Right on "Q"

What does “barbecue” mean to you? Is it a verb — the way to cook hunks of meat over an open flame in a sunny backyard? Or is it a noun: either the classic cuisine of the American South, or perhaps the grill on which people cook it? Does it describe a particular mouth-watering flavor of fire, smoke, hickory, oak, paprika, cayenne, brown sugar, nutmeg, fruit and other nuances? Or is it an event, an outdoor gathering for the enjoyment of good, down-home food and good, down-home company? Ask the true devotees, and they’ll tell you that it’s all of the above, as well as a way of life, the stuff of legend and fodder for fierce competition.

According to the USDA, “barbecue” is any meat cooked by the “direct action of heat resulting from burning of hardwood or the hot coals therefrom for a sufficient period to assume the usual characteristics” of a browned crust and about 30% weight loss. But that definition seems too clinical to describe the inspiration for an entire culture replete with its own customs, mores, lore and passionate followers.

Barbecue grill: an oxymoron?Barbecuing may be many things to many people, but it’s definitely not grilling — a common misconception. According to Lynn Shivers, the secretary/treasurer of the International Barbecue Cookers Association, Arlington, TX, two things that set barbecuing apart from grilling are the characteristics “low and slow.” Whereas grilling involves quickly cooking foods at high temperatures (some restaurant grills crank up to 1,000°F), true barbecuing requires cooking items for long periods — measured in half-days rather than hours — at relatively low temperatures (rarely exceeding 300°F).

Another main distinction: direct vs. indirect heat. A steak on a grill sits directly over and just a few inches away from the heat source, which quickly sears and caramelizes its surface while the inside remains juicy. Time is of the essence in grilling so meat should be small, thin enough for heat to penetrate, and fairly tender: kebabs, skinny steaks, burgers, sausages and chicken breasts, for example.

On the other hand, in traditional American barbecue pits, the fuel goes into a firebox located to the side of the cooking chamber providing indirect heat. Barbecuers have taken the concept of the traditional, two-chambered barbecue pit and created many variations. Barbecue competitions feature everything from oil-drum cookers and fixed brick pits to 1/4-in. steel pits and barbecues-on-wheels that competitors hitch to trailers. “They’re limited only by the imagination of the barbecuer,” says Carolyn Wells, executive vice president, National Barbecue Association, Kansas City, MO. But the pits bear the hallmark of keeping the smoke and flame out of direct contact with the meat.

Barbecuing’s characteristically low temperatures and long cooking times suits it to cooking big, unwieldy cuts of meat. “Low and slow” works magic on castaway cuts with lots of tough connective tissue: All that time bathing in the smoke and mild heat breaks down the sinewy tendons and renders the meat’s fat and gelatin, creating a tender finale that’s worth the 10- to 12-hour wait.

And don’t forget that smoke! A forest of fruitwoods all contribute a distinctive smoky flavor. The longer the meat sits in a cooking chamber with the fuel smoking consistently off to the side, the more the smoke sneaks into the meat and turns it into true Q.

Barbecuing all over the mapThe southern United States is the mecca of the barbecue world, but the region has a wide-ranging embrace of the culinary art. Various towns across the Southeast and into the Southwest have different — and wholly legitimate — takes on barbecue. There stand a few capitals where the Q is particularly renowned. Take the Carolinas — known as the “Cradle of American Barbecue” — where pigs rule the pits. Those in Memphis will boast that their hometown is the “Pork Barbecue Capital of the World.” Texas is no slouch, either, turning ornery brisket into tender, smoky slices of heaven. And one of the few places to find mutton these days is in the barbecues pits of Daviess County, KY. And if having to choose from just one style of barbecue is too much to ask, go to Kansas City, the “Barbecue Melting Pot” — if it moves, they’ll cook it.

In addition to differences in meats, differences in fuel also set regional style apart. “Here in Kansas City, we use hickory, we use oak, and we also have plentiful fruitwoods and use a lot of those,” says Wells. Actually, hickory wood shows up a whole lot in the Southeast, including Memphis, the Carolinas and Kentucky. Why? For one thing, the stuff grows everywhere. It’s also got the kind of profile that perfectly complements the meats used. Texas ranchers, on the other hand, needed to find something to do with all that mesquite, and luckily, they found that it — sometimes in combination with oak — lent the area’s barbecue a smoky flavor that no other wood could duplicate.

