A well-marbled steak or lamb chop contains enough intramuscular fat to keep it juicy when cooked, but animals that carry more of their fat on the outside of their bodies—like chicken and pig—need your help to stay tender, flavorful, and juicy throughout, especially when their fate is a hot grill or smoker. You can do this in either of two ways: brining or salting ahead of time.
Brining
You’re probably already familiar with brines, but I’ve found that it often takes a little push to convince home cooks to actually take the plunge. Simply put, a brine penetrates muscle tissue over time through osmosis, and salt helps denature proteins in the meat, which ultimately trap the moisture within, preventing the meat from drying out as it cooks.
Your most basic brine is nothing more than saltwater (1 pound kosher salt to 1 gallon water), but I find this makes the meat just taste like the ocean, so I often employ other flavorful liquids, like bourbon, beer, or sweet tea, along with various sweeteners, herbs, spices, and other flavorings. I’ve also used Fette Sau’s house dry rub as the base for a chicken brine (see page 160); all you need to do is add water. Whatever flavors you add to your brine, don’t skimp. Remember that you’re diluting these flavors with lots of water. Most brines can be mixed cold (just make sure you stir the brine until all of the salt and sugar have dissolved), but if a recipe calls for the brine to be boiled, let it cool to room temperature before using it.
The hardest part about brining is knowing how long to soak the meat. You want to wait long enough for the brine to do its work, but not so long that it continues breaking down protein to the point of mushiness. A spongy, overbrined pork chop is much worse than a nonbrined one. How long you brine depends on the type and size of the meat: pork and chicken parts should be brined for anywhere from 30 minutes (for thin cuts) to 6 hours (for thick cuts, chops, and tenderloins). Whole chickens need 4 to 8 hours, depending on their size; turkeys require about 1 hour per pound. And big pork roasts need about 2 hours per inch of thickness.
Brining Times |
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Whole chicken |
4 to 8 hours (about 1 hour per pound) |
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Chicken pieces |
30 minutes to 2 hours |
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Whole turkey |
12 to 24 hours (about 1 hour per pound) |
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Pork chops |
2 to 6 hours or 8 to 12 hours for double-cut chops |
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Pork tenderloin |
4 to 8 hours |
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Whole pork loin |
24 hours |
Many recipes call for overnight brining, which is excessive, and destructive, to all but the largest cuts of meat. It’s better to err on the side of underbrining; you’ll find that even a quick brine is better than none at all.
If you’re brining chicken or other poultry and want its skin to crisp up while it cooks (you do!), then let the brined bird dry for a few hours before you cook it. The best way to do this is to place it atop a wire rack set over a baking sheet (or something else to catch any drippings) and refrigerate it until about an hour before you’re ready to cook. Then let the bird come to room temperature while you prepare the grill or smoker.
I occasionally brine seafood before throwing it on the grill. I’ve found that 10 to 15 minutes in a simple brine will plump up a piece of fish and help it stay firm and moist when grilled. With oily fish like salmon, brining also helps prevent that foamy white albumin from creeping up through the flesh as the fish cooks. With shrimp and other shellfish, a quick brine is all you need to boost the flavor.
One very important thing to remember with any meat that’s been brined: be careful about seasoning it during and after cooking. Cook the meat and taste it before adding any salt.
This simple brine can be used with poultry or pork, and it can become the foundation for many new iterations. You can add a handful or two of aromatics (such as garlic, onions, herbs, spices, or citrus zest), replace some or all of the water with other liquids (such as beer or cider), or play around with sweeteners (try maple syrup, molasses, or honey).
Makes 1 gallon
1 cup kosher salt
½ cup granulated sugar or packed dark brown sugar
1 gallon water
In a stockpot, bring the salt, sugar, and 8 cups of the water to a boil, stirring until the salt and sugar have dissolved. Turn off the heat, add the remaining 8 cups water, and let the brine cool to room temperature before using.
There are times when brines aren’t practical or necessary (when cooking beef or lamb, for instance), but you still want your meat to be well seasoned before it hits the grill. That’s when you should preseason with salt.
If I’m grilling steaks or lamb chops, I’ll give them a generous shower of kosher salt as soon as I pull them out of the refrigerator. By the time I’m ready to grill, the salt will have begun to season and lightly tenderize the meat. The salt first draws out moisture from the meat (osmosis again), then seasons those juices, and eventually works its way back into the meat. This is not an instantaneous process, however: if you don’t have at least 45 minutes for the salt to do its work, instead season the meat just before you put it on the grill. If you have a day or two and really want to season the meat throughout, you can dry-cure the meat by salting it (using about 1 teaspoon kosher salt per pound of meat) and placing it on a wire rack set over a baking sheet in the refrigerator, loosely covered with plastic wrap. Dry-curing works especially well with extra-thick steaks, roasts, and whole chickens.
