Beerbecue Election Day Picks Revealed

Every four years I manage to get myself way too worked-up over the Presidential election. In fact, my beerbecue posting has suffered partly as a result of my preoccupation with election coverage. I apologize. And clearly I owe it to you, dear readers, to reveal to you my election day choices.

Meet my Hope, Change, Believe in America, and Love of Country all wrapped into one.

I chose Spare ribs and Stone Smoked Porter. What better way to take my mind off the election than to get it all smokey, smokey up in here. Also, if my candidate of choice doesn’t emerge victorious, I still had ribs and beer today. That’s better than most people can say.

I’m always a little hesitant to have a smoked beer with my ribs, which are dry rubbed and done low ‘n slow with 1/2 Hickory and 1/2 Cherry. I don’t want to feel like I just gravity bonged a campfire. But Stone Smoked Porter’s smoke is subtle enough to work. And the slight sweetness and the chocolate and roasted malt character went well with the dry-rubbed ribs. (I used my usual dry rub, without the cayenne and with 1 TBS of garlic powder added.)

I’m beerbecue, and I approve this message.


BBQ munchies

It’s time to put the “becue” back in “beerbecue”.  If you are doing it right, barbecue takes a long time (anywhere from 3 to 12 hours, and even more if you are dealing with a caveman-size slab of meat).  A growing boy can get hungry in that amount of time…

The four food groups.

Of course, each of these items is healthy and tasty.  But combined, they constitute wildly un-kosher, interim nourishment for the pitmaster and his impatient, unruly subjects.

Do this:

More specifically, fashion a slice of sausage and a piece of bacon into a little cup-like dealie-bob, and sprinkle some brown sugar and pour some bourbon around (make sure to get some inside the cup). Let ’em sit and get freaky to some Barry White, Barry Manilow…any Barry will do.

Then do this:You add them with whatever you are smoking.  You can put them on a tray, as I did, so they can get all biblical and whatnot in their juices.  Or, if you already let them get freaky enough to the applicable Barry, then just put ’em right on the grate.  Note: If you put them on a tray, I would put them on the grate after a bit so the bacon has time to get a little crispy.

I had these unholy little bastards on for about 1.5 hours at around 250 – 275, with lump coal and hickory and apple wood chunks (which is how I roll).  By then, that big bacon-wrapped bastard on the lower right had reached 155 degrees, which is right where you want it if you are not into trichinosis.

Then you get this:

Happy birthday to me.

And this:

Oh, look who decided to take some time out her 23.5 hour/day sleeping schedule.

You can throw these at your impatient family and guests to tide them over for the main event.  And it will provide a little somethin’ for your glorious pitmaster belly, so you can continue swilling your firewater of choice. And this is probably easily transferable to regular grilling (just put them away from the flame).

Welcome to my ego. Bask in its glory.

P.J. O’Rourke recently proclaimed, “Very little that gets blogged is of very much worth.”  I beg to differ. is surely essential to the very existence of the thousands of people who share a common interest in pictures of their favorite celebreadies (Barrye Maniloaf, Michael J. Focaccia, and Crust Crustofferson, to name a few).  You can’t tell me that isn’t a compelling allegory of the human condition. And where else would Kim Jong-Il enthusiasts go to see pictures of the Dear Leader doing what he does best, if not for

Of course North Korean olive oil is the very best, Dear Leader.

So, even though P.J. O’Rourke, and surely many others, would rather be scissor-kicked in the throat than read another blog, I will forge on and bring the masses that for which they did not ask (and possibly even explicitly declined).  I will bring you my unsolicited commentary on the two most important topics known to man: beer and barbecue.

And if you don’t read my inspired rantings, I can only conclude that you hate beer and barbecue…which means you are a communist.  And you hate baby Jesus.  And that’s messed up.

Please don't hate me.