Call me Tex. Nah, just kidding—my name’s Jim, and this is no big whale story, and it’s definitely not some ode to fly fishing. You see, in our family, there was no clear line between religion and Texas barbecue. Now I’m talking Central Texas beef brisket barbecue, and if you haven’t tasted it, you’ve really missed out. The tender and juicy meat literally melts in your mouth.
I first tasted this delicacy back in graduate school studying physics at the University of Texas. Marilyn and I didn’t have much money then, so we didn’t go to any fancy restaurants. We found we could satisfy our tastebuds just fine at several barbecue places scattered around Austin.
Lucky for me, the pitmaster who introduced me to this heavenly food was a descendent from German and Czech immigrants who began settling Central Texas in the mid-19th century and brought this method of cooking to the U.S. He really knew what he was doing.
“We cook this here brisket low’n’slow,” he volunteered, handing me a piece to sample.
“Whatta ya mean?” I asked, just before tasting it for the first time.
“Well, a big brisket, say ten-pounds, takes about 20 hours, using our big old smoker out back—that’s the slow part. I keep the temperature about 225 degrees —that’s the low part,” he explained.
“Man is this GOOD,” after taking my first bite. “That’s the best barbecue I’ve ever tasted. Did you put some kind of special rub on the meat before cooking it?” I asked.
“Nah, just good old salt and pepper,” he grinned. “That aroma you’re smelling is from the burning wood. I’m using mesquite today, maybe post oak next week. That’s a big part of the special taste.”
Wow, he cooks it with smoke—SMOKE, I couldn’t believe it as the last juicy piece melted in my mouth. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.
“You’ve gotta try my Texas Trinity,” he continued as he brought me back down to earth and packed up servings of brisket, pork spareribs, and sausage for me to take home. “You and your wife are in for the treat of your life,” he crowed. And man, was he ever right. All three were delicious, but for me, brisket was the one that tasted like heaven.
Well, my easy access to this delicacy ended in ’73. My Texan odyssey took me up north where I got my first real job—a medical physicist position at WashU in St. Louis. Now I never thought that I’d leave Texas, but I was grateful to land a position. Before leaving though, I did some barbecue research. Turns out that the U.S.’s so-called barbecue belt is divided into four distinct barbecue traditions—Carolina, Memphis, Texas, and Kansas City. Well, at least Missouri made the list, so I was hopeful.
And I did find some tasty BBQ brisket there—especially Kansas City’s smoky cubes of brisket with a crunchy, caramelized bark. And St. Louis’ pork ribs basted with a sweet-vinegary, mustard-ketchup sauce were really good too. But, alas, neither erased my yearning for that Texas brisket heavenly taste.
But I didn’t give up. I also searched the barbecue havens of nearby Memphis but found that it’s all about pork and complex dry rubs emphasizing paprika and garlic—not even close for me. I even flew out to South Carolina to sample their barbecue specialties (just kidding—I had a medical physics meeting there). They’re also all about pork with a spice-and-vinegar mop as it’s cooking and served with a ketchup and mustard-based sauce on the side. Pretty tasty, but sadly it didn’t stop my craving for good old Texas barbecue brisket.
Well, in 2004, my Texan odyssey took me to Davis, California to help the UC Davis Radiation Oncology Department. Turns out, the city of Davis has a thing for pizza joints and Asian restaurants—but not so much for barbecue. Unfortunately, in a serious lapse of reasoning, I’d gifted my Texas smoker to my St. Louis home’s new owners. What was I thinking? Luckily, we lived near Nugget Markets, and I noticed they brought a big smoker/grill to their parking lot on the weekend. I quickly struck up a conversation with the chef.
“I just moved to town and I’m missing some good old Texas barbecue. Have you got any brisket?” I asked.
“No, but I’ve got something much better—tri-tip. It’s delicious, a much better grade of meat,” he answered. “Here, try a taste.”
Well, it did look delicious, nicely charred and lathered with some dark reddish sauce. So, I thanked him and took a bite.
“That’s pretty good, but you see, I’ve tasted Texas barbecue brisket. I know Texas barbecue brisket. Texas barbecue brisket is revered food to me. AND MAN, THIS TRI-TIP IS NO TEXAS BARBECUE BRISKET.”
But, as the years passed, and visits back to Texas became fewer and fewer, along with some encouragement from my doctor, I cut back on eating red meat. In Davis, I discovered salmon, steelhead trout, sashimi… Talk about delicious. Now, if they’ll just come up with some ahi poke as good as that I had in Hawaii, I think I’ll be just fine. You see, I’ve come to accept that my globetrotting days are over, and now realize that eventually, all things merge into one, and the Sacramento river runs through it. I’m just happy that my quest for that holy grail taste of Texas barbecue brisket during my Texan odyssey gave me the opportunity to taste life to its fullest. Now who could ask for anything more?