By now, it’d be impossible to properly inventory everyone who’s been made privy to my amateur-expert wisdom on all things ‘cue.
I’m not going to do that here. Not again. I have seen the light.
The time to tell you my reasons why truly good ‘cue just isn’t all that doable at a mile high has passed. I could tell you a lot about why you need a hell of a lot more humidity than we have in our otherwise desertlike climate to make it work. Or I could plumb the curmudgeonly depths of my soul and snarl out how what y’all call “barbecue” is just grilling, and how any goofus on the street should know that ‘cue needs smoke, not flames.
I could also do what Eater.com writer Chris Fuhrmeister did back in June: Write about how pork is the only authentic and good kind of American barbecue.
He’s right, by the way. Brisket, chicken and everything else you might stuff in your smoker? That ain’t Barbecue Canon — if you want to be an ass about it. The history buff in me appreciates that barbecue in America grew from cheap and easy farming and ranching — and from a practical, environmental point of view, it doesn’t take much to keep a pen full of Wilburs to slaughter and smoke as opposed to running a cattle farm.
And don’t get me wrong, those little oinkers taste better than anything else you deign to spend wood and fire on.
“I mean, pig and burned wood charcoal, and that, to me, is it,” Fuhrmeister quotes Mississippi-based chef John Currence. “If you don’t have both of those things, to my mind, you don’t have what constitutes barbecue.”
Currence is a James Beard award-winning chef. Absolute rights and wrongs have their place in the kitchens of chefs who win James Beard awards. That’s why this summer, I prefer the smoking done in your backyard or mine, where it’s a veritable barbecue Thunderdome.
All you really need for great barbecue — fancy rules and high-falutin methods, be damned — is the right rub and the right wood. Pork is virtually impossible to get wrong, so I’ll leave it to you to pick through some other pub for tips on cooking up shoulders, ribs and the like. Besides, I’m not sure if I’m quite ready to give up all the fun secrets I learned growing up in Kansas City.
So yes, Virginia, you can do chicken and brisket for a damn-fine barbecue dinner.
Here’s how you do it.
HERE’S THE RUB (CHICKEN)
— I like a good, coarse sea salt, nothing gourmet. Just don’t toss iodized Morton in there; you will inevitably use too much and be left with nasty salt lick. Besides, the coarseness of the unrefined stuff gives the rest of the rub some heft. Some folks I know swear by celery salt, but that’s really for Memphis-style, which is its own special breed of barbecue.
— Equal parts thyme, garlic powder, onion powder, paprika, black pepper, rubbed sage, parsley and (the secret ingredient) marjoram.
— Since I like lemon juice for a lot of marinades (especially with chicken), go ahead and grind up some zest to add to the rub. The citrus pairs nicely with the lighter notes of apple wood.
— Chili powder and cumin are obvious add-ons, depending on how spicy and savory you’re aiming for. But with chicken, my strongest temptation is to go sweet — a little white cane sugar will do the trick while helping caramelize the “bark.”
— A pinch of dry mustard adds some KC-style bona fides.
SMOKE ‘EM (CHICKEN)
My go-to wood for any chicken recipe is apple. Beyond the flavor, the color it imparts on the meat is what I go for as a smoke fiend. And if you absolutely insist on putting some piggie on your plate, apple wood is perfect for slapping a dozen or so slices of cured pork belly next to your bird. For Midwestern flair, smoke with hickory. For those with advanced palates, go find pecan chips.
SAUCE ‘EM (CHICKEN)
Here’s where I get supremely blasphemous. Radical barbecue fundamentalists such as myself should always warn you against sauces. I’m not only going to advise you to go with a sauce, but I’m going to send you to the store to get it — you’ve already put in all the hard work in making your own rub, after all. This rub pairs especially well with Stubb’s Sweet Heat sauce, or you can be even more unorthodox and pick up a bottle of Frank’s RedHot sauce.
HERE’S THE RUB (BRISKET)
Fuhrmeister made himself Public Enemy No. 1 in Texas (deservedly so) for writing off the wonders of brisket, one of the few good, lasting contributions the Lone Star State has made to the world. Being from Kansas City where the rubs and sauces run sweeter than normal, this is a bridge between traditional brown-sugar brisket rub and a spicier Southwestern rub.
1/3 cup kosher or coarse salt
2 tablespoons ground black pepper
2 tablespoons paprika
1/3 cup brown sugar
1 tablespoon dried parsley
2 tablespoons garlic powder
2 tablespoons onion powder
2 tablespoons oregano
2 teaspoons granulated garlic
2 teaspoons ground cumin
2 teaspoons cayenne pepper
OPTIONAL: 1 teaspoon ground coriander, 1/4 teaspoon hot chili powder, 1 bay leaf
HERE’S THE RUB
(BRISKET BASICS)
Think I’ve violated the spirit of my keep-it-simple, damn-the-rules treatise with the everything-in-the-pantry brisket rub I just gave you? Here’s the absolute basics (Amounts are larger to provide coverage since there are fewer components), and remember that this will only keep for a week before the brown sugar firms up and crystallizes:
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/3 cup kosher or coarse salt
1/3 cup paprika
1/3 cup ground black pepper
1/3 cup chili powder
SMOKE ‘EM (BRISKET)
Barbecue bibles will emphasize finding woods with strong, distinct flavor. But brisket takes a long time before it’s done, and anything too strong will totally overpower the meat’s flavor. If you’re shopping at your local big-box hardware retailer, you’re probably only going to find chunks of oak that have the name of a grill manufacturer or celebrity chef on the bag. They’re all about the same. But if you have a bit more time and energy, head to Rocky Mountain Firewood, 8895 E. Iliff Ave., and get post oak in whatever amount you’ll need.
MOP IT UP (BRISKET)
Since we’re being barbecue heathens, I hereby proclaim that it is okay to do a mop with your brisket. Believe me, it took me quite some time to arrive at this point after years of yelling at loved ones, friends and frightened strangers for tossing too much or any baste or sauce on their barbecue. I still enjoy ‘cue sans-sauce, but brisket is best enjoyed with a mop, especially in Colorado where you need to add moisture into the mix. If you’ve got your grill going along with your smoker and have a side burner, just mix all of this and get it to a boil, then immediately switch to low heat for 15 to 30 minutes. Apply in 45-minute to 1-hour intervals once the meat has had at least two hours in the smoke session.
1 can of dark beer (Most folks I know swear by Shiner Bock, but Dos Equis Dark is a fine choice. Or just poor any dark you have on hand, this is for enjoying, not being judged at the American Royal)
1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
1/2 cup light vegetable oil (canola preferrable)
1 small diced onion
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 teaspoon kosher/coarse salt
1 tablespoon cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 lemon, juiced
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