Chapter 27 - Smokin’ meat - Part 1.

Andrew Murphy slicing up some Franklin’s barbecue brisket!

We have family in Austin, Texas: Smash’s brother, Jerome, his wife Marilyn and their boys, all of whom we love dearly and try to see as often as possible. When we visit, we always devote one night to barbecue. Not Aussie style, where you stand around in the back yard, turning snags and steak – that’s grilling. I’m talking smokehouse barbecue: whole briskets cooked in smokers, succulent and juicy on the inside, barked up, intense smoky flavour and stickiness on the outside. They also do ribs, of course, sausages, chicken, but it’s the brisket we are most enamoured of, perhaps because it’s impossible to achieve the same flavours at home without a smoker. Jerome orders the barbecue from Franklin’s – they’re a big deal in Austin. Long, long queues of eager patrons line up on the verandah, down the steps, even sitting in camp chairs along the sidewalk. Famous people wait in minivans outside the restaurant, either slipping into a VIP chrome Airstream at the back to eat their barbecue in peace or sending their minions in to pick it up for them. American barbecue is a unique method and flavour, nothing like our Aussie barbecue, and I now understand why the Americans we met were shocked to hear us say we barbecue two or three times a week back home – perhaps wondering about the state of our colons.

 In 2018 we went to Austin for Jerome and Marilyn’s youngest son’s wedding. Most of Jerome’s family made the trip over from Australia, with partners, a collective which could have turned the wedding into a Chladil Family Reunion, but managed to just control itself, allowing the gorgeous young couple their moment in the sun. Barbecue at Marilyn and Jerome’s was arranged for one night before the wedding, their friends invited, all bringing sides to go with the meat: potato salad, pinto beans cooked with bacon or pork, creamed corn, and macaroni cheese which seems like caloric overkill but is in reality, deliciously perfect. I passed on the sliced white bread that is always served with the meat, but loaded up on sliced pickles, raw onions and jalapeños.

I remember that night so clearly, everyone hustling for a place to set their plate of food down, air thick with umami overload, glasses tinkling, laughter and chatter quelling as everyone got down to the serious task of eating. At first bite, I looked across the sea of family, saw Smash looking back at me and I knew exactly what he was thinking: I want more of this in my life. More of everything – his family of course, probably the macaroni cheese, but mostly, the brisket.

From that moment on, he has been trying to replicate the deliciousness of Franklin’s barbecued brisket which is quite a high goal to set oneself. He’s always liked a challenge, however, so as soon as we got back to Australia, he started searching on-line, went to a Barbecue expo, learned about different kinds of charcoal, got hooked into a passionate forum discussion about whether gas or electric smokers really qualified as the real deal. (Never ceases to amaze me how vitriolic people get in faceless on-line disagreements. I cringed when Ricky in Dallas proudly posted a photo of his gas smoker only to get verbally scalded by the group and branded as a ‘cheater’ for not using charcoal.)

As with most on-line research, Smash ended up overwhelmed with conflicting information, so he decided to consult the Oracle – a guy at work called Data Dave (who does something amazing in IT but is more famous for his pit boss and brew master skills). Data Dave suggested ceramic over metal and told Smash what brand he himself had. When we looked up how much it cost, I nearly went vegetarian and suggested we just start out with something simple, see if he liked it before drawing down on the mortgage. Smash conceded, it was probably a good idea, and we could always use the ‘practice smoker’ as a warming oven when he got the big ceramic one, which implied an awful lot of meat was going to be barbecued in one go.

‘No point going to all that trouble just for one sausage,’ he explained.

‘Trouble? I thought it was meant to be fun.’

No answer. We were strolling around the Weber showroom by then, being eyed off by two salesmen who were holding onto the sales counter, mooring themselves until the starter gun went off and they could bound from the blocks. We’d already decided which one we were getting and had agreed in the car that we were not going to go over budget or let any tricky salesman change our minds. Still, seeing as we were there, we figured we may as well take a look around.

I imagine a lot of time and effort goes into showroom floor layouts and decor. Magical time and effort, that confuses your thoughts, excites your senses, makes you feel happier and richer than you actually are. You stumble at first, looking here, looking there; you make a plan to start on one side of the room, get separated, shout out to each other to come and check this one out, but inevitably, mystically, you are drawn to the Top of the Line. Smug, shiny, superior, the TOTL sits proudly on an AstroTurf plinth, lording it over all the other mere metals. You stop talking and stare, and that is the moment you feel the hot breath of sales on the back your neck.

Unfortunately for Darren, or ‘Dazz’ as his co-worker addressed him, ‘Sales’ is Smash’s superpower. He knows all the techniques, all the tells, all the tricks of the trade. In saying that, he also loves to hear a good sales pitch, indeed, he was probably eager to be convinced that the TOTL was the only one for him, so he gave Dazz his five minutes, made impressed faces, lifted the lid to check inside and laughed when Dazz made a joke about whether size mattered.

It was all going along well, then Dazz tripped up.

