In Search of Barbecue

Barbecue is many things to many people, from spelling it to eating it, and, like pizza, it causes a huge disparity of discussion. People are passionate about barbecue, ready to come to blows over the relative merits of tomato-based sauce and vinegar based sauce, not to mention those who don't sauce at all, using just a rub to add flavor to the meat. And then, of course, there is the debate over meat. Should it be beef? Or pork? Or lamb? Can one barbecue fish? And the confrontation about cooking styles? Must it have hot coals, whether briquettes, charcoal or synthetic, gas-fired or with liquid starter or just newspapers and matches? Or can you do it in an oven? The Guru adopts a strictly democratic (small ‘d,' please) approach. If the cook, or the restaurant, calls it barbecue, regardless of spelling, that's sufficient. The Guru is a peace-loving man who gets hungry on a regular basis, and it can be unwise to argue with the chef. Interestingly, all the various arguments have validity and yet, if the ingredients are good, all or any of the various styles can satisfy. I prefer vinegar-based, mustard-heavy sauces like those from the Carolinas, Virginia, Kentucky and Tennessee. I like a shoulder, or a rump, or ribs that have been rubbed, rather than basted, though when it comes to chicken, I prefer the bird to have been marinated. To my mind, and I'm certain to get a lot of argument, it doesn't make a great deal of difference what the fuel source is, though I prefer my meat cooked slowly. Still, I like barbecue, and if the chef has a favorite sauce, or marinade, and even if he likes to stand across the room and baste with a water pistol, it's all right with me. The proof is in the tasting. There's always a major debate between beef and pork. The former seems most popular -- and best -- in Texas, and one of the great barbecue meals of my journeys was of beef rib bones, rubbed thoroughly and cooked so that a touch of pink still showed along the bone. Beef brisket is a favorite, too, along with pulled pork shoulder. The arrival of mid-summer, and a journey to Arkansas, allowed for a brief visit among the barbecue folk of the southern Midwest, or the northern South. It's mostly pig country, and the location at the crossroads of America provides for a wide variety of sauces, something to fit all tastes. My personal favorite is Arthur Bryant's , from the Brooklyn Avenue restaurant in Kansas City that long has been a shrine to sliced beef, crisp "ends" and a spicy, vinegary sauce that stands out in any tasting. One of the good things about the 21st century is that Bryant's sauce now is available in markets everywhere, including St. Louis, but I like the Memphis-style mustard-vinegar sauce, too. The other Memphis preference, cole slaw on the sandwich, is okay from time to time, but not as a religious ritual. We visited a couple of Arkansas standouts, the Whole Hog Café in Little Rock and McClard's in Hot Springs, then sampled Super Smokers and Bandana's in St. Louis. Comparison was a little difficult, given different terminology and side dishes: All served ribs by the slab, the half-slab or the sandwich, but two served beef brisket, the others sliced or chopped roast beef. McClard's has sliced or chopped pork; the others serve pulled pork, which I prefer. And McClard's also takes an individual approach to chicken; it does not serve any, but it does offer tamales, and they are excellent tamales, too. Another singular sensation on the McClard's menu is buttermilk, almost as rare as hens' teeth. Price comparisons are difficult as well, but a full slab of ribs is about $20 in St. Louis, about $16 in Arkansas. A basic chopped or pulled pork sandwich is $3.80 at McClard's, $3.99 at the Whole Hog, $5.99 at Bandana's and $6.75 at Super Smokers, but sizes and sides may vary. This was not a definitive study. McClard's (505 Albert Pike, Hot Springs, AR 71913, 866-633-5273, www.mcclards.com) McClard's, busy and crowded in a small, informal, diner-type space with small-town waitresses darting hither and yon, serves only one sauce, and it has good tomato flavor, pleasant spicing and almost no sweetness, which differentiates it from standard St. Louis sauces. As the legend goes, the McClard family ran a tourist court in the 1920s, and a down-on-his-luck visitor offered the barbecue sauce recipe in lieu of paying a bill of $10 for a two-month stay. The recipe was