Pearls&Grit

Smoked brisket. The magic isn’t even in the finished product, incredible as it may be. It’s the process. The careful selection of the brisket at the market; hefting one package and then the other, inspecting the bones, the amount of meat, the overall weight stamped in tiny black letters, usually crooked, next to the bar code. 

It is in the preparation. The lid of the smoker, wide open, gaping up into the sky as the fired pellets explode, creating billowing clouds of smoke, scented with last weekend’s barbecued ribs, the drippings now scorching to blackened bits on the aluminum foil wrapped on the bottom. Pellets, raining into the hopper, sticking a hand into the hopper, stirring the pellets all around, then emerging coated in soft, flaky wood dust. Rubbing the brisket’s sinewy surface, slightly gray but marbled in varying brown hues with a concoction of family secret spices, pepper getting under the cuticle and burning just a little. A sprinkle of glittery brown sugar. A cursory pass over the brisket with a handful of coarse-ground salt. Then plunking the hunk of meat down on the oiled grates, the sizzle of juice meeting heat and an immediate waft of impending flavor. 

Then it’s the wait. The delicate, ever-changing aromas that seep out the edges, and out the little stove pipe, in little puffs of steam that turn into steady trickles of fragrant smoke. The temperature gauge on the side of the smoker, the digital numbers slowly blinking back and forth, back and forth, bright and blue. The great patience and immense will power it takes to not lift the lid and check the brisket, smoldering in saucy splendor. 

But it is all worth it in the end, when the smoker lid is thrown victoriously back to reveal the brisket, laying in a golden fragrant heap, the edges crispy and bursting with flavor. The care and concern in removing the brisket from the smoker, crossing fingers that it doesn’t just fall apart en route to the platter, waiting to receive the juicy, tender, falling apart shreds of glorious brisket.