Finally, the tri-tip of his dreams
Even though it was almost 20 years ago, my mouth still waters when I remember my first taste of great Santa Maria barbecue. I was meandering up the 5 Freeway on my way north. It was lunchtime, and for some reason Coalinga sounded like a nice place to stop (hey, I was new to California). I drove into town with my windows rolled down, following a trail of wood smoke to a parking lot where there was a tarp tent. Under it, a guy was busy tending one of those oil-drum barbecues.
He pulled a chunk of meat off the side of the grill, sliced it thin and layered it on a plate with a little bit of the carving juices. I took a bite and had to pause to catch my breath. It was a perfect piece of beef: pinkish medium-rare inside with a slightly charred crust outside and an irresistible tang of smoke. I gulped down the rest and asked him to make me three sandwiches to go -- one for right away, one for the drive and one for my hotel room in case I got hungry that night.
I still dream about that lunch.
For those who know Santa Maria barbecue, this will be no surprise. It is one of California's heritage foods, as much a part of the state's culinary soul as abalone and orange trees. On the Central Coast, you'll find it at restaurants, charity fundraisers, farmers markets and even stalls set up in random parking lots -- basically anywhere a crowd of hungry people might gather.
Delicious as it is when it's done right, Santa Maria barbecue can also be incredibly frustrating. Cooking the meat so it has just the right tinge of smoke but still remains moist requires walking a fine line, and it seems as though most cooks stumble.
I can't tell you how many times I've detoured off highways between Los Angeles and San Francisco, hoping that by some miracle my dream will repeat itself.
But too often my barbecue fantasies have been dashed on the shoals of careless cooking -- meat that is over-smoked and bitter or, more commonly, overcooked to the point of parching.
So this season, rather than waiting for someone else to make my dream come true, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I would try to create the perfect Santa Maria barbecue in my backyard, using nothing but my standard kettle grill. While I was at it, I'd attack the traditional, usually lackluster, accompaniments too. Doesn't one of the great stars of the grill deserve equally fabulous supporting players?