Q-masters from all regions also have strong opinions on the best ways to season their meats, and the debate over whether to go with a dry rub or a wet sauce can get as heated as the barbecue pits themselves. According to dry-rub disciples — mixtures of dried herbs and spices originally used to preserve meats — they are the only way to go, sealing in moisture and flavor and creating a toothsome crust on the barbecue’s surface. They often impart a stronger, tangier flavor to the meat than wet seasoning. Memphis’s famous dry ribs and the spice-rubbed brisket from Texas are two examples. Wells also notes that rubs are becoming more popular across barbecue regions. The trend owes itself to rubs’ ease of use and efficacy in delivering flavor to the meat.

The wet arsenal includes all manners of basting, mopping and sopping sauces (all liquids applied to the meat during barbecuing to add moisture and flavor), as well as marinades. And if they’re so inclined, these wet fans can anoint their finished Q with a table, or finishing sauce. To complicate things further, you’ve got the “slatherers” — those who use a moistened version of a dry rub to add less moisture than a sauce and less potent tanginess than a dry rub.

The flavors run the gamut, too. All barbecuers have their favorite formulas, and while some might reveal what’s in them, they’d probably have to kill you afterward. You can count on some characteristic ingredients and profiles, though. For example, Wells says that, “in the Carolinas, they generally use three different kinds of sauces.” There’s a mustard-based sauce common to the Southern part of the region, a sauce comprised of vinegar and peppers in the East and a tomato-based sauce that has fans in Western areas. On the other hand, Wells continues, “Memphis uses more of a marinade and baste — it’s a blend of vinegar and spices. A finishing sauce in Memphis would be thinner than those found in other regions.”

If a Texas Q-master isn’t applying a dry rub onto a brisket, he’s probably using a tomato-based sauce, but one with a slightly bolder, hotter seasoning. Kentucky barbecuers, on the other hand, “dip” their mutton with fat-and-acid basting sauces. And as for Kansas City, the predominant mode is a tomato-based sauce, often sweetened with molasses. But in keeping with that region’s ecumenical approach to barbecue, you can count on finding just about any type of marinade, dry rub, or mopping, sopping or finishing sauce.

The more one studies barbecue, the more one realizes, as Wells says that, “there are no absolutes in barbecue.” That goes for barbecue seasoning as well. Most anything is fair game for a sauce or rub. Of course, it’s rare that one finds, say, anise or Parmesan cheese in a sauce, but that’s not to say that in some corner of the map, a sauce or rub counts on unconventional ingredients as its secret weapon. And even more common ingredients incite friendly battle, with the faithful debating the merits of Spanish vs. Hungarian paprika, or brown sugar, as opposed to turbinado or cane. This is all part of what makes barbecue so fun.

Lone star steerTaking a closer look at honest-to-goodness barbecue cooks makes for an excellent introduction. Jeff Shivers, the International Barbecue Cookers Association’s executive director, regularly spends between eight and 10 hours in the trenches — actually, not so much a trench as a barbecue pit smoldering at around 275° to 300°F — doing his part to maintain the heritage of Texas-style barbecued brisket.

Brisket — the hunk of muscle and fat from the cow’s chest — is the meat of choice in the Lone Star state. Cows use these muscles for walking and standing, so most briskets are pretty buff when the cow makes it to the slaughterhouse. Since buff muscles make for tough meat, the brisket is naturally tough, composed of two muscles separated by a stubborn layer of fat that won’t render out, and capable of absorbing so much smoke that it can taste bitter.

It’s a happy twist of fate that these characteristics make it a shoe-in for a good barbecue. “The brisket is quite a bit bigger than any steak you’re going to cook. It’s thicker and you have to cook it slow to get it evenly cooked,” Shivers comments. Since cooking it like a steak will char its outside before the inside even gets going, to get the consistent doneness, you need to barbecue it — low and slow.

