The Slow Hot Summer  

Say Hello to southern barbecue with a western twist

 


The mahogany-hued chicken thighs sit neatly on Angie Quaale’s barbecue like a freshly opened box of chocolates. She’s added a pinch of Asian five-spice to the poultry to give the sweet, juicy pieces of meat a gingery backspin. From another cooker in Quaale’s yard in Surrey, British Columbia, Rockin’ Ronnie Shewchuk offers me a cherrywood-smoked oyster dipped in a sauce that offsets the zingy bite of jalapeños with sweet habañeros. Later, for dessert, Shewchuk-who with Quaale is a mainstay at international competitions like the Jack Daniel’s World Championship Invitational Barbecue (the Olympics of the "sport")-grills a mess of peaches on a cedar plank with an icewine reduction.

The ingredients and flavours are quintessentially West Coast, but they’re married to the smoke and loving care of traditional barbecue-meat slow-cooked at low temperatures in indirect heat, as opposed to the direct, high temperatures of grilling. It’s what happens when the original slow food migrates north.

A recent convert to Shewchuk and Quaale’s passion is Brian Misko. He’s a self-described data geek for whom the pull of pulled pork was so strong that he quit his desk job to market his own line of barbecue sauces and spices, named after his competition team, House of Q. "How many full-time, professional barbecuers do you know?" he asks. "I’m one."

Misko’s obsession began in 2004 when he was a spectator at the Canadian National BBQ Championships in Whistler; there he fell under the spell of what Shewchuk calls the "alchemy of barbecue." According to Shewchuk’s book, Barbecue Secrets Deluxe, the alchemy occurs when the connective tissue in meat breaks down over slow, damp heat: "Fat between the fibres liquefies and combines with the gelatine to create a primordial broth, basting the meat from the inside. The end result is real barbecue-the most tender, juicy, succulent meat you’ll ever taste."

"On the way home," Misko recalls, "I said to my pal Glen, ‘Dude, we’re doing this next year.’"
After buying (and quickly discarding) a $50 smoker, Misko had a new hobby, a new love and, ultimately, a new career. For competitions, Misko began devising his own sauce, puréeing local apples and adding ketchup, molasses and "lots of love" to it. The resulting concoction was named third best sauce at the National BBQ Festival in Douglas, Georgia, in 2008.

It’s not just a coastal thing. At Divino, a New York-style bistro in Calgary, the ability to smoke meat with a custom-built charcoal grill-smoker brings versatility to the menu. "It used to be all grilling," says chef John Donovan, "but everyone’s looking for alternatives for their tenderloin and strip loin."

Donovan likes to fire up one side of his grill with B.C. apple or cherrywood, both of which have a sweeter flavour than the mesquite or hickory traditionally used for barbecue, and then smoke pork belly and pork shoulder on the other side. For bison and elk, he’ll use a combination of cold-pan smoking (smoking with a pan of ice underneath the meat) and grilling.

At the end of my magnificent lunch with Shewchuk and Quaale, I ask them whether it’s safe to say there’s been an explosion in the popularity of barbecue in Western Canada.

"We’re seeing it," says Shewchuk, who notes that the number of local barbecue competitions has grown significantly. "In the early days, American teams came to our contests because it was easy pickings and they won handily. That’s changed now. We now have a barbecue culture, where people talk about it and cook it in their backyards."

"Explosion is an overstatement," says Quaale. "Sushi is an explosion."

Shewchuk, a communications consultant when not cooking, concedes her point: "Okay, it’s more of a slow burn."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 


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