He tried to play us off against each other in a way that probably worked really well in the 1950’s but sounded out of touch with the times now. Barbecuing was ‘Men’s Business’ and any input from me, especially in terms of price point was most definitely a threat to Smash’s manhood. Also, Dazz wasn’t very subtle and his inference that Smash was being held back, shackled by the old ball and chain made us both laugh (probably because it was spookily close to the mark). We laughed. Then Dazz started laughing too, perhaps mirroring our behaviour in order to put us at ease, then he got back to the hard sell, but by then the spell had been broken, and all Smash wanted to do was get home and get smokin’. He’d already purchased a gigantic slab of brisket – it was waiting at home, rolled in spice rub, ready to go. We strolled back to the relatively cheap section and settled on one, slightly more expensive than the one we’d planned, (so Dazz could give himself a pat on the back for that), loaded her up in the car and sped home.

I didn’t pay much attention to the cooking process as it was happening downstairs and seemed very inorganic, too technical, with a digital thermometer connected to the wifi, and fire starter blocks that smelt horrible. Smash was very excited by the digital thermometer and yelled out minute by minute updates on temperature fluctuations.

After a couple of hours, I went downstairs to check it out. ‘How does it look?’

‘If you’re lookin’, it ain’t cookin’, Smash said then, and so many times after it started to get tedious.

He also talked a lot about the next smoker he was going to upgrade to, once he got the hang of things with his ‘practice smoker’ which seemed a little insulting to the brand-new Weber that was doing its very best right in front of him.

 The brisket was sensational – not Franklin’s sensational, but the flavour was intense and for a first effort, I was mightily impressed, as was Smash. Encouraged, he tried other cuts, and some fish, pork ribs, chicken, sausages, steak, vegetables – all delicious. Every time the boys came over for dinner Smash wanted to ‘smoke something’. We loved eating it, Smash loved cooking it, he was getting better and better at it, on a trajectory to pit master supremacy.

Then all of a sudden, the wind changed.

No one knows for sure what happened. Maybe Smash got over-confident and started taking shortcuts; maybe it was the article I stumbled across citing the carcinogenic side effects of eating smoked meats that jinxed him, or maybe the Weber just got sick of hearing about how great the ceramic Komodo was. Whatever the cause, the magic smoking spell was broken.

Instead of music, laughter, and bellowed temperature reports coming from downstairs, there was clanging and swearing and when I leaned out the window to ask him what was wrong, the Weber lid came rolling out onto the grass at a speed that suggested some forceful propulsion. The charcoal lumps would not heat up, if he took his eye of them ‘for an effing second’ they’d go out. Maintaining the heat turned into a stressful marathon. There was plenty of smoke, but no heat. Through the gappy Qlder floorboards I could hear him berating his Weber – ‘Piece of shit. WTF is wrong with you?’ The Weber sulked and didn’t respond.  I went down and suggested he just go back to doing exactly what he used to do, and he gave me a look that suggested he’d already tried that so I left him to it and closed all the doors and windows to stop the smoke streaming through the house, smoke that had detoured around the meat while the lid was off. Now was not the time to chant ‘If you’re lookin’, it ain’t cookin’ – it didn’t seem as cute and folksy when things were going badly. Rather than an enjoyable hobby, barbecuing became a challenge. Every time he cooked, something would go wrong and mealtimes became counselling sessions.

‘I’ve ruined it.’

‘No, you haven’t. It’s just a little undercooked.’

‘It’s crap.’

‘It’s fine.’

‘No, it’s not.’

If he wasn’t self-flagellating, he was blaming the Weber. The kettle drum was too thin. The seal, hopeless. It was like eating dinner with parents who weren’t getting on, complete with snipy little asides. It was obvious the Weber wasn’t growing with him; he’d surpassed it and needed to move on in his life, to something new and better.

Despite their problems, Smash continued to try and make their relationship work, largely because we couldn’t afford a ceramic smoker but also, he doesn’t like giving up. No surrender, instead, the Webber Warrior pushed headlong into battle, tongs raised, jaw set. I sighed inwardly whenever he said he was going to give it another go; the boys shared surreptitious looks when he suggested smoked brisket for their birthdays.

‘Sure, Pops. Sounds good. But we could always eat out, if it’s too much hassle.’

‘It’s not a hassle.’

But it was. Oh, it really was, which is why, when he suggested we invite a bunch of people over for smoked beef ribs at the block next time we went down, I mumbled, ‘great idea’ and hoped he would forget about it. He didn’t forget about the beef ribs, but he did forget to pack the Weber and digital thermometer. Full disclosure, I had remembered it when we were packing, but at the last minute I bit my tongue, thinking how much more relaxing our weekend would be without the two of them bickering. At Aratula, Smash remembered, and kicked himself all the way on to Nundubbermere. The weekend would be ruined, and no we couldn’t just cook them in the gas Family Q Weber because that would be cheating – imagine if someone in the smoker community found out. He did agree though, that turning back from Aratula, which is a third of the way to Stanthorpe, would be a pain in the arse.

‘There’s always next time’, I said.

No, Smash said. He would work out a way to make a smoker down at the block. He had four kilos of beef ribs and by crikey, he was going to cook them.

Edited Note: After a stern dressing down by by beloved brother-in-law, Jerome, I am now aware that charcoal is NEVER used in Texas barbecue, only real oak wood. On behalf of the Chladil Family Pride, I wholeheartedly, and insincerely apologise for this gross error and promise we will NEVER, ever, ever use charcoal again. I deeply regret any shame this has brought on the Texas Chladils and if we ever come to Austin again, it will be under the cover of darkness, in disguise.

Sausages and ribs in happier times.