Food

Barbecue: how it's done out West

By ELLISE PIERCE / Cowgirl Chef

As long as I can remember, there has been an ongoing discussion in my house about barbecue — I'm talking about the pork-versus-beef issue — and it wasn't so much a discussion as a declaration.

Pork barbecue is the only real barbecue, my mom, who is from Birmingham, Alabama, would say.

Even though she had been living in the Lone Star state for 20 years or so, Mom thought people from Texas were just ill-informed about what places like Ollie's Barbecue in her hometown already knew: that pork was for barbecue, and beef — well, that was for other things, but certainly not barbecue.

For me? I guess I'm in the beef camp. The simple chopped-beef barbecue sandwich — with equal amounts of stringy, chewy meat; soft wisps of almost-melted fat; and crispy, charred bits heaped atop a pillowy bun — is enough to make me weep.

When other kids were gobbling up Ding Dongs for after-school snacks, I'd hop on my green Schwinn with the banana seat and sissy bars, pick up my friend Holly along the way, and together we'd pedal over to Leroy's, a drive-in grocery in the college town of Denton that had its own enormous fat black smoker out back.

Holly would buy beef jerky; I'd have an entire chopped-beef barbecue sandwich, its brown-orangey juices saturating the fluffy white bun like water to a new sponge.

Not long ago, I experienced barbecue déjà vu. I took my first bite into a chopped-beef barbecue sandwich (now with slices of pickles and onions since I'm grown-up) assembled on two fat pieces of crisp, buttery Texas toast and just sighed. "Alan," I said to my brother, "this is as good as Leroy's."

When I was young, I would stand over the stove with my mother, learning how to make her famous fried chicken and biscuits and gravy. My brother, Alan, would be outside manning the grill with our dad, who'd be keeping a watchful eye on that night's steaks.

It's no wonder that my brother gravitated to cuisine inspired by wood, fire, and smoke and I stayed inside near the stove.

And it should have been no surprise that about a year ago, my brother, along with two of his best friends, Morgan Hull and Johnny Law — both of whom worked under Dean Fearing at the Mansion on Turtle Creek [now the Rosewood Mansion on Turtle Creek] in Dallas — opened his own barbecue joint.

The sandwich I was comparing to the hallowed ones at Leroy's was, in fact, the chopped beef at my brother's new restaurant, Rooster's Roadhouse, in our hometown of Denton.

Every day at Rooster's, the massive smack-down-size J&R smoker slow-cooks up to 600 pounds of brisket, spareribs, pork shoulder, turkey breast, boneless ham, and sausage.

Once suitably smoked, the barbecue is made up into some of the tastiest sandwiches on the dusty side of the Mississippi.

For big appetites, there's the mega-meaty "Whole Hog" — a pound of ham, pork, sausage, and crispy smoked bacon.

Slightly more dainty are the Pit BBQ plates, which come with a side of black beans, cowboy slaw or fried okra, and Rooster's signature sweet-hot pickles. Bottomless iced tea, naturally, makes it all the better to linger long in one of Rooster's diner-style booths.

This isn't BBQ unceremoniously slopped on beige melamine. This is BBQ that needs a deeper dish — Rooster's uses vintage pie tins for the job. In lieu of napkins, there's a roll of paper towels on each table. And a galvanized steel hog feeder holds roasted peanuts.

There is plenty of down-home style here (note to self: re-create for your next big BBQ). But what locals keep coming back for is the 'cue.

The secret, my brother tells me, is the meat and the smoke. "We use Angus beef, locally produced sausage, and the best pork, turkey, and ham in the state," he says. "We take great care to ensure that what's on the plate is a great quality product. We don't mess with rubs or marinades — just kosher salt and coarse ground pepper — because why try to cover up the flavor of the meat? After trying a variety of woods, we settled on green oak because it's slow-burning and it imparts a subtle, sweet flavor."

Barbecue, after all, is simply meat slow-cooked over wood or charcoal kept at a low heat for a long period of time.

Cultures around the world have been roasting and smoking meat since the beginning of time, and the history of the term itself is shrouded in the smoke of many a primeval fire.

Some believe that the word barbecue derives from the West Indian term barbacoa, which literally means "sacred fire pit." Others think that it actually comes from the French phrase barbe a queue, which means "from head to tail."

Call it what you will. Sauce it however you like — with the tangy, vinegary sauces of Tennessee or the spicier, heftier sauces of Texas. Eating barbecue is its own reward.

"When you taste barbecue that's done right, it'll be crusty, crunchy, yet very tender, and slightly smoky, too, and there's just nothing else like it on earth," Alan says. "It's how meat should be, and for me, it's the ultimate comfort food."

I finished my sandwich feeling the supreme comfort of food straight out of my childhood done right.

It wasn't Leroy's, but it didn't need to be. If my old green bike had been around, I'd have pedaled home one very happy camper.

As it was, I ordered up a second Dr Pepper and camped out for a while in my booth at Rooster's.

• Rooster's Roadhouse: 113 Industrial St., Denton, Texas, 940-382-4227, www.roosters-roadhouse.com

Ellise Pierce is the Cowgirl Chef. Watch for her food stories, recipes, and cooking tips in C&I.

 

Smokers for the home chef

"I'd recommend an electric smoker," says Rooster's Alan Pierce. "You can cook the meat while you sleep, and it's ready for lunch the next day." Nice!

In the mood to barbecue? Check out these smokin' rigs.

• SmokinTex, a Plano, Texas-based smoker company, makes a Pro Series Model 1100 ($395), which cooks up to 25 pounds of meat at a time. www.smokintex.com.
• The Old Smokey Electric Smoker ($135) is a great entry-level smoker that'll handle 20 pounds of meat easily. www.barbecue-store.com.
• Bradley Smoker's Original Smoker ($399) barbecues up to 18 pounds of meat and cooks for eight hours. www.bradleysmoker.com.

— E.P.

Issue: July 2009