The average barbecue brisket is not the typical 2- to 3-lb. size most grocery shoppers find. In fact, a whole brisket runs from 10 to 15 lbs. “But you have to understand that one side of that’s going to be a lot of fat,” notes Shivers, so trimming can result in considerable size reductions. An experienced barbecuer, however, knows not to trim off too much of that fat since it naturally bastes the meat during cooking.

Experts recommend choosing one that’s 8 to 10 lbs. and that displays some flexibility. Paying extra for prime grade does no good since that just means there’s more marbling fat. The shape of the brisket provides a better indication of how long it will cook than the weight — a block-like 8-pounder requires more barbecue time than a long, skinny 10-lb. cut.

When it comes time to season, many Texans usually do so with a dry rub. (Sauces — mostly spicy, chile-pepper-laced, and based on tomatoes — usually are served on the side as finishing sauces.) Liquid marinades may be something of an oddity, too; hours of slow-smoking in a pit is all the tenderization and flavor development a good brisket needs. A strong sauce can cover up a multitude of sins in a bad piece of meat; a dry rub, on the other hand, doesn’t provide nearly so foolproof a disguise for poor quality — so be sure that you’ve got a nice cut of brisket from the start.

There’s no regulation formula for Texas barbecued brisket dry rub — every barbecuer, with a little trial and error, comes up with his or her own “secret formula.” Some common seasonings and flavorings include salt and pepper, paprika, chili powder, lemon pepper, sage, oregano, garlic salt, onion salt and even cornmeal or taco seasoning. The key is to have the rub’s flavor complement the natural flavor of the meat, rather than overpower it. Though salt helps conduct flavors into the meat, none of these seasonings are going to travel too far into the brisket, especially through that thick fat layer.

Salt has the ability to leach moisture from the meat surface. Since water conducts the heat of cooking better than dry tissue, moisture at the brisket’s surface aids heat penetration. The longer the meat stays moist, the more easily, evenly and quickly it will cook, guaranteeing a better barbecue.

Sugar should make a sparing appearance in dry rubs since it will burn during barbecuing. Shivers recommends applying any sugar-containing dry rub to the meat later in the cooking cycle, after completing most of the barbecuing, to avoid acrid, burnt-sugar flavors.

A good tactic for a dry rub involves applying it to the meat’s surface at least two hours before it goes into the cooking chamber. The salt in the blend draws moisture to the surface, moistening the rub and turning it into a sort of paste that adheres more easily to the meat. Others swear by coating the brisket with a fine wash of regular yellow mustard: it moistens the meat, seals the surface and sets up a tender crust; the vinegar in the mustard tenderizes the meat slightly; and it helps the dry rub adhere. Either way, Shivers cautions against using too heavy a hand with the seasoning, as too much of a crust hinders smoke penetration.

If a barbecuer chooses to baste a brisket with some sort of liquid — apple and lemon juices, as well as melted butter, are common — spraying it on with a spray bottle or dabbing it on gently with a metal spoon, prevents the sacrifice of any dry rub. Also, waiting two to four hours before application of basting liquid helps ensure that the dry rub has had time to set and form a crust on the surface. Finally, don’t use tomato-based products to baste a brisket unless applied near the end of cooking. Over 12 hours of slow-smoking a big hunk of meat, they and the sugars they contain will burn and become bitter long before the meat is ready.

Into the woodsJust as important as the seasoning is the choice of wood smoke. The weed-like plentitude of mesquite in west Texas made it the de facto smoking wood for that region. Deep in east Texas, however, the relatively liberal supply of hickory has allowed its smoke to supplant mesquite. Oak serves as a mild and convenient “blending” wood as it helps ameliorate any sharp notes attributable to stronger woods. Really, though, any hardwood or wood from a fruit-bearing tree, from apple and pear to alder, cherry and pecan, lends its own appealing smoky notes to meat.

A word of caution: Mesquite burns extremely hot, and it has a very pronounced — some would argue, bitter — flavor. Use dry wood in lieu of very green logs, as the resins and saps in young mesquite contain tars, phenols, cresols and other undesirables that can enhance that bitterness. Also, as a general rule, Wells cautions against using softwoods like pine or spruce, because they also produce a tongue-coating bitterness and astringency that lingers on the palate.