Some Favorite Salts
I use coarse salt when I cook—never anything finer than kosher. Coarse salt is both easier to pick up and sprinkle over food and easier to see on whatever you’re seasoning. It’s much too easy to overseason with fine salt, which disappears as soon as it hits the meat.
Whatever I’m grilling, I like seasoning to be capricious; that is, I like flavors to appear in short, deliberate doses—a little hit of spiciness here, a bright acidic note there—rather than a homogeneous blend. Finishing salts give you little bursts of flavor that you can’t get with just properly seasoned food. I like flaky Maldon salt, which is crunchy but delicate and dissolves rather quickly in your mouth, or a sea salt with the size and texture of raw sugar, such as fleur de sel, which also has a pleasant mineral flavor. Likewise, a few coarse grinds of black pepper punctuate the food with musky heat, plus pepper helps just about anything become more booze-friendly, be it beer, wine, or spirit.
Bourbon-Brined Center-Cut Pork Chops
I’d given up on pork chops—always so dry and boring!—until I learned two ways to fix the problem: use a thick chop and brine it. This brine started as a sauce; I wanted to match bourbon’s sweet malt and vanilla flavors with pork, so I added a splash to melted butter. It later morphed into a boozy brine that could also be used with chicken, and I combined both in this recipe. Cabin Still is a great cooking bourbon, but you can use the cheapest bottle you’d be willing to drink.
Makes 4 servings
Bourbon Brine
1 gallon water
1 cup kosher salt
1 cup packed dark brown sugar
1 large yellow onion, thinly sliced
1 head garlic, halved horizontally
2 bay leaves
1 cinnamon stick, preferably Mexican
1 tablespoon black peppercorns
1 tablespoon allspice berries
1 tablespoon whole cloves
¾ cup olive oil
1½ cups bourbon
Pork Chops
4 bone-in center-cut pork chops (10 to 12 ounces each), about 1 ½ inches thick
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 tablespoon bourbon
Coarse sea salt
1 In a large pot, combine all of the brine ingredients except the bourbon and bring to a boil. Turn off the heat and stir in the bourbon. Let cool to room temperature, then transfer to a nonreactive container and refrigerate until cold.
2 Put the pork chops in the cold brine and refrigerate for 8 to 12 hours.
3 Remove the pork chops from the brine and pat dry with paper towels. Discard the brine.
4 Prepare a two-stage fire with medium and hot sides in a grill (see page 149), making sure to oil the grill grates well.
5 Grill the pork chops over high heat until well charred on both sides, 2 to 3 minutes per side. Then move the pork chops to the medium-heat side and grill, turning every few minutes, until an instant-read thermometer inserted horizontally into the center of the chops reads 145°F, 12 to 15 minutes longer. Transfer the pork to a platter and let rest for 5 minutes.
6 While the pork chops rest, in a small skillet, melt the butter over medium heat. Carefully add the bourbon and then tilt the pan away from you until it ignites (use a match or a lighter if using an electric stove). Let the alcohol burn off, then swirl the sauce until emulsified.
7 Transfer the pork chops to plates and spoon some of the sauce over each chop. Sprinkle with coarse salt and serve.
When done right, barbecued turkey is absolutely perfect—and it makes an unexpected addition to the Thanksgiving table. But turkey is a tricky bird to smoke, as the window between cooked through and overcooked is awfully small. Brining widens your margin of error by keeping the bird extra-moist, but make sure to treat your turkey like a sick patient and monitor its temperature carefully. The dry rub here is purely optional; use it if you want to give Thanksgiving dinner even more barbecue flavor.
Makes 10 to 12 servings
1 whole turkey (12 to 14 pounds), preferably heritage breed
1 gallon Basic Brine
1 cup Fette Sau Dry Rub (optional)
Wood chunks or soaked wood chips
1 Put the turkey in a large nonreactive container and cover with the brine; or use a brining bag. Refrigerate for 8 to 16 hours, turning the turkey over halfway through brining.
2 Set a wire rack on a rimmed baking sheet. Remove the turkey from the brine and rinse well; discard the brine. Pat the turkey dry with paper towels and put it on the wire rack. Refrigerate for 24 hours.
