Steven Raichlen

Editor's note: The recipe and introductory text below are from The Barbecue! Bible 10th Anniversary Edition, by Steven Raichlen. To read more about Raichlen and barbecue, go to our feature The Best Barbecue in the U.S.A.

Pork may be the preferred barbecue east of the Mississippi (think of the pork shoulder of the Carolinas and the ribs of Kansas City and Memphis), but in Texas beef is king—especially beef brisket, which comes moist and smoky and tender enough to cut with a fork. (Not that any self-respecting Texas barbecue buff would use a fork.) Barbecued brisket is simultaneously one of the easiest and most challenging recipes in the world of barbecue. Easy because it requires only one main ingredient: brisket (even the rub is optional). Challenging because pit masters spend years learning the right combination of smoke (lots), heat (low), and time (measured in half days rather than hours) to transform one of the toughest, most ornery parts of the steer into tender, meaty perfection.

Over the years, I've found that two things help above all: choosing the right cut of -brisket—namely, untrimmed, with a thick sheath of fat—and then cooking the brisket in a shallow pan. The pan keeps the juices from dripping onto the fire and the meat from drying out, while allowing for the maximum smoke penetration from the top. A whole brisket (the sort cooked by a restaurant) weighs eighteen to twenty pounds. Here I call for a partially trimmed brisket—a cut weighing five to six pounds. Do not attempt to make this with a two-pound trimmed, fatless brisket; it will turn out much too dry.

To achieve the requisite smoke flavor, you need to smoke the brisket in a charcoal grill—or in a smoker. A gas grill will not produce enough smoke.

Editor's note: The recipe and introductory text below are from The Barbecue! Bible 10th Anniversary Edition, by Steven Raichlen. To read more about Raichlen and barbecue, go to our feature The Best Barbecue in the U.S.A.

It never fails to amaze me how one simple idea can give birth to so many great regional variations. Consider ribs. The pork rib is one of the most perfect morsels ever to occupy a grill. The meat is generously marbled, which keeps it moist during prolonged cooking. As the fat melts, it crisps the meat fibers and bastes the meat naturally. The bones impart a rich meaty flavor (meat next to the bone always tastes best), while literally providing a physical support—a gnawable rack on which to cook the meat. Yet depending on whether you eat ribs in Birmingham or Kansas City, or Bangkok or Paris for that matter, you'll get a completely different preparation.

I've always been partial to Memphis-style ribs. Memphians don't mess around with a lot of sugary sauces. Instead, they favor dry rubs—full-flavored mixtures of paprika, black pepper, and cayenne, with just a touch of brown sugar for sweetness. The rub is massaged into the meat the night before grilling, and additional rub is sprinkled on the ribs at the end of cooking. This double application of spices creates incredible character and depth of flavor, while at the same time preserving the natural taste of the pork. Sometimes a vinegar and mustard based sauce—aptly called a mop sauce—is swabbed over the ribs (with said mop) during cooking; I've included one here, for you to use if you like.

You can choose any type of rib for this recipe: baby back ribs, long ends, short ends, rib tips—you name it. Cooking times are approximate. The ribs are done when the ends of the bones protrude and the meat is tender enough to pull apart with your fingers. I like my ribs served dry, in the style of Memphis's legendary barbecue haunt, the Rendezvous. If you want to serve them with a sauce, you'll find a number to choose from in this chapter.

Method: Direct grilling
Advance Prep: At least 1 hour for marinating the ribs

Meaty beef ribs, sweet with sugar, salty with soy and oyster sauce, pungent with that trinity of Asian flavorings (ginger, garlic, and scallions) and crustily charred on the grill — if this is your idea of paradise, heaven lies in China, where individual beef short ribs are sawed crosswise into smaller pieces and flash charred on the grill. Perfect for the Type A grill jockey, who lacks the patience for low, slow traditional smoking.

Skinless, boneless chicken breasts are the poultry cut grill jockeys both love and hate. We love the convenience (not to mention the fact that they're virtually pure protien with practically no fat). On the down side, they're rather bland in flavor and tend to dry out on the grill. Brining is a great way to compensate for both of these shortcomings — especially if you use this "redeye" variation on traditional brine. A shot of espresso adds an unexpected flavor (don't worry, it's subtle), along with an inviting mahogany hue. To complete the coffee motif, I propose serving the chicken with an espresso-flavored mustard barbecue sauce.