Maintaining a constant temperature can make or break a barbecue. A proper barbecue needs tending in order to maintain the optimum low — but not too low — cooking temperature for the full cooking time, and a conscientious barbecuer monitors the meat for doneness. You just can’t rush a barbecued brisket. Some pros place a pan of water in the barbecue, believing that the moisture moderates and stabilizes the temperature. There is some legitimate argument as to whether or not this has any effect, with passionate foes crowing that barbecuing is a dry-heat method and water only robs heat and smoke that could be cooking the meat. But the strategy’s persistence would indicate that, at least for some, it’s worth the effort and the fuel.

The long time that a piece of meat spends in the pit gives smoke time to penetrate. This creates a pink ring, the size of which indicates the depth to which the smoke has soaked the meat. (Much to the barbecuer’s chagrin, some diners take it as a sign that the meat’s not fully cooked. Not so. After half a day spent smoking at between 200° and 300°F, the meat is fully cooked. In fact, once the internal temperature gets to around 125°F, the meat’s edible, although to truly render its fat and tenderize a brisket, you’ll want it to reach about 185°F.) Additionally, Shivers notes that a little salt or hot pepper sauce, given time, can initiate the same chemical process that leads to the pink smoke ring — the reaction of nitric dioxide with oxygen, myoglobin and moisture on the meat’s surface to form nitrous oxide. The moister the meat’s surface, the more pronounced will be the smoke ring.

More smoke isn’t necessarily better, particularly when it comes from strong mesquite. Some barbecuers work solely with wood that has burnt down to charcoals and don’t add any logs to the firebox to keep the bitter smoke at bay. As another means of avoiding over-smoking, Shivers recommends wrapping the brisket in foil approximately halfway through cooking. This way, the smoke works its magic throughout the first half; the dry heat creates the signature caramelized barbecue flavors and crispy-on-the-outside/tender-on-the-inside texture. During the tail end of the cooking, the foil protects the meat from incorporating too much smoke — adding a little melted butter allows it to finish cooking almost in a braising phase that adds flavor, holds moisture and tenderizes the meat.

Carolina’s hog heavenThe barbecue pits in Texas may be overflowing with beef briskets, but in the Carolinas, pork is king. Pork — particularly the generously marbled barbecue shoulder — is ideally suited to barbecue cooking. All that fat, as well as the tendons and gelatin nestling among the joints, render during long, slow barbecuing, basting the meat and keeping it moist. Furthermore, pork’s mild, adaptable flavor marries well with just about any type of seasoning. But to maintain optimum flavor, Q-masters should pay mind to freshness. Thanks to pork fat’s high proportion of unsaturated fatty acids, the meat can develop rancid off-flavors fairly easily.

What about rubs, swabs, marinades and sauces? Many pork-pickin’ experts swear by them. Others, however, consider them distractions on pulled-pork barbecue, claiming that the meat bastes itself and that smoke provides the only added flavor the tender flesh needs. Sauces come into play after the barbecue is done, as finishing sauces. Eastern Carolina sauces probably find their roots back in Great Britain; they are tomato-free “ketchups,” usually containing vinegar, pepper, mushrooms and sometimes oyster extracts. Farther west, you start seeing sauces with tomato — usually modern-day ketchup. And ketchup’s eternal tablemate, mustard, plays a solo gig in the barbecue sauces of the southern Carolinas.

Pros know to stick with hard, fruit or nut woods. Hickory is classic in the South, and it’s often paired with oak (the milder white oak creating a more desirably flavored smoke than stronger red and blackjack oaks). Mixing woods for the best effect has become an arena where barbecuers can showcase their creativity. Some of the favored choices for mixing and matching include apple, peach and cherry, all of which are mild. Others consider nut woods, like pecan and walnut, the Cadillac choices for pork barbecue. And while alder might be popular for smoking fish, and mesquite for grilling beef, both make unacceptable fuels for slow-cooking pork. Their smoke is too strong and has the potential to turn that subtly flavored pork dismayingly bitter.

