Summer is here, and I want to have a barbecue. But I still live in an airshaft apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, which means that trying to set up a smoky hardwood fire to cook meat is likely to end in some combination of eviction, arrest, and gruesome, painful death. We city dwellers have a need for great barbecue, but with our few urban smoke houses charging Wall Street prices, our public spaces strictly limiting our opportunities for outdoor cookery, and only one six-hour barbecue festival a year, how are we to satisfy our inborn American cravings for sweet, salty, smoky animal flesh?
We must improvise. Last week for the Fourth of July, I jury-rigged a faux barbecue right in the comfort of my 20-square-foot kitchen. I say faux barbecue because barbecue, by definition, is meat cooked over the warm sweet smoke of hardwood. In cramped indoor spaces, we must seek alternatives, and the most well-known substitute for a hardwood fire is liquid smoke.
What we think of today as liquid smoke has been with us at least since 1938, when Saladine E. Colgin patented a process for producing
a condimental substance designed to be incorporated as an ingredient of sauces or to be employed in the cooking or table preparation of foodstuffs and particularly meats, for imparting to them the well known "barbecue" or smoke flavor characteristic of comestibles and particularly meats which have been subjected to the condensation of natural smoke from a hickory fire.
Colgin also claimed to have invented such a condiment which was "inexpensive to manufacture, wholesome in nature and which can be applied with gratifying results to small quantities of meat or other foodstuffs by persons whose skill does not exceed that of the average housewife." Colgin's invention was offered as an improvement over the so-called "liquid smoke" products of his day, which were nothing more than the liquid that was distilled off during the process of burning hardwood into charcoal. This liquid, known as pyroligneous acid or wood vinegar, does contain the compounds that give barbecue its smoky flavor, but it also contains other substances such as tars and methanol. Colgin's innovation was to add salt to the wood vinegar to precipitate out the tar, then fix the remaining aromatic flavor compounds by the addition of caramel before distilling off the harmful alcohols and phenols. Colgin's company continues to produce liquid smoke by this method to this day, and claims to be the nation's largest seller of the product.
Liquid smoke may be a joke to purists, but to the indoor barbecuer it is one of the only tools at our disposal. Another helpful substitute for an open fire is smoked spices, particularly smoked chile peppers such as chipotle (smoked jalapeno) or ancho (smoked poblano), which can be used in a dry rub. A good dry rub for indoor barbecuing will contain one part kosher salt, one to two parts brown sugar (depending on your taste - I prefer my rub on the sweeter side), and one part mixed spices. I add ground chipotle and/or ancho chile peppers to the spice components in my rub for their smoky flavor, but there are some vendors who sell (very expensive) smoked salts, and smoked paprika is also available. On top of that, I usually add lots of garlic powder, onion powder, and whatever other spices I'm in the mood for (for a sweeter rub I might use a mix of cloves, allspice, nutmeg and mace; for an earthier Tex/Mex style rub I might use dried thyme, oregano, coriander, cumin and chili powder; for a rub with more bite I might use black pepper, mustard powder and cayenne; the possibilities are endless).
Which brings us to the big question: how to go about cooking barbecue indoors. The most important thing you need is a heavy dutch oven or large casserole with a tight-fitting lid. Ordinarily you would use a cooking vessel like this to braise, but we're going to use it to simulate a smoke pit. Rub your meat liberally all over with your dry rub, reserving a few tablespoons of the rub for later, and let it sit for an hour or so. Meanwhile, coarsely chop 3-4 large onions and scatter them around the bottom of the dutch oven, adding a few peeled, crushed garlic cloves. Your meat will rest on this bed of aromatic vegetables, which will confit in the fat as it cooks off, so you want to make sure the onions are a few inches deep. This confit will become the base of your barbecue sauce.
Stack your meat (I use spare ribs) on top of the onions, and pour a teaspoon or two of liquid smoke and a tablespoon or two of cider vinegar around the bottom of the dutch oven. As you cook, these liquids will vaporize and penetrate your meat. Seal the pot with its lid and put the whole thing into a 250 degree oven. It is crucial that the oven be no hotter than this, as anything warmer could cause the sugar in your rub and the onions to burn. Cook for 2-3 hours without opening the lid, and your ribs should be tender and delicious, and ready to eat just as they are. It would be a shame, however, to waste those lovely browned onions and garlic sitting in a pool of pork fat at the bottom of your pan. Fortunately, they will help make a killer Kansas City style barbecue sauce.
To make the sauce, start by pouring off and discarding as much of the fat as you can, while reserving the onions and garlic. Next, deglaze your dutch oven with about a half cup of cider vinegar, scraping the bottom to release all the caramelized bits. Add to this some brown sugar (about 1/2 cup worth), 2 cups or so of tomato puree or plain tomato sauce (I use Hunt's), a teaspoon or two of liquid smoke, and the remaining spice rub. If you like (and I do), you can add a shot of bourbon as well. Once the tomato sauce has had a few minutes to cook, put this mixture into a blender and process it until smooth, then adjust the seasoning for the right level of saltiness (salt), sourness (vinegar), and sweetness (brown sugar).
Serve your ribs dry with this sauce on the side and accompanied by the traditional side dishes of your choice (I made some braised kale with smoky ham and mashed potatoes). While this urban alternative may not stand up to authentic smoke-pit barbecue, paired with a glass of bourbon and a cold beer it comes just close enough to scratch that summer itch.
On the High Holidays surrounding the Jewish New Year the traditional braided challah is fashioned in round. The special shape is meant to symbolize the cycle of the years: as one ends another begins. It's the kind of simple truth that is equivalent to beauty, and we bake it into our food. And because this remains a foodblog, I'm here to tell you how. Thanks for sticking around for the past two years.