3 Remove the rack, leaving the turkey on the baking sheet, and coat it lightly all over with the dry rub, if using (you may not need all of the rub).
4 Preheat a smoker to 225°F or set up a grill for smoking (see page 44 or 47).
5 Place the turkey in the smoker and smoke, maintaining a smoker temperature between 200°F and 250°F, replenishing the wood chunks or chips as needed, until an instant-read thermometer inserted into the center of a leg registers 165°F. Total smoking time will be 6 to 7 hours. Transfer the turkey to a cutting board and let rest for 10 minutes before carving and serving.
Barbecue chicken is so common that we often overlook it. But when done well, it’s one of my very favorites, and it’s also one of the most forgiving meats to smoke. This recipe is based on the chicken I made at my first (and last) attempt at competition barbecue at Memphis in May. I simply took our house dry rub and turned it into a brine. You can make this the same way, or skip the brine and apply the dry rub to the skin—just don’t brine and rub the bird, or it will be too salty.
Makes 4 servings
1 gallon water
1 cup Fette Sau Dry Rub
or
½ cup Fette Sau Dry Rub
1 whole chicken (about 4 pounds)
Wood chunks or soaked wood chips
1 If brining the chicken: In a stockpot, bring the water and dry rub to a boil, stirring until the sugar and salt are dissolved. Let the brine cool to room temperature, then transfer to a nonreactive container and refrigerate until chilled.
2 Add the chicken to the cold brine and refrigerate for 4 to 8 hours.
3 Set a wire rack on a baking sheet. Remove the chicken from the brine, pat dry with paper towels, and place on the wire rack. Discard the brine. Refrigerate for 6 hours.
4 If using just the dry rub: Put the chicken on a rimmed baking sheet and coat the chicken lightly all over with the dry rub (you may not need all of the rub).
5 Preheat a smoker to 225°F or set up a grill for smoking (see page 44 or 47).
6 Place the chicken in the smoker and smoke, maintaining a smoker temperature of between 200° and 225°F, replenishing the wood chunks or chips as needed, until an instant-read thermometer inserted into the center of a leg registers 165°F. Total smoking time will be 3 to 5 hours. Transfer the chicken to a cutting board and let rest for 10 minutes.
7 At this point, you can cut the chicken into quarters or tear the meat into shreds to make pulled chicken. Or, if you want extra-crispy skin, you can briefly roast the chicken in a 450°F oven, or prepare a grill with hot and cool sides, put the chicken over the cool side, cover the grill, and cook for 5 to 10 minutes.
We created this pastrami in homage to New York City’s most famous deli meat, but it actually more closely resembles the heavily smoked beef found in Montreal. Pastrami is often made with just the first cut of a brisket (also called the flat), but we use the entire thing, which results in meat that stylistically falls between something you’d find piled on rye bread in a deli in New York or Montreal and the plates of smoked brisket served in Texas. Because it takes a couple of weeks to brine this gargantuan piece of meat, this is one recipe for which you’ll have to plan ahead.
Makes 10 to 12 servings
Brine
1 gallon water
1 cup kosher salt
1 teaspoon curing salt (see Note, and Resources)
1 large Spanish onion, sliced
1 head garlic, halved horizontally
½ cup Pickling Spices, or use a jarred mixture
1 whole beef brisket (10 to 14 pounds)
Rub
1 cup cracked coriander seeds
1 cup cracked black peppercorns
Spicy Mustard, for serving
Wood chunks or soaked wood chips
1 In a container large enough to hold the brisket, combine the water, kosher and curing salts, onion, garlic, and pickling spices and whisk until the salt is dissolved. Add the brisket, cover, and refrigerate for 2 weeks, turning the brisket over periodically if it’s not completely submerged.
2 In a small bowl, combine the coriander and pepper.
3 Remove the brisket from the brine and pat dry. Trim the fat cap to about ⅛ inch thick, removing any hard lumps of fat. Put the brisket on a rimmed baking sheet and coat all over with the dry rub, patting it onto the surface until the meat has an even layer of rub (you may not need all of the rub). If you have time, let the meat rest for 1 to 2 hours, until the rub starts to moisten and turn into a pasty coating.
4 Preheat a smoker to 225°F or set up a grill for smoking (see page 44 or 47).
5 Place the brisket, fatty side up, in the smoker and smoke, maintaining a smoker temperature of between 210° and 225°F, replenishing the wood chunks or chips as needed.