The Grilling Guru has a moral dilemma. To be strictly faithful to Louis' Lunch, he should tell you to top your hamburger with a liquid processed cheese, like Cheez Whiz. The Grilling Guru doesn't use Cheez Whiz himself, however, so he feels awkward about calling for it. So he's created a made-from-scratch cheese sauce that will satisfy the purist, while remaining faithful to the lurid orange cheese topping used by Louis'.

For historic continuity, ferociously loyal community support, and an atmosphere that you could spread with a knife, you can't beat the hamburger joint Louis' Lunch, in New Haven, Connecticut. Since 1898, the Lassen family has been grinding its own beef daily, hand shaping patties to order, and grilling burgers on antique cast-iron broilers in front of live flames. (This answers the question once and for all — the proper way to cook a hamburger is by grilling, not by frying it on a griddle.) And as any regional American culinary landmark should be, Louis' Lunch is sufficiently quirky to allow melted processed cheese but militantly prohibit ketchup and mustard as accompaniments to its signature burgers. Here, then, is the next best thing to elbowing your way up to the counter at Louis'.

This "salsa" is actually a sort of fruit salad, but it does contain the quintessential salsa ingredients, lime juice and jalapeño peppers. The jalapeños are certainly unexpected, but they have an interesting way of intensifying the sweetness of the pineapple.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again—the grill was the original toaster. And there's nothing like a quick sizzle on the grill to transform ordinary pound cake into a singular, even extraordinary dessert. Especially when paired with a pineapple "salsa" and tequila-scented whipped cream.

A salsa this simple lives or dies by the quality of the ingredients—ripe avocado, luscious tomato, and a sweet, crunchy ear of corn. Most of my corn salsa recipes call for grilled corn. This one features the succulent crunch of raw corn to reinforce the sweetness of the fresh avocado.

I've never quite understood the appeal of the traditional shrimp cocktail. I mean, what could be less interesting than cold boiled shrimp dipped in a lackluster mixture of ketchup and prepared horseradish? Here's a shrimp cocktail with gumption, featuring chile-rubbed, grill-seared shrimp served over a colorful, chunky salsa of avocado and sweet corn. You can chill the grilled shrimp before you serve them, but I like the contrast of hot shrimp and cool salsa.

Tomatoes are great for grilling. The searing heat caramelizes the tomato's natural sugars. Tomatoes readily absorb the flavors of herbs and other seasonings, and their shocking red color looks terrific on a plate along with grilled poultry, seafood, or beef. The tomatoes can be grilled on any sort of indoor grill—for that matter, you could also smoke them in a stove-top smoker.

Rodolfo Lagua, a thirty-year California barbecue veteran of Filipino heritage, was the inspiration for this recipe. Lagua learned this way of preparing tri-tips from his friend Sammy Ariola, one of the area's first Filipino immigrants. "I have no money for you to inherit," said Ariola, as he lay on his deathbed, "but I'll give you the recipe for my marinade." Since then Lagua has won numerous barbecue contests with his Filipino-style tri-tips, raising thousands of dollars for Filipino community charities. He's now working on bottling the sauce commercially, once again as a fund-raiser. The interplay of salty, sweet, and sour is pure Filipino, and the lemon rind adds an intense blast of citrus flavor. I've adapted my approximation of Lagua's recipe to London broil; in the Tips [below] you'll find instructions for making tri-tips with this marinade. Lagua would serve the meat with boiled rice.

My Grammie Ethel was best known for her cookies and fudge. But she also made a mean chopped liver. What was remarkable about Grammie Ethel's chopped liver was how mild, light and fluffy it was—it didn't taste too much like liver. (This is important when you're eight years old and a finicky eater.) Her secret was the high proportion of hard-boiled egg whites to liver. And the hand-cranked metal meat grinder my grandmother used her whole life to grind the ingredients into a chunky purée. Low-fat chopped liver might seem like an oxymoron. After all, liver is one of the fattiest and most cholesterol-laden substances known to man. By replacing most of the liver with mushrooms (keeping just enough liver for flavor) and by roasting the ingredients in a hot oven instead of sautéeing them, we create a chopped liver that explodes with flavor and is mercifully light on fat. I'm sure my grandmother would have approved. Note: To be in strict accordance with the kashrut, you would boil, not roast, the chicken liver. (This is considered a more effective way to remove the blood.)

Preparation time: 10 minutes
Cooking time: 20 minutes