Barbecue is not positioning steak over flame. That, your huffy cookbook enunciates, is grilling. Barbecue is subjecting a chunk of felled beast to smoke until it collapses. The ancient art, known to men as a form of meditation, draws on the natural elements-earth, wind, fire and beer. And yet, you figure, how hard can it be?
Given your novice status, prep involves buying and assembling a grill, dragging home sacks of charcoal and chunks of wood and hunks of meat. Meditation, you discover, is exhausting.
Fortunately, the process offers its own levity. The cut in question, taken from the upper front leg of a pig, is termed, indelicately, pork butt. It must be patted with a mix of salt, sugar and spices, providing ample opportunity to casually juxtapose rub and butt.
And afterwards, smoke. Apparently pork butt only transforms into barbecue in narrow confines: 180 to 250 degrees. Steadying such a fire takes attention. Constant, obsessive attention.
You consult Chuck Pine, of Chuck’s Southern Comforts Cafe. He pulls the pulled pork sandwiches at Rick Bayless’ own Labor Day barbecue, and so, you surmise, has achieved pork perfection. A sample from his Burbank pork dispensary confirms as much.
Pine gives concise instructions: If the fire burns too hot, stop down the vent. Too cool: Add charcoal. Check, following the wisdom of grill gurus Chris Schlessinger and John Willoughby, every 30 minutes or after each beer. Repeat for 8 to 12 hours. You admire the candor of a holiday named Labor Day.
Forgoing beer for thermometer, you toss hickory chips and twist vent. Then are met with an interval of, essentially, nothing. During which you are visited by a profound insight. These foamy interludes of nothingness are why guys like this job.
And yet, being congenitally female, you fixate on these empty expanses, some of which stretch to several minutes. Soon you are sprinting inside, loading the dishwasher, sorting lights from darks. Soon your thermometer reads zero.
Now you know the ignominy of refiring the rapid-fire chimney starter, long after having started. Hot-cheeked, you hew closer to code; you open an actual beer. You twist and toss for a total of 16 hours and 22 minutes, and at midnight shred an impressive pile of pork. The crispy outside shards and tender inner strands are scented earth, wind, fire and beer. As are you.
Your friends, heaping tender meat onto soft buns, declare you a barbecue genius. Eat up, you smile. You’re never going near that grill again.
CHUCK’S PULLED PORK SANDWICH
Serves 12 to 16
For the rub:
2 tablespoons each: granulated sugar, brown sugar, salt
4 teaspoons ground paprika
1 tablespoon chili powder
2 1/4 teaspoons each: pepper, mustard powder, onion powder, garlic powder, cornstarch
1 1/2 teaspoons ground red pepper
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 6-8 pound pork butt, bone-in, untrimmed (all that fat, melted for hours, is what makes the meat so tender)
2 cups barbecue sauce
16 fluffy white buns
Mustard slaw (recipe follows)
1. Mix: Combine rub ingredients in a small bowl.
2. Rub: A day before you’re in the mood for a pulled pork sandwich, cover the meat with two-thirds of the rub, wrap in plastic and refrigerate overnight. Soak a bucket of hickory chips or chunks in water. The next morning, rerub the butt with the remaining seasoning.
3. Smoke: Wake up early. Don’t shower. Position a disposable aluminum drip pan on one side of the bottom rack of a kettle-style grill. Fill a chimney starter with natural wood charcoal, and light. Pour the hot coals next to the aluminum pan. Scatter on a handful of wood chips. Position the pork butt, fat side up, on the top rack above the aluminum pan, not above the coals. Cover the grill. Make sure the lid vent is directly above the meat. Close all other vents (including bottom ones). This will force the smoke past the meat.
4. Check: Slip a thermometer into the vent hole. Keep the grill temperature between 180 and 250 degrees. If it gets too hot, close the vent a little; if it gets too cool, add more charcoal. Smoke pork butt 8 to 12 hours, adding wood chips every 45 minutes for the first 4 hours and then every hour or so. Meat is done when it registers 180 degrees on an instant-read thermometer and is very tender when prodded with fork or finger.
5. Pull: Pull the meat apart with tongs, two forks or (if cool) fingers and remove all visible fat.
6. Pile: Gently heat sauce and mix with the meat. Heap onto a bun. Top with a scoop of slaw. Roll up your sleeves. Eat, heartily.
MUSTARD SLAW: Blend 1/2 cup half-and-half, 1/4 cup sugar, 3 tablespoons each yellow mustard and cider vinegar, 2 tablespoons mayonnaise, 1 clove garlic, and 1 teaspoon salt. Pour over 6 cups shredded cabbage tossed with 1 small diced onion.