Fortunately, over-smoking is less of a problem with pork than with brisket because the shoulders commonly used are bundled muscles, thicker and denser than the thin brisket strips. This makes hours of smoking less of a threat, the smoke usually only penetrates about 1/4-in. worth of meat.

Traditionally, barbecuers would dig holes in the ground and burn wood chips down there. Once they got the hog in place, they’d cover it and let it smoke away. These days, the barbecue pits are less primitive. In many cases, wood is burnt to coals in a separate hearth and transferred to above-ground pits of rocks, brick, cement or metal. These pits have a grill or grating to hold the pork — generally at 18 to 36 in. above the coals. A cover lays directly on top of or above the meat to contain the smoke and keep ashes from falling on the meat.

Naturally, estimates as to the proper temperature at which to maintain the pits vary. Pulled pork barbecue relies on a relatively cheap cut of meat cooking over a moderate flame long enough so that its connective tissues break down and its meat easily pulls away from the bone; it shouldn’t cook so long that it dries out. Most experts agree that maintaining a cooking temperature between 250° and 275°F for eight to 12 hours will do the trick.

When it’s done, the coolest part of the shoulder will have reached 170°F (some recommend going up to 195°F for optimum tenderness). Barbecuers know that it’s time to take the meat out of the cooker when the skin has browned thoroughly and has blistered away from the meat; the surface of the meat is ringed with that pink border; and the bones easily separate from the tender meat.

Carolina barbecue is best pulled into chunks and heaped on a fluffy white bun, with or without finishing sauces, and often garnished with coleslaw. Take care when slicing the meat — after hours in the pit, it’s already falling-apart tender, and when hot, it gets even more tender, so let the barbecue cool before going at it with the knife. A barbecued pork shoulder gets totally black on the outside. Called “bark,” it’s one of the truest treasures of barbecue, thanks to its caramelization and intense smoke flavor. “Bark is a highly prized thing,” explains Wells, “so if you’re chopping pork, you mix that bark in, and it really makes it tasty.”

Mutton ain’t like nuttin’ elseThat pork, beef, ribs and even chicken found their ways to barbecue pits across the country should come as no surprise. But by preserving the area’s cultural heritage of mutton barbecue, the good folks in Owensboro, KY, are resurrecting a neglected meat.

Like most regional styles of barbecue, the kind in Daviess County — where you’ll find Owensboro — arose from economic necessity. When Dutch settlers arrived in Western Kentucky about 200 years ago, they began raising sheep. Michelle Wright, publicity chair and past chair of the International Barbecue Festival in Owensboro, says that the area’s farmers had to find a way to render older, tougher, stronger-tasting mutton palatable. What better way than with the slow, low-temperature smoking of barbecue? Mutton needs hours in the pit with a liberal dousing of smoke to tame its flavor, soften hardy old tendons and turn it into a moist, juicy, and surprisingly mild treat.

Most mutton barbecuers follow the same general code as other barbecuers: low temperatures and many hours over a pit (an open one in this case) with wood (usually indigenous hickory and oak). Sometimes, barbecuers will parboil the mutton first, to loosen up those muscles. But, “even the folks who parboil the mutton cook from about 7 a.m. until 3 p.m. Now, the ones that don’t parboil put their meat on probably at about 4 a.m.,” where it remains until it’s ready sometime that afternoon, Wright says.

The pits used are usually about 3-ft. deep and lined with sand. Barbecuers scatter wood over the sand and burn it down to coals for about an hour before cooking. At this stage, the pit temperature is at its highest, Wright says. But as the wood burns down, the temperature gradually decreases. Meanwhile, barbecuers continually “dip” the meat with a basting sauce of lard, oil, or some sort of fat, lemon and vinegar for a little tartness and perhaps tenderization, cayenne for heat, and maybe pickling spices for distinction.

