PASSIONATE RATIONS

As I savored the satisfying crunch of my Ikamaru (described on the Japanese menu as “BBQ squid”) last Saturday night, I contemplated my love of barbecue (BBQ?  Bar-B-Que?  You decide).

This particular food fondness stems, I suppose, from my unmitigated and long-held bias towards the sweet-n-savory.  It’s a winning combination, and barbecue offers the perfect union, be it from Texas, North Carolina, Tennessee, Korea, or…Japan, apparently.  There’s always a certain sweetness amidst the spice.  (That’s the way I like my relationships too, but that’s a whole ’nother post.)

After my early childhood in Germany, my family moved to Texas.  If moving to Germany from the states had been a culture shock, this move rivaled it.  And it would prove as culinarily influential.

I suppose I should define the term before I proceed, since including “BBQ” squid might be seen as rather over-expansive and isn’t really the stuff of which I speak here (and Korean BBQ, too, will have to await separate treatment in a separate post).  In saying “barbecue,” I’m talking about the magic that occurs through the slow, indirect application of heat and smoke to meat, not mere backyard grilling or in-kitchen saucing (though those can suffice in a pinch and occupy their very own culinary niche).  Besides, I don’t like to discuss grilling because it recalls to me an incident in which my eyebrows were vaporized by an exploding gas grill, proving to me, yet again, why a Smokey Joe beats the heck out of mercurial and non-flavor-enhancing blue flames.  But I digress….

In Texas, cattle reign.  So, Texas BBQ showcases beef in honor of its cowboy history.  Barbecue-beef brisket and short ribs abound.  It’s been many years since I lived in Texas, so I don’t recall the specific venues where I first gave in to the siren call of tender beef in peppery sauces, but I do recall the delight.  And it forever changed me.  Since then, I have tirelessly ventured far and wide in my quest for BBQ and it has brought me from the bovine to the porcine.

So far my adult life has found me in Memphis once and Nashville thrice.  And I called North Carolina home for a year or so.   Pork rules the pit in Tennessee and the Carolinas.  And the barbecue sauces have tangy bite, laced as they are with vinegar.

My first introduction to pulled pork occurred in North Carolina, where I dated a person who had grown up on a tobacco farm and whose family still lived on or near the old homestead.  So-called “pig pulls” are a southern tradition and I was invited to join in.  First, the pig is chosen and butchered.  Then, a pit is dug and a fire stoked (or, less traditionally, a smoker is used).   Once hot coals line the bottom of the pit, the pig is inserted and ensconced between layers of wet burlap and ashes to smoke for a good fourteen hours or more.  I had little to do with the first part of things, but I was there when they removed the pig, whole, from the pit and “pulled” it.  It sounds a bit barbaric to write about it now, but it was the best damn pork I ever had.

Luckily, fabulous pulled pork can be found elsewhere and I was thrilled to discover Jack’s BBQ on one of my trips to Nashville and Corky’s in Memphis.   I recommend Jack’s in particular because Jack has it all and does it well.  Texas, North Carolina, St. Louis, Kansas City, and, of course, Tennessee BBQ all grace the menu.

Maybe the best thing about barbecue is that everyone has his or her own closely guarded, recipe(s).  So, no matter where you go, it will always be excitingly different.  My BBQuest continues.  Variety, after all, is the spice of life.