Smoking Wood Chips

Precious little smells or tastes as luscious as grilled meat. Health gurus’ and cardiologists’ admonitions notwithstanding, we have sizzled beef, poultry, pork and lamb for 40 years.
First we charcoaled broiled chuck steaks squatting over this little Hibachi grill no more than a few inches tall in the driveway of our Bronx apartment downstairs from the Golds. Moving on to Chicago, we installed a taller and somewhat bigger grill on the cement-covered back yard of our brownstone and challenged our guests (and some of us) on the rawest, thickest sirloin steaks we could prepare. Through the 1970s it was always charcoal briquettes and lighter fluid, careful to store it away from flammable harm and to limit the smell of gasoline on the food. Our home in Houston came with an installed gas grill in the gangway between the house and the garage and we became “liberated” from the restrictions of weather on our menu planning. We grilled everything outside rain or shine; in fact, for a number of years the kitchen oven did not work but we did not miss it and did not bother to repair it until the kitchen remodeling in the late 1980s. At first the gas grill produced a hot and steady fire but over the years, and despite buying a new grill, we started to feel that the flame was not hot enough for the lean, fast cooking cuts and that the taste was tamer than what one could get in a real steakhouse. Truth is, we gradually forgot what a strip steak should taste like and got used to the acceptable gas version so handy and convenient just outside the door.
Then we ventured to our second home in the Adirondacks. The cabin came with a Weber grill left in the garage by the Scotts, with a wide open outdoors so inviting for early evening preparations and with plenty of time to sit around, ventilate the lighter fluid and watch over the fire as it got ready for the food. Of course, the weather did not always cooperate; we have pictures of Joe standing over the Weber with a large umbrella in the rain tending over the fire, braving against the elements all in the name of a good proper meal. Then we visited Jerry and Kass in their Lexington home and learned about charcoal chimneys. A chimney is a metal cylinder with an inverted wire funnel at the bottom. It requires 3 double newspaper sheets stuffed under the funnel, a supply of charcoal over the top of the cylinder and a lighter to ignite the paper. The fire goes up through the charcoal which turns to red hot embers within 20 minutes; no need for lighter fluid, no variation in the technique or timetable. A rare “aha” realization and technology that changed our grilling habits forever. We bought our first chimney at Bering’s and shipped it to Tupper Lake but quickly chimneys became available everywhere including the local Fortune’s hardware store. We failed to obtain a fire only once when we bought generic charcoal from the Save-a-Lot store and learned our lesson.
Still, we continued to gas grill in Houston for the convenience of predictable, weather and hassle-free dinner at the end of a long day at work. After a few sessions with the Weber at the lake, however, and with our daily routine a bit relaxed once the kids grew up and life became a bit simpler, we realized that there was no longer need to miss out on the superior flavor of a charcoal-fired grill. We bought a classic, black, round Weber grill and added it to our cooking armamentarium. Since then, we have charcoal grilled everything at the lake and reserved it for beef in Houston. We still use the gas grill for chicken and sausage or other fatty and slower cooking foods including fish and vegetables. Then, we discovered smoking wood chips.
In truth, we discovered meat-smoking 30 years ago when we first bought a meat smoker. The process was a bit cumbersome and prolonged. We had to pull the cars back, haul the smoker out into the driveway, load it up and wait for several hours before the low-level heat could cook a reasonable size piece of meat. Plus, the embers remained hot for over a day and the clean-up was fairly messy with all the fat drippings in the water pan. It generally seemed excessive to put it all together for a casual dinner or for a small piece of food. Over time, the smoker became a signature activity earmarking holidays, parties and special celebrations. Every thanksgiving we bought a medium size turkey; Joe and Jonathan were generally in charge of this culinary activity. Around ten in the morning, they spiced the bird, (almost always some honey was involved), took out and loaded the smoker and tended to it periodically checking and adding water until 4-5 in the afternoon when the bronze, glistening bird emerged from the smoker and plopped into a large baking pan to rest for a few minutes and then get carved onto the cowboy platter, ready for transfer onto the dinner table. We also smoked a turkey or a brisket for large outdoor parties and for Xmas sometimes. One refinement to the routine was to also “gravlax” a slab of salmon on the top rack of the smoker. Unlike the usual fairly understated smell and texture of a restaurant version, this fish was dusky and strong with thick tones of smoke and oiliness; it is hard to describe it there was so much depth to our smoked salmon than anything we have tried commercially. Of course, it was something to either love or leave alone and, at least Joe and I loved it; I would have to ask the kids if they even remember what they thought of it so many years ago.