Calling it a “dip” may be somewhat misleading; many Q-masters not only baste the meat, but inject it into the mutton, too. Nonetheless, it becomes a true dip after barbecuing, when it accompanies the finished meat. The combination of this dip and hours of smoky heat create a crispy, burnt “bark” on the mutton that is a real keeper — whether rimming slices or mixed into chopped meat for sandwiches.Mutton has such a sharp, gamy tang that it needs lots of smoke to tone down its high-profile flavor. The smoke “takes the wildness out of it, and when it comes out, it’s mild like a roast,” muses Wright.

(BB)Q-tipsWe could all sit around a barbecue pit for hours, shooting the breeze as our pork butt and brisket got smokier and more tender by the minute. But that just won’t cut it if you want to manufacture food profitably. “There is no question that manufacturing barbecue-type products in a rapid or continuous system can be difficult due to the numerous factors affecting the final taste and texture of items prepared in this manner,” says Ronald J. Foster, product and process development, Red Arrow Products, Manitowoc, WI.

Flavors and condiments, as well as advances in marinating and smoking technology, have helped bring the goal of manufacturing true-to-the-Q foods within the realm of possibility. Any convenience store, take-out joint or institutional foodservice operation sells precooked and sauced meats ready to heat and eat. Tumbled meats with smoke and flavor injected into them have become de rigeur, and gas- and wood-fired commercial cookers make barbecue quick, efficient and successful.

Without hours of low-heat cooking, “product developers have many options for bringing authentic barbecue flavor to the table,” notes Denise Triunfol, manager of product development for coating systems at McCormick Flavors, Hunt Valley, MD. By tailoring flavor solutions, they can overcome some of the drawbacks of traditional barbecue: flavor and texture variability and the long cook. Different flavoring approaches — marinade, dry rub, paste or sauce — can deliver nuanced flavors that mimic those imparted by traditional cooking methods. “Some prefer to have the strong impact of smoke, and even get more specific with hickory, mesquite or sweet apple wood. Others prefer the salty, cured flavor,” she says.

Flavorists work with the same basic flavor palette as traditional barbecuers: different types of smoke, browned and grilled flavors, caramelized and roasted notes, sweetness from molasses and honey as well as from sugar, tomato, heat, onion and garlic, vinegar’s tartness, and sweet spices such as cinnamon, clove and nutmeg.Overwhelmingly, these flavors make it to market as barbecue sauces.

Nationally, the most popular sauces are primarily tomato-based, but regional preferences prevail even on the commercial side. For example, vinegar — the basis for eastern Carolina sauces — may not play an obvious role in commercial tomato-based sauces, but it’s definitely there. The battle between mustard and tomato sauces has moved to the commercial side too, as evidenced by the wider popularity of mustard-based sauces in the Southeast than in the Midwest, Northeast and Southwest. While folks in the latter region may prefer a spicy-hot, smoky barbecue sauce with a Tex-Mex heritage, that character may not go over so well in Kansas City, which likes a molasses-based sweetness.

Regional boundaries shatter as grocery stores go global and consumers in Seattle can find authentic Memphis barbecue sauce. Consumers are becoming more aware of the allure of regional flavors. Teri Mascuch, director of marketing at McCormick, notes that, “as regional appreciation grows, the consumer will want to have these differences offered for their choosing.”

Despite these regional allegiances, you can rest assured that, as Orest Hanas, McCormick’s manager of product development for condiments, says, “people expect tangy, spicy, smoky and sweet when they go for the bottle. The ways in which these flavors are delivered are as vast as the different varieties of sauces on the market.” Hence, the trend toward customized flavor profiles that highlight bolder notes and signature ingredients, such as roasted garlic, chipotle chile and apple-cider vinegar to satisfy consumers’ increasingly sophisticated tastes.

Those tastes probably won’t stand for an unpleasant, burnt (as opposed to caramelized) note in their barbecue. As all the pros warned, applying sweetened tomato-based sauces too early results in that acrid, burnt flavor that comes from the Maillard reaction taken to the extreme. But most backyard cooks aren’t standing over their grills, basting chicken wings for eight hours; the shorter cooking times make concerns regarding extensive burning beside the point. If the sauce has sufficient flavor impact and delivers the same character to the food as slow cooking, the consumer doesn’t need to apply it until the end of the cooking time. Also, Hanas notes that sugars that contribute to burning come more from sweeteners in the sauce than from the tomato base itself. So, Triunfol says, “in concentrated marinades, natural tomato flavors are used to deliver tomato without the burn.”

