Special dishes heat up local barbecue scene
Barbecue is a venerable art, but not an unchanging one. It's been a decade-plus since the form began its rise in popularity around here. We know our basics by now: pulled pork, beef brisket, ribs, and chicken. And there's been a modest expansion beyond those staples.
It's more evolution than revolution so far. That Massachusetts is not a traditional barbecue region might seem to encourage heterodoxy, but Gary Goldblatt of the website pigtrip.net tells me in an e-mail that area restaurateurs are still working hard for "acceptance of their mainstream offerings." He suggests you watch for specials, where chefs may stretch out stylistically - more on that below. (A home smoker and onetime competitive barbecuer, Goldblatt is an outspoken enthusiast but neither a snob nor a sentimentalist. His lively website is packed with reviews and news, mostly about the Northeast.)
In any case, it's worth making the rounds of Eastern Massachusetts eateries for some nontraditional tastes and textures along with the familiar. What we found falls into two categories: 1) familiar barbecued meats that are recycled in other dishes and 2) meats that we had not encountered in barbecue form before.
In the first group, you'll find meatloaf and chili. The meatloaf at the Horseshoe Grille in North Reading combines their barbecued brisket with ground sirloin. Candidly, we wouldn't say that we could detect any barbecue lineage, but it is a remarkably savory meatloaf.
The chili at Chili Head Barbeque Co. in West Bridgewater is made with brisket burnt ends. It's a pleasant meat and broth combination, but we probably made a mistake in asking for mild heat, which adjustment seemed to kill the vividness we anticipated. (All comments here about a particular offbeat dish don't extend to the whole menu - Chili Head's ribs and brisket, for instance, are first-rate.)
The Smokin' Bowl o' Red Chili at Jake's Dixie Roadhouse in Waltham is neither lunchroom chili (the usual ground beef, tomatoes, and beans), nor Western chili (beef chunks stewed with chili peppers). But this is a brilliant dish - not beef, but pulled pork with plenty of chewiness left, in a tomato-chili-pepper broth that has both heat and depth of flavor and is topped with a thin, pretty layer of grease. Frickles - fried pickles (yes, we also kept an eye out for unusual side orders) - are a perfect foil to the richness of the chili. And Eric's Grit Cakes (also deep-fried!) made us think we'd died and gone to Carolina, so close are they to Southern corn bread - toothy crust outside, coarse, redolent meal inside, and no sugar.
Pork loin is in the second category - meats that are relatively new to barbecued form. It's lean (as traditional barbecue cuts like pork shoulder and most ribs are not), and the challenge, owner David Brannon of the Texas BBQ Co. in Northborough says, is to keep it from drying out. His crew smokes the pork for six hours as it rests in a marinade similar to a Carolina vinegar-pepper sauce. The result, sliced, is pleasant barbecue lite - just right for some, too bland for others. (If you're one of the latter, help the barbecue along with some of the addictive Texas Caviar dip, a sort of black-eyed-pea gazpacho that you scoop with corn chips.)
Barbecued turkey seems a natural step beyond chicken. In evidence is the Smokehouse turkey breast at the Memphis Roadhouse in South Attleboro. Like deli smoked turkey, it is served cold, in sandwich form. But it's way above refrigerator cold-cut level. Sliced thick, it's tender but still has texture along with a delicate, blossomy aroma of smoke. Luke Prevost, general manager, says the boneless breast is given a wet rub, then smoked for up to six hours.
And if turkey, why not duck? Duck has the firm texture, strength of flavor, and reservoirs of fat to enable the transmutation that is barbecuing at its ideal. Elaine Murphy of True Blue BBQ in Kingston smokes a whole duck for four hours at a little higher temperature than the rest of her menu (which includes pulled pork, baby back ribs, pork loin, chicken, and a terrific whole turkey). The duck flesh has an irresistible condensed meatiness, enriched by smoke. The crisp, tasty skin is a wonderful bonus, as pork crackling is to roast pork.
Specials, as Goldblatt says, give restaurants a chance to loosen up. The problem is, of course, that you may not be there when they do. Some eateries, however, run "regular" specials. Paul Bello, owner of Chili Head, hosts a game barbecue about six times a year (call or watch the website, chiliheadbbq.com) that has featured buffalo, kangaroo, wild boar, and alligator.
Brannon of the Texas BBQ Co. barbecues buffalo ribs every other Friday and on occasion has smoked quail. He's very big on his 32-ounce bone-in Angus rib-eye steaks, which he treats to a dry rub and then smokes for up to 2 1/2 hours. It sounds like an improbable recipe, but a man who makes brisket as good as Brannon's is worth taking a risk on (the rib-eye is offered on Fridays and always sells out).
Blue Ribbon Bar-B-Q co-owner Geoff Janowski says to keep an eye on the specials boards. He likes to barbecue chicken thighs with different spice rubs, Indian and Latin American among them. On Fridays, they smoke catfish or salmon.
Spam, whose appeal is either brazen or homey, depending on whether you grew up eating it, makes up half of Blue Ribbon Bar-B-Q's Dixie Loaf, an occasional special. After smoking for three or four hours, the loaf comes out like a country pate in texture, and the warm spicing fills the palate. It sure beats Mom's Spam Surprise.