6 After about 8 hours, start checking the meat periodically: Poke the brisket in a few places; the fat cap should be soft and pliant and the meat should separate under your finger. If you think your brisket is nearly done, cut off a good chunk and eat it. The bark should be dry and crisp, and the meat should be moist and tender but not mushy or overly chewy. Total smoking time will be 12 to 16 hours.
7 When the brisket is smoked to your liking, using two pairs of tongs or a pair of heavy rubber gloves, transfer it to a cutting board. If your cutting board doesn’t have a channel for catching juices, put it on a rimmed baking sheet. Let the meat rest for at least 30 minutes.
8 Just before serving (once sliced, brisket dries out quickly), slice the brisket across the grain into ¼-inch pieces, beginning at the thinner end of the cut. When you encounter the thick band of tough fat that separates the point from the flat, cut the remaining brisket into two pieces between the point and the flat. Remove most of the fat, then continue. Serve with the spicy mustard.
Note:
Brisket is best eaten right away, but if you have to cook it ahead of time, let it cool to room temperature, then wrap it in multiple layers of plastic and refrigerate. To rewarm the brisket, unwrap it and place it in a roasting pan. Add a splash of water and cover with foil, then heat it in a 200°F oven until warmed through. If the bark has gone soft, you can recrisp it over a medium-hot grill fire for a few minutes.
Makes about ½ cup
2 tablespoons mustard seeds
2 tablespoons coriander seeds
2 tablespoons black peppercorns
1 tablespoon dill seeds
2 teaspoons allspice berries
1 teaspoon red pepper flakes
2 whole cloves
2 bay leaves, crumbled
1 cinnamon stick, smashed into pieces
Combine all of the spices in a jar. Seal the jar and shake until combined.
I grew up eating beef tongue, so it’s never been a weird thing for me to cook—but it is one of the more intimidating meats to smoke. It’s a slippery, slimy organ meat whose origin is very apparent, but once you get past that part, it’s a very tender, tasty cut with a flavor that will remind you of brisket. This preparation is a mash-up of boiled beef tongue and pastrami, and it can be sliced and eaten right out of the smoker like barbecue, or chilled and thinly sliced, charcuterie-style.
Makes 10 to 12 servings
1 beef tongue (2 to 3 pounds)
Brine
1 gallon water
1 cup kosher salt
1 teaspoon curing salt (see Note, and Resources)
1 large Spanish onion, sliced
1 head garlic, halved horizontally
½ cup Pickling Spices, or use a jarred mixture
Rub
½ cup cracked coriander seeds
½ cup cracked black peppercorns
Spicy Mustard, for serving
Pickles, for serving
Wood chunks or soaked wood chips
1 In a large pot, cover the tongue with cold water. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat, and simmer the tongue for 1½ hours.
2 Transfer the tongue to a cutting board. When it is cool enough to handle, peel away the skin.
3 In a container or resealable plastic bag large enough to hold the tongue, combine the water, kosher and curing salts, onion, garlic, and pickling spices and whisk until the salt is dissolved. Add the tongue, cover, and refrigerate for 1 week.
4 In a small bowl, combine the coriander and pepper.
5 Remove the tongue from the brine and pat dry. Put the tongue on a rimmed baking sheet and coat it all over with the dry rub, patting it onto the surface until the meat has an even layer of rub (you may not need all of the rub).
6 Preheat a smoker to 225°F or set up a grill for smoking (see page 44 or 47).
7 Place the tongue in the smoker and smoke, maintaining a smoker temperature of between 210° and 225°F, replenishing the wood chunks or chips as needed, until an instant-read thermometer inserted into the center of the tongue reads 175°F. Total smoking time will be 6 to 8 hours.
8 To serve the tongue warm, thinly slice it across the grain on a bias. Or refrigerate until chilled, then slice as thin as possible. Serve with the spicy mustard and pickles.
The great thing about making your own bacon is that you’re completely in charge of every step of the process: what kind of pork to use, how to flavor the cure, how heavily to smoke the bacon, and how thick to cut it before cooking. Berkshire pigs make my favorite bacon, but feel free to use other heritage breeds: Large Black and Tamworth also produce great bacon. Try substituting maple syrup or honey for the brown sugar, and experiment with other woods for the smoking.
While commercial bacon is cold-smoked (at a temperature at or below 140°F), it’s risky to cold-smoke meat or fish at home, as some harmful pathogens could survive the process. This bacon is “warm-smoked,” just above the cold-smoking threshold, which both speeds up the process and makes it safer.
