As I sit here, sipping a gin, I remind myself how lucky I am. Not necessarily for the gin, nor for the countless other blessings--or whatever you'd like to call them--but for my freedom to attempt a career that suits me perfectly. Thus far, at least.
Out of the 100some-odd job titles I've held over the years, the one of "Guy Trying to Start His Own Barbecue Thing" is the one that's breathed life into my worn self. I'm excited. I've tried professions that are passions, and had some swell times in the process. The longest tenured was in the Outdoor and Fly Fishing Industries, which certainly had it's perks. Talking and teaching fishing, hiking, and camping to like-minded folks, guiding people on the waters of Colorado, being immersed in something that I'm good at. Some absolutely incredible experiences. Things that were not perks, though, were the pay (or lack thereof) and working for absolute fucksticks (I'm looking at you, Tucker Ladd). But luckily, life had plans during my final run in that corner of the leisure industry. Plans that opened up opportunities for me to try my hand at something that I believe is pure rock & roll. And that I dig. I have never worked at a restaurant, I don't think. Closest was a stint at a hotel working in the banquets department. There, I got to serve mediocre food in a tuxedo during wedding receptions while the bride's dirty aunt grabbed my ass. Not bad work for a mid-20s Matt Todd. Honestly, I've never had the desire to work at an actual restaurant. I love to cook, but am certain a professional restaurant gig would sink that passion quickly. So why is this barbecue thing clicking? Great question. It's clicking because of the nontraditional, uncouth, freeform, dowhateverthefuckiwanttodo. And all of that is a beautiful thing. Barbecue in itself is such a fantastic style of food and cooking. Granted, the food alone, when prepared even so-so, is good enough for us to not mind walking into a chain-style restaurant, or a strip mall, or not caring one iota what kind of cooker or kitchen your food came out of. But in its essence, barbecue is a beautiful, minimalistic, archaic form of cooking and entertainment that speaks volumes to me in so many different ways. In my eyes, barbecue is best when not readily accessible any day of the week. It should be special, not convenient. I like the idea that it be the cook's gift to family and friends when he or she is able to carve out 24 hours for a prep, cook, and serve. When possible, it should be social--that's the entertainment aspect of it. Outside around a fire begs for comradery of some sort. Long cooks with cold beer and good friends old and new are something you don't get with Chili's Babybacks. A barbecue joint that has 11a to 9p hours in a strip mall is probably not going to be at the top of my list, although these places can certainly put out a swell product. Just not my bag. Not insinuating that I'm some sort of elitist or snob--these cats have barbecued professionally much longer than I have--but I'm not in this for the quick turnaround and Qdoba-style outline. That doesn't interest me. I'm not interested in a Ron Popeil machine that I set the night before I go home--that's not my kind of barbecue. Sure, I'll eat it--it's delicious--but it's not how I'm interested in running any sort of barbecue business. May be my undoing, but I doubt it. A gigantic, ugly, heavy-as-shit smoker with a grease bucket and five pounds of hickory wood burning inside its firebox is just fucking cool. It's rock & roll. An indoor, shiny electric set-it-and-forget-it machine is not sexy. It's auto-tuned pop music--but it sells. I prefer the former to the latter. I also prefer cutting wood with an axe or hatchet--the perfect sized pieces for whichever stage of the cook. I don't care for filling a hopper with fish-food looking pellets and then going away. I like splinters, and soot, and grease, and rub, and meat, and smelling like a campfire at the end of the day. I like to look in the mirror after I've served the last slab and seeing red eyes and black smears on my face and hands and clothes...spices and spritz and fire under my fingernails...a not-that-serious burn or two on my forearm...having to wash my clothes twice...needing three friends to help me push my 2000lb smoker back into the garage. I enjoy the sunrise while my cooker is heating up...the silence...the coffee. I enjoy the satisfaction of preparing my own rubs, sauces, sides.......everything is mine. I've never had that before. And it makes me proud. I shouldn't compare myself to barbecue restaurants, because I'm not one. They do their thing, and most that I know do it very well. I'll do my thing, and that will keep evolving into the things I find gratifying and complete. I don't want to take the little things out of barbecue. I want to keep the shooting-from-the-hip aspect, the excitement, the wild, the unpridictable. I enjoy expressing myself through not only my end-product, but in the way I accomplish it. I see barbecue as rock & roll. It's rustic, it's barbaric, it's crunchy, it's firey, it's special, it's rough, it makes you grit your teeth, it makes you feel keen. And it's beautiful.
0 Comments
|
AuthorI am Earl. Archives
May 2024
|