Ironically, the first time we considered having a quick, weeknight meal of smoked food happened in Galveston in our high rise apartment where grilling of any kind was impossible. In order to add some variety to the dining options, we bought a stove top smoker; we poured small aromatic wood chips on the bottom of the pan, covered them with a second metal sheet on which we placed the meat with seasoning; then the top lid slid over to seal the cooking space. After the stove was on for a few minutes a faint smoky smell wafted out from around the pan edges. As the pan heated up, the wood chip essence rose through the meat to flavor it with a delicate, subtle smoked taste. Also ironically, we almost always smoked a fillet of fish which was our staple animal protein on the island. We left the stove-top smoker for the next owners when we sold the apartment and did not do much about weeknight smoking until we somehow noticed bags of mesquite and hickory wood chips in the BBQ supermarket aisle over the bags of charcoal. This discovery, made decades later that it had to be made, once more changed our dining options and added a wonderful and lasting nuance to dinner.
It is a remarkably simple procedure: in a small bowl, we drop a handful of chips and soak them in water for an hour or so before the fire is started; when the charcoal is ready, we drain the extra water and simply drop the chips on top of the charcoal, set the grill up normally put the meat on and close the Weber lid. The aroma is phenomenal while the food is cooking filling the yard with rich, smoky air much like the old-fashioned smoker to Thanksgiving memories. The meat is also richly infused with the smoke and emerges a very different texture, color and taste from the normal grill charcoal. We have decided that this additional treatment overwhelms good quality marbled beef while it enhances the richness of chicken and transforms a thick slam of pork into an amazing experience. Smoking charcoal chips are very commonplace in Houston; most grocery stores have two or three varieties, while more specialty stores like Academy carry several types of wood chips. There are recommendations for pairing the fight wood to the appropriate meat and suggestions for variations on the theme. We quickly thought to add charcoal smoking to our dining menu at the lake. The obvious presumption was that the raw material would also be available anywhere charcoal was sold just the way we found things in Houston and no need to pack and transport bags of wood in the airplane.
Wrong again; in this era of globalization where every mall looks the same as every other mall in every other Us and even European city, there still are pockets of unexpected regional character. You cannot presume that the states recognize the superior importance of something as obvious as smoking wood chips just because they are a staple in Texas, as basic and necessary as toilet paper and Palmolive soap. And so, the final chapter of the quest that gave this essay its title began in earnest during the summer of 2009. I traveled to Boston for the annual endocrine Society meeting and in addition to spending some time with Kass and Jerry in town and at Becket, Kass and I went to lake together for part on the following week. The original plan to fly to Saranac got nixed because Kass has a strong aversion to small planes so we resolved to drive from Boston. It therefore seemed silly to pack woodchips and I deferred to buying what I needed locally… While surveying the goods in the supermarket I told Kass that I was especially interested in buying a couple of bags of smoking woodchips for the lake. She gave me a puzzled look, surprising already coming from such a charcoal-savvy lady; after all, if it were not for her household, we would have never discovered the charcoal chimney in the first place……. We made several stops wherever it seemed remotely possible that I would find wood chips. We looked in Boston proper, the suburbs, along the way while driving across the state. We even stopped at the Tail of the Pup, a self-professed smokehouse, for goodness sake and came up completely empty handed. I believe Kass got more than a little exasperated with the fruitless search by the time we got to the lake house chipless (and without simple syrup, another story altogether).
We resolved to respect the differences of the land and shipped woodchips to the lake as we were able, and packed bags of the aromatic scraps when we travelled and safely stocked the lake workshop with a nice variety and were finally able to enjoy smoked chicken and pork by the water. The following spring I returned to Boston and felt it my duty to carry a bag of hickory wood chips and introduce my friends to the pleasures of smoke grilling. Then regional individuality gave in to industrial globalization for wood chips as it has for so many other aspects of our lives. We travelled to New York for Jonathan’s medical school graduation and made our usual pilgrimage to Zabar’s on Broadway and 81st. We wondered about, marveled at the cheeses and the olives and mostly the incredibly thick crowd and narrow aisles and the feeling of New York and then walked up to the second floor to look for potato chip bag clips, a quest that had begun unsuccessfully back in Houston months earlier. Zabar’s failed us on this point as well and bag clips seemed delegated to an era past of incredibly useful common-sense inventions that somehow fickly fell out of favor like the table top crumber or the small, inexpensive camera card reader. Disappointed, we started to leave and then, right there in the middle of the floor was a bright display of Weber accessories for your grilling pleasure, including…….. yes, exactly right: several varieties of smoking wood chips in crisp colorful plastic bags. The last time we went to the lake in the summer of 2010 smoking wood chips were available for purchase at Fortune’s the local Tupper Lake hardware store. For the foreseeable future we will continue to buy things local up there and will now be able to add hickory and mesquite wood chips to our list. We still have to hand carry cherry and alder chips but that may also change in time.

