Cooking with Fire

Everyone holds a special memory about that annual rite of summer, the family barbecue. And every summer, while gathered in the park at the ubiquitous family reunion, the tales of those summer repasts are once again retold, albeit with even more gusto and embellishment than in previous years.

Unfortunately for me, one of my earliest memories of a family barbecue is not a pleasant one.

The occasion was the Wasco County Cattleman's Annual Summer Convention in Dufur, Oregon in the Summer of 1963. The high rolling plains of Dufur are blanketed with acre upon acre of wheat fields and more cattle than humans. In August, it is hot, really hot, a dry, blistering heat.

It was the perfect day for roasting what the grisly cowhands brought forth—a whole steer. This was a tough old animal straight off the range, not the tender, grain-fed cattle we dine on today. The steer was freshly slain in the back corral, tufts of hair still sticking to the flesh as the flies buzzed around. Ranch food at its best.

The entire steer, minus head, legs and tail, was bound and tied, then wrapped in used burlap feed bags that had been soaked in water.

The men dug a huge pit measuring nearly 4 feet deep and 6 feet long. They built a raging fire of charcoal briquettes in the bottom of the pit, and once the coals had turned ashen gray, wet straw was placed on top. This was followed by the sacrificial steer and additional layers of wet burlap. The pit was then covered with a huge mound of dirt.

The steer slowly roasted for hours in the pit, wisps of smoke seeping from underground. All this time we baked above ground under that hot, August sun.

At the moment of glory, and many cans of Budweiser later, the cowboys unearthed the beast from the smoky grave. I do not really remember what the meat tasted like that day, but I do remember what happened a few days later.

My mother decided we needed to take home some of this wonderful barbecued steer. Three days later, she removed the meat from the refrigerator and opened the bag. The entire house filled with the stench of the steer—the smell was a mixture of musty burlap, smoke, dirt and rotted meat. We did not have steer for lunch that day, and I think it took my mother many more days, even weeks, and gallon upon gallon of bleach, to clean the putrid odor from her kitchen.

Since that day 38 years ago, I have not eaten meat cooked in a dirt pit.

However, I also have fonder memories of cooking outdoors. I remember summer campouts with my Boy Scout troop. We would get up early and go down to the banks of the Santiam River to fish. As soon as a worm was dropped in the icy cold water, we had our breakfast, glistening rainbow trout. We wrapped the trout in honey-cured bacon and fried it in a hot cast-iron skillet over the campfire. Served with fried potatoes and eggs it was a glorious way to start the day.

Every year, beginning in late March and running through the end of September, home improvement centers and department stores traipse out an endless line of "barbecues and grills." Everything from portable, tabletop "hibachis" to massive, chrome-plated "Genesis 10,000" gas grills costing upwards of $10,000. These so-called "Cadillac" models of the outdoor grilling world are literally kitchens on wheels, grills, burners, warming compartments, wok attachments, deep-fryer vats and refrigeration units.

Oh and by the way, did I forget to mention those accoutrements they sell with your barbecue? Things like "flavor rocks?" Yeah right, grease drips onto a cement block and creates smoke that rises through caustic gas jets. Moreover, it is only another $50.00. I do not call that authentic and it certainly is not going to give your food true barbecue flavor.

It is however a sad fact of commerce that these outdoor grilling machines sell. Consumers want convenience and speed. Turn on the gas and it is immediately hot. No fuss with charcoal, wood or lighter fluid. Turn off the gas when you are done and you sleep in peace, not worrying that the charcoal will light the patio on fire.

But I find such machines to be a waste of money and a pure affront to the tradition of cooking outdoors. Look, it is plain and simple. When I cook outdoors I am cooking food just as man has for millions of years, over an open flame of natural wood.

I may only be in the backyard, but I want my food to taste just like it would if I were cooking in a campground overlooking a high mountain—lake-juicy, tender food with the smoky flavor that only comes from burning wood.

I will put up with the extra steps it takes to light a fire and wait for the coals to become white-hot. I do not want that prime T-bone that cost me $25.00 to have the acrid taste of propane gas.

Trust me, I am not the only outdoor cooking purist. Have you seen that recent episode of In the Kitchen with Martha? Martha Stewart is definitely a purist when it comes to food. Only the freshest products and best techniques past muster with Martha. Therefore, it is no wonder that she has recently grilled ribs, steaks, chickens, and even vegetables over an open fire.

