The Great American BBQ

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When it comes to seasoning, there are deep schisms among the Texas faithful. To some, putting anything other than a knife and fork on a brisket is sacrilege. Since a smoky, slowcooked piece of beef is as close to perfection as we are going to get on this earth, they reason, corrupting it with lesser flavors is a sin. Others can countenance a dry rub—equal parts salt, pepper and paprika, for example, rubbed into the meat before it's cooked—or even a modest marinade (say, a mixture of oil, beer and lemon). Some freethinkers serve sauces at the table: anything from broth/steak sauce/chili powder concoctions to thick, sweet-tangy, ketchup-and-vinegar brews. (It is widely believed, or at least hoped, that they suffer frequent crises of conscience.) About accompaniments there is complete harmony; barbecue comes with beans.

Farther west, in Arizona and New Mexico, barbecuers lean toward pork ribs. Sauces resemble the salsa for which the region is famous: finely chopped tomatoes and onions enlivened with the wonderful spices of the Southwest, cumin and the everpresent chili peppers in all their varieties. Typical accompaniments are tortillas, beans and fresh salsa. Californians frequently round out the meal with sourdough bread.

The Pacific Northwest has an older tradition. When Europeans first explored the area, they found Indians cooking fresh salmon on willow-reed grills that held the fish upright beside alderwood fires, so that the fish cooked slowly in the heat of the smoke, retaining their fat and moisture. It's still possible to attend Indian-style salmon bakes in places like Sequim, Washington, and Depoe Bay, Oregon.

The Midwest

"The best restaurants in the world are, of course, in Kansas City. Not all of them; only the top four or five."

— Calvin Trillin

Barbecue is a well-established tradition throughout the Midwest. At a single 1850 feast, Kansans cooked and ate six steers, 20 hogs and more than 50 sheep, pigs and lambs. Today, cook-offs and festivals are held as far north as Chicago. But when many people think of Midwest barbecue, they think of Kansas City.

Kansas City has a good 70 barbecue restaurants to service its population of one and a half million and the legions of visitors who travel there partly to pig out. Through the impassioned propaganda of Calvin Trillin, a homesick native who lives and writes in New York City, KC has become a barbecue mecca.

The man who started it all was Henry Perry, a black entrepreneur who dug a pit in an abandoned streetcar barn and began selling slabs of meat wrapped in newspaper to make ends meet. Barbecue remained popular largely in the black community until after World War II, when the popularity of back-yard grills helped white folks notice the splendid food that was cooking around town. The best-known barbecue restaurants in the city—e.g., the legendary Arthur Bryant's—are still black owned and operated.

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