Brussels dining

It is said that Brussels is a culinary destination but we cannot agree.

During a recent trip, we had several competent meals and found the reputation overstated and the typical Belgian dishes rather bland.

At Francois, a pleasing small restaurant in the old fish market section of St Catherine, we sampled:
a bouillabaise that was just plain
a large rabbit hind leg braised in the traditional beer sauce that was very tasteful
a lamb tongue appetizer, quite nice
the biggest and nicest surprise was the amuse bouche: half a dozen snails stuffed with green peppercorns presented with a metal gadget something like the old sardine can opener which was stuck in a wine cork and which the waiter insisted of calling " a snail spoon" quite a contraption. The snails were very nice indeed the peppercorn adding a lovely punch

At Aux Armes de Bruxelles, we found a large bustling restaurant, a little full of themselves, and we had:
Moules/Frites: a filling bucket of mussels in white wine sauce, tasty but no match for Caraba's, my standard for mussels. The Frites sure looked like they came out of a big frozen Oreida bag, though the waiter insisted that they were hand cut on the premises. Duck breast in a light tomato sauce with hints of rose petals, very very nice. Shrimp croquettes with a mushy texture and little virtue or taste

The Dames Tartines was a lovely surprise: a small restaurant near the Botanical Gardens, tastefully decorated with white walls and modern paintings (for sale). The lady who ran the room looked frazzled the entire time, perhaps overwhelmed by having a full house that evening, but capable and helpful with a no-nonsense air about her. The menu was focused of seafood: we had a Dorado and a Bra, both fillets wiht skin on delicately poached and served simply with vegetables. Although it is listed as serving belgian quisine, the menu did not include any of the traditional dishes including no moules/frites. The evening was particularly pleasant because we shared the meal with other members of our working group and got to chat outside the conference environment. Although we did not order an elaborate menu, the meal lasted almost 3 hours thanks to the lone lady caretaker of the house.


for our experience at La Taverne du Passage and Comme Chez Soi, see separate blog entries.

Brussels dining: comme chez soi

The restaurant now holds 2 Michelin stars and continues to be considered the premier dinning establishment in Brussels; well deserved!!

We celebrated Joe's 62nd birthday there one windy, crisp evening. The space is ornate and festive with stained glass and dark paneling, formal but not ostentatious. With the right table one can see into the kitchen through a glass window. The tables are snuggly set near one another as is usual in Europe. The service is gracious and friendly; still relatively few waitstaff taking care of serving, pouring and picking up throughout the meal.

To start we chose a roll of oxtail and lamb tongues with coriander and a young leek terrine (mouthwateringly delicious) and pan fried Dublin bay prawns over a mount of crispy vegetables with a light parmesan creamy sauce (the taste like langoustines and the sauce with a wonderful gentle punch). The main course was one of those "aha" experiences that makes Comme Chez Soi clearly worth a trip. Pigeon breasts with green carraway, black radish canneloni with chinese cabbage served for 2 persons. This detail violated our decades long rule of sharing but we could not resist the selection (also most offerings on the menu are for 2 persons as well). The boneless meat was a dark burgundy color, soft as liver in texture and sublimely tasty. It is quite difficult to describe the gustatory sensation of food; this pigeon swirled into the mouth releasing pleasure with every squeeze on the teeth. There was a bit of sausage and the delicate sides to complement it, though overshadowed by the excellence of the pigeon itself. We ate slowly savoring each bite of the well measured portion on our plates wanting it to last as long as possible. Just as we were sorrowfully reaching the end..... the waiter came around with a copper pot and asked: would you like seconds? What an amazing surprise! The seconds, all pigeon, were just about as much meat as the firsts and so we had another delightful round of exquisite taste. The concluding coffee came with a small silver tray of sweet mouthfuls of chocolates just the right amount of sugar to end a most unforgettable meal. clearly one of the best meals we have had in some time and well worth a return visit.

Brussels dining: La Taverne de Passage

We reached Brussels on a cold, windy and rainy Sunday morning after the transatlantic flight form the States. Mercifully, our hotel room was available and we rested, regrouped and ventured out into the grey morning in search of Culture. We tucked into the fine arts museum and enjoyed the Magritte exhibit and the other offerings of the museum. We walked the cobble stone streets of the old town, ventured briefly to the Grande Place thinly crowded with visitors mostly local and it was time to have our first Belgian meal.



