http://www.weeklystandard.com/barbecue-wars/article/2003185Barbecue Wars
It's the old-fashioned versus the newfangled.JUL 18, 2016 | By TERRY EASTLAND
Barbecue is a Southern food, and a special one. The food writer Jeffrey Steingarten says it is “simply the most delectable of all traditional American food." It originated in the 18th century in eastern North Carolina with whole-hog barbecue, in which the entire pig is cooked. While that tradition persists, barbecue has diversified in recent decades. Parts of a hog, its shoulders in particular, have become a meat for barbecue, as have non-pork meats, such as beef, mutton, and even fish. Meanwhile, outside the South, Kansas City has warmed to barbecue, creating its own distinctive style. What Southern barbecue has in common (at least in Barbecue) is not the state in which it is cooked, nor the particular meat that is cooked, but how the meat is cooked: "For a long time at a low temperature with heat and smoke from burning wood or wood coals."
John Shelton Reed, who taught sociology at the University of North Carolina, is a barbecue authority and the author of a previous title on the subject, which I reviewed in these pages ("Pigs Without Blankets," December 8, 2008). Reed is worried about barbecue's future. Lately, he writes, barbecue has begun to appear on the menus of tony restaurants whose "chefs just can't resist adding cheffy touches" such as "blueberries in sauces, ground coffee in rubs, that sort of thing." Holding back, a little, on what he really thinks, Reed says that there is "nothing intrinsically wrong with this, and much of it tastes pretty good." Yet such innovations could undermine "local barbecue traditions."
Reed is the conservative here in an argument between the keepers of tradition and the pioneers of self-expression. This is an argument playing out in many contexts, even (you may now have learned) barbecue. Reed wants to preserve local barbecue traditions against the fancy-food chefs of national ambition. And toward that end, in Barbecue, he has translated those traditions "for home production." Which means that he has written an actual cookbook, reckoning that its recipes will teach home cooks how to cook Southern barbecue, local traditions thus maintained.
Most of the recipes call for indirect heat, in which the fire is not directly below the meat, as it still is in whole-hog cooking, but "off to the side." It is made with commercial lump charcoal or briquettes out of the bag, and a few soaked wood chunks (oak or hickory) can be added to generate more smoke.
The recipes assume that home cooks will have, or obtain, the necessary tools for cooking barbecue: a cooker; two thermometers (one to measure the temperature in the cooker and the other the internal temperature of the animal); a starter chimney for the charcoal ("you'll wonder why you ever fooled with lighter fluid"); gloves (because trying "to handle big chunks of meat with tongs or a fork is just stupid"); a small mop or squirt bottle, for basting; plenty of heavy-duty aluminum foil; and a wire brush/scraper tool, for cleaning up.
Perhaps the best decision Reed made here was to include recipes for everything that traditionally has gone into cooking barbecue, meaning the rubs and mops; presenting it, meaning the sauces; and been eaten alongside, or after, it—meaning the side stews and dishes, the slaws and breads, and the desserts. Thirty-six of the 52 recipes in Barbecue are for those items, which Reed calls barbecue's "usual accessories." And this is the tradition they teach: that Southern barbecue is not just the meat, though that is the central attraction.
Among the recipes that stand out is one for Pan-Southern Pork Shoulder. Pork shoulder is a hard meat to mess up and an easy one in which to excel. It is
the most forgiving of barbecue meats. It's self-basting, it develops a wonderfully smoky "bark," and it's hard to overcook. It's a good place for beginners to start and not a bad place to stop, which is probably why it's found chopped, pulled or sliced on barbecue plates and sandwiches almost everywhere in the South.
I would also recommend the recipe titled Texas Monthly Brisket. Texas Monthly has a barbecue editor, and Reed uses the editor's simple recipe, which calls for a "10-12 pound well-marbled brisket with the fat cap still intact" and cooks at the rate of a pound an hour. "Don't mess with the meat," says Reed. "You don't need to turn, flip, poke, prod, or even look at it."
Among the recipes for sides, the one for Virginia-Carolina "Yes We Can" Brunswick Stew is worth a try. It's not clear why this recipe got the long name it did. Not that it matters: To make the stew you need chicken and beef or pork, corn, butter beans or limas, tomatoes, and onions. And you can use canned foods: "Combine the ingredients in a stockpot and bring to a boil," writes Reed.
The recipes for Cold Slaugh and Creamy Coleslaw are more interesting. The first dates back, at least, to the 19th century, when there was no refrigeration. It does not use mayonnaise. The second recipe does use mayonnaise—although, as Reed cautions, it includes onions, the taste of which "gets stronger as the slaw ages." Among other promising side-dish recipes is one for a potato salad of central Texas origins and one for boiled potatoes of eastern North Carolina origins. The latter calls for Texas Pete sauce, which is a North Carolina creation!
As for the bread recipes, there is one for hush puppies that has proved terrific on the occasions I have been to one of the Stamey's restaurants in the North Carolina Piedmont. Stamey's began using the recipe in the 1950s. Before then, writes Reed, "these little deep-fried doughballs had rarely been found apart from fried fish." Now it is a Southern barbecue tradition.
A barbecue tray or plate may be all anyone wants for a lunch or dinner. But for those seeking "sweet relief," as Reed puts it, the recipe for Dori's Peach Cobbler looks to be the best of the traditional desserts discussed here. Dori Sanders is a South Carolina peach farmer and her cobbler, writes Reed, is "a 'magic' cobbler, because it creates its own top crust. . . . This is best served warm, with vanilla ice cream, but it's good cold, too."
As for something to drink, Reed has just one recipe—and yes, it's for sweet tea: "It can go with anything, and in barbecue places run by Baptists—often the best—it usually does. It's especially a counterpoint to vinegar-based sauces, producing a fine old sweet-and-sour yin yang."
