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| Smoked Sausage and Pork Shoulder |
It is still at least somewhat true that the grill is a man’s
domain. Frankly, if the men were always
grilling like my brother and his friends did a few weeks back on a camping
trip, I’d be perfectly okay never coming near a pile of hot coals.
Over a weekend in Virginian Appalachia not once did I pick
up so much as a pair of tongs to help with the cooking. It was not for lack of offering. Under normal circumstances I might have been
itching to throw on an apron, but once the boys fired up the grill and the food
started coming out, I was more than happy to sit back with the ladies and enjoy
the spoils of their culinary adventure.
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| Cabin in Virginia |
I was a fool if I ever doubted the high epicurean standards
of my brother’s crew. One of his friends went so far as to buy a smoker just to
take the grill-out from standard to extraordinary. Friday night the R2-D2
looking contraption was put to the test with a pile of liberally seasoned
chicken legs and breasts. Even veggies
found their way into the top layer of smoke- eggplant, onions, and peppers were
cooked until soft and fragrant but still structured. Both the leftover chicken and veg would form the filling for my post-hike sandwich the next day along with a liberal spread of roasted eggplant dip (yes, the boys brought that too).
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| Smoked pork shoulder |
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| Chicken seasoned, ready for the smoker |
The grand finale was a Saturday night barbecue to put all
car camping cookouts to shame. While
playing dominoes, a snack of smoked and peppered wild boar loin appeared to
whet our appetite. This was followed
about a half hour later by a plate piled high with smoked sweet Italian and
spicy Andouille sausage. Corn on the cob
arrived next, still in their jackets and pleasantly charred. A cast iron pot of potatoes mixed with
peppers and onions, and was given a gentle bath of beer then allowed to bubble
until the potatoes were tender. Finally,
buried beneath the sausage and wild boar on the bottom of R2-D2 a luscious pork
shoulder had spent hours in a smoke sauna.
The result was pork so meltingly tender it needed nothing more than a
fork to eat.
It may be still be a man’s world in a few too many ways, but
if the men are cooking like they were the other weekend while the women folk
are relaxing, that’s a world I am more than happy to live in. At least for a weekend.
Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell
