From the LA Times
Barbecue – and by that I mean real barbecue, meat cooked long and slow near (not over) a smoldering fire, until it is tender enough to fall to pieces but still moist enough to be delicious – is a discursive art. It takes as much time as it takes, and things will happen, some of them planned, and there will be ample opportunity in between for conversation, music and philosophy.
The current rage for commodifying barbecue – turning it into a series of 10-best lists and must-visit places – is useful for the consumer, but only in the short term. To really understand barbecue, you have to surrender yourself to its languorous current.
Or, you can pick up a copy of Robb Walsh and Rufus Lovett’s new book "Barbecue Crossroads: Notes and Recipes from a Southern Odyssey” which does much the same thing but in a handy armchair format.
Walsh is a well-known Houston-based writer on Southern food, the author of 10 previous books and the restaurant critic for Houstonia magazine. Lovett is a truly marvelous photographer whose work has appeared in everything from Texas Monthly to Gourmet.
Together they embarked on a journey many of us have talked about over a pile of ribs and second frosty mug of beer, but few of us have ever actually undertaken – a barbecue tour of the South and mid-South. They loaded up a Honda Element with notebooks and photo equipment and took off for anywhere barbecue was served between West Texas and North Carolina.


I love barbecue. I know I am not alone. I wish my husband was a grill master, but alas that is not where his talents or inclinations lie. Our recently purchased smoker has only been used two or three times with a modicum of success. He was merely teasing me. He has no culinary aspirations and was drawn in because it's a gadget. He can't resist gadgets. I think he thought it would be easier to operate and, on a basic level, smoking food is fairly simple. However, to get great flavors one has to put in the time and a bit of effort and that's something he just didn't count on. Plus the recipes that came with our unit were pretty uninspiring and not as detailed as was necessary for people new to the ways of smoking food. So, his excitement quickly waned.
Growing up on the central coast of California was paradisaical in many ways. The natural beauty. The rural feeling. My relatives close by. Farm fresh fruits and vegetables always at hand. Food and family often intermixed. My great-great-aunt Ona Chandler married into the Dana family — a Spanish land grant family dating back to before California was a state when it still belonged to Mexico. Spanish land grants weren’t actually Spanish, they were Mexican. Huge tracts of land that the Mexican government gave away to white men if they married the daughters of Mexican soldiers who were stationed in ‘Alta California’ — the name it had at the time.