Heat is becoming an increasingly popular element of barbecue flavor. Triunfol not only notices that consumers are expecting it more, but that they can distinguish between different types of heat: “Is that a jalapeño heat or an habanero heat?” they ask.

The pool of spices product developers can dip into to provide heat grows with the demand. “We develop barbecue seasonings with a variety of ‘hot’ spices: black pepper, chili pepper, fermented chiles, capsicum oils and oleoresins, to name a few.” And where there’s fire, there’s often smoke — smoked and grilled flavor systems tapping into different types of chiles, such as chipotle, also add a distinct roasted note.

Smoke flavor is also a classic barbecue trademark, and food processors can get it by way of commercial smokehouses — or even without them. Advances in the development of natural and artificial smoke flavors may allow improvements on the smoking process with a variety of products suited to a specific application. As an example, Hickory Specialties Inc., Brentwood, TN, offers mild-flavored smoke extracts that supply more color than flavor; vegetable-based extracted smoke oils; smoke powders that combine aqueous smoke with carriers such as barley flour, corn flour, and maltodextrin with smoke salts; and a special blend of table-grind salt and aqueous smoke.

Using smoke flavors helps control the intensity and consistency of smoke flavor and color without smoking longer. Applying liquid smoke flavors by atomization replicates traditional wood-burning systems, but according to technologists at Hickory Specialties, “breaks down smoke into finer particles during smoking, to ensure a consistent and more stable surface color with a great shelf life.” Another application technology recommended by the company, drenching, floods the meat surface with a liquid-smoke solution, which reacts with the meat’s protein, providing controlled color and flavor.

Product developers are free to mix and match different wood-smoke flavors just as are barbecue masters. Two of the most popular ones available are, not surprisingly, hickory and mesquite. Melissa Kedrowski, corporate chef and culinary development specialist for Red Arrow Products explains, “Hickory smoke provides a smooth smoke taste that is well-suited for developing a pit-smoked flavor.” Mesquite’s ashier, earthier character accentuates sweet, tangy and peppery notes, bringing “a unique flavor effect that accents Texas-style barbecue products,” Kedrowski adds.

While barbecue sauces fierce with smoke and spice are popular, a failure to mention dry rubs and marinades would be remiss. Functional rubs not only incorporate ingredients that develop flavors, but adding tenderizers can improve the meat’s texture, as well. Some even produce surface colors typical of barbecued meats that appeal to the eyes, as well. Marinades also help improve texture, provide a deeper flavor delivery and maintain moisture. “Marinating meat by injection or vacuum tumbling is also an excellent way to deliver flavor. A product developer has so many options for combating, minimizing and eliminating some of the barbecuer’s biggest challenges by using this process,” Triunfol notes. Challenges such as burnt and discolored meat, extensive moisture loss and toughness.

Creating flavor solutions for barbecue is becoming less of a chore and more of a voyage of discovery. The best way to develop authentic taste in commercial barbecue involves making a pilgrimage to barbecue capitals and eating your way through what they have to offer — product developers ideally would familiarize themselves with the taste of authentic barbecue and find out what the locals are eating. “We routinely have people come to Kansas City and to Memphis to research the barbecue here to see how they can duplicate it at their facilities,” says Wells.

You’ve also got to discern whether regional favorites will go over well throughout the country. Understanding customer expectations is key. And, as Hanas says, “if the customer’s expectation is to create a flavor profile that has a broad consumer appeal, the developer needs to do a lot sensory and consumer testing to come up with the right product.” Finally, Wells advises product developers to keep their minds on the five elements of barbecue: the meat, the cooking unit, the seasoning, the fuel and, the most elusive of all, the expertise of the chef.

Kimberly Decker, a California-based technical writer, has a bachelor’s degree in consumer food science with a minor in English from the University of California-Davis. She lives in the San Francisco Bay area, and enjoys cooking and eating food in addition to writing about it.