an instant success and the McClards changed occupations, first featuring goat, then changing to pork and beef, with goat disappearing from the menu. The restaurant chops its pork almost too finely to retain much flavor or texture, but the ribs are excellent, tender and juicy and packed with flavor. French fries are a common accompaniment and they're first-rate, too, sizzling with the flavor of freshly cut potatoes. The tamales are superb, spicier than most and are the basis for a menu item called a "whole spread," which has two tamales topped with Fritos, beans, chopped beef, cheese and onions. Kind of a "super-slinger," wouldn't you think? The Whole Hog (2516 Cantrell Rd, Little Rock, AR 72202, 501-664-5025) In a large, bleak room with trophies here and there, one goes to the counter at the Whole Hog, orders and takes food back to the table. Six sauces await: Sweetened with molasses and mild; slightly tangy traditional tomato-vinegar; very spicy traditional tomato-vinegar; southern style with vinegar and spices; sweet and heavy with lots of molasses; rich mustard-vinegar; a seventh, "volcano," is available only at the counter, but it is not necessary to sign a release. Excellent brisket and pulled pork, rich and tasty and well-rubbed. In Memphis style, all sandwiches come with cole slaw so be wary upon ordering. The meat is moist and shows heavy smoking. It's excellent. Super Smokers has seven locations in and around St. Louis, and six sauces on the table, headed by the World Championship sauce, which is outstanding. It's dark and complex, with a variety of flavors and spices. One of the sauces has a mustard base, one has a nice tang of vinegar, the others come with a tomato base, more or less sweet. I don't think any of them can hold a candle to the Championship Sauce. The pulled pork and chicken are excellent, showing the smoke and remaining moist. The ribs are excellent, too, with lots of meat and much flavor. A sliced pork loin also is outstanding, and the special sides include Frito pie and super nachos. Peanut butter is available for those younger eaters who have yet to discover barbecue. Green beans are an enjoyable side, cooked so as to leave some flavor of the vegetable and also show some infusion of smoke. Black-eyed peas are available. So is fried okra. Bandana's, also with numerous St. Louis locations, has such traditional southern sides as hot boiled peanuts and fried corn on the cob, and a nod to St. Louis' Hill with garlic bread. Brunswick stew, for some reason, is not available at the Clayton branch but is served at the others. A shame, too, because I like Brunswick stew, first tasted at Virginia and North Carolina county fairs and church functions about a half-century ago, when the Guru was keeping the Western World safe for democracy. In the small-town south, the stew had some of everything that had been hunted recently, with squirrel, rabbit and other creatures joining chicken in the giant stew pot that bubbled for hours, exuding a marvelous aroma. Corn and okra were the leading vegetables, but again, it was the sort of dish that attracted almost any ingredients in a symbiotic relationship. Meats are cooked with a dry rub, which went beautifully with the ribs, well-cooked and showing a pleasantly piquant flavor from the rub. They were a touch on the dry side, but I'd rather have them dry and flavorful, as these were, than moist and dull. The combination sandwich of pulled pork and minced beef displayed excellent, tender, smoky pork, but only so-so beef. Bandana's also serves sandwiches described as "wet," or served with sauce, or dry, but four sauces are available. The Original is a delight, and a real favorite, with a mustard base and a lovely balance between the mustard and various spices. There's a spicy version, too, which is certainly spicy but tends to overpower the meat. Memphis spicy is a red sauce that is passable, and there's also a sweet sauce. Beans (Bar-B-Q Beans, says the menu) are a real high spot, nicely spiced and benefiting from long cooking that make them smoky and delicious. All four of these barbecue joints (no insult, but that's the way I've always thought of them) had much to recommend them. The meats were basically cooked properly and for a long time. They had superior flavor and provided first-rate meals. No rankings because, as noted long ago, the Guru is a peace-loving person and barbecue has strong loyalists.