Makes about 4 pounds
¼ cup kosher salt
2 teaspoons curing salt (see Note, and Resources)
¼ cup packed dark brown sugar
3 tablespoons coarsely ground black pepper
One 5-pound pork belly, skin removed
Applewood chunks or soaked applewood chips
1 In a small bowl, combine the kosher salt, curing salt, brown sugar, and pepper. Put the pork belly on a rimmed baking sheet and cover it with the cure, rubbing it well into the meat and fat (you may not need all of the cure). Wrap the belly in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 7 days.
2 Unwrap the pork belly and rinse off the cure.
3 Preheat a smoker to 140°F or set up a grill for smoking (see page 44 or 47).
4 Place the pork belly in the smoker and smoke, maintaining a smoker temperature of between 140° and 160°F, replenishing the wood chunks or chips as needed, until an instant-read thermometer inserted into the center of the belly registers 140°F. Total smoking time will be 4 to 5 hours. Transfer the bacon to a clean surface and let cool to room temperature.
5 Pat the bacon dry with a paper towel, then wrap in plastic and refrigerate until firm before slicing and cooking. You can also cut the bacon into large slabs, wrap them individually, and refrigerate or freeze. The bacon can be refrigerated for up to 1 week or frozen for up to 2 months.
I’ve never been interested in competition barbecue. There’s something about competitive cooking in general that I can’t get behind: why does cooking need to be a sport? It makes about as much sense to me as a competitive painting tournament or battle-royal jazz.
But I couldn’t pass up the chance to play pitmaster for a couple of days back in 2009, when the editors of Men’s Health magazine offered to send me and three other guys from the New York barbecue restaurant scene to compete in Memphis in May, one of the largest and fiercest barbecue competitions in the world. Some 250 teams vie for the top spot (and $100,000 in prize money) in several categories, with an emphasis on pork (ribs, shoulder, and whole hog), along with ancillary categories like poultry, brisket, sauce, and wings.
For most competitors, an invite to Memphis in May means you’re a top pitmaster who’s won other events. Many teams consist of twenty or more people who “train” together throughout the year, are well traveled on the barbecue circuit, and roll up to the event with massive custom-built smoker rigs; some even have corporate sponsors. Our team, which snuck in through the back door opened by the magazine, consisted of Kenny Callaghan of Manhattan’s Blue Smoke; John Stage of the Dinosaur Bar-B-Que restaurants; Craig Samuel, who owns Brooklyn’s Smoke Joint; and me. Of our quartet, only Kenny had some competitive barbecue experience; the rest of us were complete newbies. Each of us would work with one meat and would fend for himself throughout the competition. Kenny took on beef brisket, John went with baby back ribs, Craig made prime rib, and I chose chicken.
By the time we got to the event, we knew we were walking into a buzz saw—or perhaps bringing knives to a gunfight. While our competitors unhitched their elaborate bespoke smokers, we set up a small fleet of Weber kettle grills and bullet smokers—the same equipment we use in our own backyards. I still think the best thing about attending a barbecue competition is seeing the insane rigs some of the teams build. I’ve seen vintage buses, motorcycles, and cars retrofitted into smokers; a smoker shaped like a giant six-shooter; and too many smokers adorned with pig’s ears and snouts to count. A barbecue competition is basically a hot-rod show cloaked in sauce and smoke.
Competitive barbecue has a bunch of very particular, sometimes seemingly counterintuitive, rules. For example, everything must be served to the judges in 9-by-9-inch Styrofoam clamshells, yet you are judged on “appearance” for the way you arrange your barbecue in said container, using only parsley or lettuce as your garnish; other adornments are forbidden. Winning a trophy is as much about following these very specific rules as it is about making great-tasting meat, which itself must play to the judges’ proclivities; they tend to favor a sticky, heavily sauced style of barbecue.
Our team decided to stick with the styles of barbecue we make back in New York. I wanted my chickens to have the distinctive flavor of Fette Sau’s dry rub, but I elected to turn it into a brine instead of applying it to the outside of the birds, which would help keep the skin crispy and the meat moist during the stretch of time after they came off the smoker and before they were sampled by the judges. I brined the chickens in our hotel’s commissary kitchen and hoped for the best.
My best landed me somewhere near the middle of the pack after judging, along with my fellow city-slicker teammates. We were all more than pleased with how our meat turned out, but we knew that it wasn’t what the judges were looking for. Despite getting our asses kicked, though, we ended up having a blast: we met a few legendary pitmasters, tasted some amazing barbecue, and had an all-around good hang with people who care as much about smoke and meat as we do.
But I’ll probably never do it again.