Unfortunately, many restaurants are closed both Sundays and Mondays in Brussels. Fortunately, La Taverne de Passage was open all day, every day within walking distance from the Grande Place and our hotel. Located inside an old covered mall with a tall glass, vaulted ceiling lined with chocolateries, antique shops and cafes, it was a classic restaurant with white linen and men waitors, dark panelling and tiled floors. The wait staff were having their meal and despite the unfashionably early hour of 6pm there were a few other diners in the middle of their meal. We selected a waterzooi, typical Belgian fare " a creamy, comforting dish of chicken or fish in broth" (we had the chicken), and an order of veal kidneys cooked in beer. The chicken arrived in a large metal pot filled with broth; two pieces of chicken, leeks and potatoes, a "poulet avec ses legumes" of Lyons memory. It was nice and bland, good for chasing away a cold or soothing an upset stomach; certainly not worth carrying home for our future enjoyment. The kidneys were also nice, the sauce jestier and the texture chewy and very satisfying; no sides, no extras. We shared a small carafe of house wine, the most reasonable selection among an overpriced list of wines. Surprisingly, both in this and all other restaurants the beer choices were particulary slim; one light ale, one darker beer and one non-alcoholic beverage.



On the way home we walked along Rue des Bouchers a narrow street lined with restaurants serving prix-fixe dinners of moules / frites, sparsely populated with waiters standing at the door tryingto entice customers. We did not visit Chez Leon on this trip having earlier ascertatined that it is an over advertized, mediocre place serving mediocre food. We cruised along Rue Neuve, lined with the ubiquitous brand stores now selling in most malls anywhere, bustling with relatively young people, many scarved women and a Mc Donald's, the most crowded of all the establishments. At the hotel, across the Place Rogiers we retreated for our first night in Brussels tired and ready to call it a night.

Belgium: are all frites frozen?

Belgium prides itself on lace, chocolate, beer, mussels and "pommes frites", french fries.

On our recent visit to the country, we sampled frites in several restaurants both casual and of higher prestige. Frites was on the menu almost always accompanying meat and seafood fare. We were expecting something special: hand cut, deliciously fried morsels to set their merits apart from industrial, precut potatoes that make a mother's dinner preparation easy and fast in the States. Alas, quite the opposite.

In all cases the fries arrived in bowls or plates absolutely uniform in shape, tepidly fried, almost wilted and remarkably like what we have learned to expect from the Oreida food processing giant. Almost all were thickly cut affairs with a pale yellow color, uncrisp, healthfully cooked in vegetable oil. Nothing to justify their calories or to fullfill the well deserved sin of eating something worthwhile just .. once in a while. At the Armes de Bruxelles we were served the thick cut variety and another Mc Donald like slender cut specifically designed to accompany a different dish; both servings had the same industrial uniformity of shape and texture. We asked the waiter about this and he looked indignant and said "mais, non madam" of course they were all cut by hand on the premises and lovingly prepared especially for each serving. How we could not believe him!

BBQ the slow food of Texas

Joe was the first customer of the day at the Torres barbershop and hair salon, where Mr. Torres barbers and Mrs. Torres salons. The establishment is a small, neat old Galveston house with a condemned building and “stay out” insignia across the street. The haircut done, we started toward the Galveston Livestock Show and BBQ cook-off; spotting a small, tucked away Latino bakery with empanadas and kolaches at under a dollar we bought a good, local breakfast.

Taking the Hway 6 exit off I-45, we drove up to the only regional Haak winery in this part of Texas and from there to the fairgrounds in Hitchcock, TX. We turned in on the country fair grounds and parked on the nearby field. It was a relatively cool and breezy day, though sunny and bright. There was the livestock show, some sheep and goats, more cows and turkeys and mostly chickens and pigs; all bored, lying in their enclosures tolerating the gawkers and their trainers. There were Ferris Wheels and Merry-go-rounds, and a mass of families milling around in the dust and sun.


The BBQ cook-off that was a big part of the attraction smelled like heaven; dozens of big, black, smoking cookers under tents with their guardians sitting around drinking beer and waiting. Turns out, this is a big affair, $2,500 just to enter the cook off; three days, first fajitas and beans, next chicken and chili and finally ribs and brisket. The judges blind-tasted each entry and developed the runner-up list, the final winners to be announced Saturday evening before the concluding rodeo at 8pm. As it turned out, we arrived too early to withstand the heat for another 4 hours, so we took pictures of the fair and the kids and the Ferris Wheels and left. We did, however, get invited to photograph one BBQ outfit, and the owner offered us a spectacular, tender, big, flavorful pork rib that became lunch. Driving back to the Island, we stopped at Katie’s to pick dinner.

At home, we took the folding chairs to the beach and sat for over an hour looking at the waves and the strollers. One grown man was working on his sand castle with a pastry spatula and lots of patience. The sun lowered to the horizon and we did not return to the Rodeo though we had our hands stamped just in case. What a day doing nothing!!