Sun Sentinel Palm Beach Edition
IT’S TIME FOR A NEW OBSESSION
Tired of all that sourdough? Try making delicious homemade barbecue sauce
Welp, it’s finally what passes for spring here in my hometown of Chicago. The sun be warmish, the trees doth bloometh, and enticing aromas from backyard grills waft gently through the protective layers of my seasonally appropriate lightweight face mask. But, darn-it-all to heck if I didn’t forget to put barbecue sauce on my weekly Instacart order.
No matter, though, because I’ve got what it takes to make it on my own. And no, I don’t mean moxie or gumption; I mean ketchup and vinegar.
And brown sugar.
Well, don’t just sit there, c’mon in.
Kidding. Stay the hell out. I’ll yell the instructions from here.
Why you need to learn this
Seriously, aren’t you tired of all that sourdough? Maybe it’s time for a new obsession. Homemade barbecue sauce can be delicious and the easiest versions will take, like, five minutes. Then, if you want to get all fancy-toity, you can goose it into your own brand with your own ingredients. Ooh, I can just see the Instagram posts.
The steps you take
On the one hand, barbecue sauce is as easy as falling down a flight of stairs. Still, before we jump into the deep end, let’s figure out what we’re talking about first. After all, the foods we refer to as “barbecue” exist in some form or another pert near all over our entire planet (Earth). You got your Mexican barbacoa, your South African braai, your Korean barbecue, your Mongolian barbecue. And we haven’t even gotten to the good old United States of America.
We Americans — aka us ‘Mercuns — love our barbecue. And we’ve loved it long enough for there to have sprung up what the kids like to call “regional styles.” And those regional styles are associated with their own methods of saucing: thick, tomatoey sauces; thin, vinegary sauces; sauces that run the chromatic gamut from Alabama white to Kentucky black. Where to begin?
I suggest we start where all good things of true merit begin. No, not the tattoo parlor. The grocery store. Go to the section labeled “Barbecue.” Once there, you’ll find shelf after laden shelf bending beneath bottles of barbecue sauce.
Those commercial sauces are the models we’ll use today, because, based on the ubiquity of those bottles on those shelves in those stores, we can safely say that, very generally, that’s what people tend to have in mind when we say “barbecue sauce.”
One last thing before we begin, and that’s just to say, yes, I know that by focusing on this commercialized style I’m ignoring all those wonderful regional sauces that run like antelope from sea to shining sea. And, yes, I know that my simplistic little offerings here cannot begin to plumb the depths of subtlety brought to their sauces by grill masters and pit people the world over. You, yourself, smoking reader, are quite possibly the reigning champeen of your local rib fest. Or, perhaps, your genes, containing a preponderance of excess Neanderthal DNA, draw you inextricably, like a moth to another, really sexy moth, to the sights and smells of charring hanks of carcass, reviving ancestral memories of you and Thak and Blodnork squatting ’round the fire pit, poking at the antelope with your sharpened pokey sticks and thinking that, if only you had language, you could ask Blodnork how long until dinner.
So, I get it. You know barbecue sauce, and it’s a lot more complicated than I’m making it out to be here. And that’s why I’m not about to tell you that what we’re doing here is any better than anything else. If anything, I’m giving it to you as a first step in a long and tasty road to developing your own sauce or sauces.
Thus, the sauce that we’re making today will be relatively simple, but, nonetheless substantial, simultaneously tangy and sweet, and perfectly tasty for just about whatever you’re cooking up. It will be made primarily of three main ingredients: ketchup, vinegar and brown sugar.
Ketchup is the base. It’s what gives the sauce its reddish hue and thick consistency. Some cooks like to start with tomatoes or tomato sauce rather than ketchup. Fire away, I say. I’m just trying to keep it simple here. If I start with a couple cups of ketchup, that will give me a little over 2 cups of barbecue sauce.
The vinegar provides an acidic tang that offsets the heavy, smoky, fatty flavors of the grill. Different recipes call for different types of vinegar. I tend to prefer cider vinegar. It’s fruity and flavorful, and it feels more American than, say, wine vinegars. Plus, I have a hard time with plain distilled vinegar. I know it’s just me, but it makes whatever I’m cooking taste like I’m cleaning the Mr. Coffee.
The sweetness of the
brown sugar complements the acid of the vinegar. Other recipes call for molasses or honey or anything else that’s sweet. Truthfully, I find brown sugar easier to use, just because it’s not so sticky.
Now, the important thing about these three ingredients is the ratios. You’ll want to play around to see what you like, but I usually go with 8:1:1 for the ketchup, vinegar and brown sugar. That means for a pint of ketchup, it’s a quarter cup each of the other two. Taste as you go, and, when you find the right balance, you can move on to your flavoring ingredients.
The list of flavoring ingredients is long, long, long. Everything from aromatic vegetables like onions and garlic to spices like cumin and paprika to jarred condiments like mustard, Worcestershire and hot sauce. My advice is to find a trusted recipe source and start with that.
If you’re using aromatic vegetables, I’d recommend sweating or sauteing them in oil before adding. Or, you can go the totally easy route (as I did in the accompanying recipe) and use the granulated versions.
Now, let us not forget that barbecue — regardless of its point of origin — is achieved with glowing coals and burning wood rather than, say, the benign heat of an electric oven. As such, we associate barbecue with the flavor of smoke. Even if you’re not cooking with actual fire, though, you can get that smoky flavor just with your barbecue sauce. Try adding a few drops of liquid smoke to your sauce, or use smoked paprika or smoked salt or pepper instead of their nonsmoked counterparts.
Finally, many recipes call for simmering your sauce to meld and intensify your flavors. As I said earlier, follow your trusted recipes and see how you like them. For my simple recipe, though, I didn’t cook it one bit, and my family still gave it a big thumbs-up. Alls you do is put all the ingredients in a lidded jar and give it a mighty shake, and Bob’s your uncle.
Now, if you’re new to this whole endeavor, go ahead and give our recipe a try. But, if your curiosity’s aroused, absolutely do some research on your own. Read a bunch of recipes. Visit amazingribs.com, the exhaustive site run by former Chicago Tribune contributor Craig “Meathead” Goldwyn. Come up with something wonderful. Then, take a picture of it and post it on social media so your friends can see that you didn’t waste your quarantine.