow it down.

If you're cooking a pork butt or brisket, you'll need to replenish the fuel periodically, so figure out how you'll lift the grill off to access the fire. You can buy chunks of hickory or fruitwood for smoke. I use grape vine cuttings and trimmings from an apple tree. Soak then in water for an hour before lighting up, then add small amounts during the cooking process.

The Mop

A mop is a basting sauce. It adds flavor and keeps the surface of the meat moist. It usually has an acidic base-vinegar, lemon juice, or wine-which also helps tenderize. I make a jarful of apple cider vinegar mixed with a little vegetable oil, prepared mustard, worcestershire, soy sauce, lemon juice, wine, 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.

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 tie a clean rag onto a wooden spoon with baking twine. Or just use a brush, but don't brush it. Mop every half-hour or so. More often lets the heat and smoke out of the pit.

Cooking

When you've got your fire going well, position the meat in the center of the grill so it's not directly over the coals. Put the top on and watch it for the first 20 minutes to make sure the fire isn't 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 open it up back up before too long to make sure coals don't go out.

You can't just walk away from the pit. Barbecue 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 if you can light it in your chimney first, then add pieces to either side, but not directly under the meat. Add wood for smoke, one or two chunks at a time, more often.

The Sauce

Taste in barbecue sauce runs the gamut. Barbecue originated as a way for poor folks to make the rougher cuts of meat more palatable, and I prefer simple sauces to more elaborate preparations. The easiest way is to doctor bottled sauce to suit your tastes. Add cayenne, a hot sauce such as Tabasco, or red pepper flakes to make it hotter. Soy sauce or oyster sauce (available in Asian markets) add a robust, salty flavor, while sweet notes can come from jam or baby food (pureed peaches, for example).

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