Martha, although a billionaire, courtesy of her recent public offering on Wall Street, doesn't waste the expense of buying the latest and most technologically advanced gas grill. Her food is simply placed on a heavy iron grate over an intensely hot natural charcoal fire. Remember, it is the taste of the food we are looking for and not speed or convenience.

Would you want to destroy a tender and beautifully delicate spear of asparagus by scorching it with a choking blast of propane gas?

Let's start with the equipment. I use a 21" Weber Kettle Grill. New this year, it cost me $89 at the local hardware store and I expect it to last for many years to come.

In the early 1950's, George Stephen was working at the Weber Brothers Metal Works outside of Chicago, welding metal spheres together to form buoys.

The standard barbecue of the day was called a "brazier,"—an open top grill that exposed the fire to wind, whipping flames and ashes over both the food and the cook.

Mr. Stephen came up with the idea to take what he created at work, two metal spheres, a top and a bottom, creating a "kettle grill." Vents in the bottom and in the top created a continuous feed of air to the fire. This created a sort of convection oven inside the kettle, a constant flow of air through the kettle and around the food. The vents on top of the kettle allowed the cook to regulate the heat of the inside fire. Food could be cooked directly over the coals, or "indirectly," meaning with the coals off to the side and a "drip pan" under the food to catch any grease that could cause flame flare-ups.

Although Weber now makes a full line of gas grills, the basic kettle grill is virtually unchanged from its predecessor, and still one of the best values on the market.

You need a few more tools to complete your outdoor cooking station. A sturdy wire brush for scraping off collected soot on the grill. (I must admit, I am only telling you this because every other food writer does too. I personally like the flavor left from carcinogenic carbon buildup on the grate).

Next, you will need a pair of heavy canvas gardener's gloves. Gloves make for easy handling of dirty grates and cleaning up ashes and they come in handy when handling hot grates.

You should have three basic hand tools; tongs, spatula and meat fork, all with long metal arms and heat resistant handles.

I use a small rack placed on top of the barbecue rack when I am grilling small vegetables or prawns. I do not want my dinner to end up falling into Dante's inferno below.

We need some metal "drip pans." You can buy these cheap at the grocery store, about $5.00 for 10 tins. A drip pan is used during "indirect" cooking to catch the grease that seeps out of a fatty roast, preventing it from starting a nasty fire.

Now we'll move on to the fuel for our fire. I prefer natural wood, just plain old wood chopped into big hunks. The type of wood varies with what I am cooking—Mesquite is a hardwood that holds up well to the hearty flavor of beef. Cedar or Alder are fragrant woods that infuse seafood with a smoky yet light perfume. Cherry and Pecan woods add a sweet flavor to duck and chicken.

Charcoal briquettes are my second choice. Charcoal can give an off flavor, especially if the fire is started with lighter fluid. Sometimes I find that when grease falls on charcoal, the ash lifts up through the smoke and sticks to the food. But charcoal briquettes are economical and easier to find than natural wood.

On to the fire. I use a "chimney" style fire starter for getting the coals going. This is a round metal tin with a grate and holes in the bottom. Place some crumpled newspaper in the bottom and then the charcoal briquettes or wood goes in. Start the fire on the newspaper at the bottom of the chimney. The flame burns upward, creating white-hot coals in about 40 minutes.

Please, do not do what my Father used to do--squeeze more lighter juice on burning coals, sending an inferno higher than the eaves of the roof. The predecessor of Fire Marshall Bill I am sure.

The key to the fire is to let it get white-hot before you start cooking. One important note: if you see flame coming off the white-hot coals, the fire is too hot to start cooking. Sisters and Brothers hear me; it takes time to get the fire to the right temperature. Throw a pork chop on the grill at this stage and you will literally blacken Porky Pig.

Now, time to place the grill over the coals. Let the grill set over the coals about 5 minutes to get hot, then use your wire brush to scrape off those little bits of meat from last night's dinner. (Remember, I am only telling you this because of the food police. I like that crusty black stuff on my grill).

Depending on the type of food you are cooking, a watchful eye of the grill is an absolute rule. No rushing inside to catch the latest gossip on Entertainment Tonight.

Grilled vegetables like zucchini or mushrooms may only take a few minutes. A whole chicken may take up to an hour and a half. Pull up a chair, cocktail in hand, and watch. And watch. And watch.

Like so many acts of life, the greatest satisfaction of outdoor cooking is derived from simplicity.

"One does not rush an act of love, for to do so,
leaves one without pleasure."

Barbecued Ribs