Introductory Remarks
Hi folks, it's Chef G.--your favorite cooking superstar--with a special holiday edition of the Chef G. Cooking Channel. I'll be presenting a Thanksgiving feast you'll never forget.
I can tell you I haven't forgotten MY first Missouri Thanksgiving. It occurred in November of 2019 and in this episode I'm going to take you back to that very day. How am I going to do that? Well, you might remember me bragging in an earlier post that I used to write on a different cooking-related website until I was unceremoniously asked to leave. Fortunately, I saved most of the article I wrote about my first Missouri Thanksgiving. Therefore, through the magic of internet-based-time-teleportation, I am able to offer this encore presentation for your enjoyment.
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Geography 101
As I said, today's episode features a specialty from the fine State of Missouri. It's the fifth state I've spotlighted in my now-famous collection of Mid-western dishes, and it could end up being the tastiest one of all. On the other hand, it could also end up being the most disgusting dish ever prepared by a world-class chef. Yes, even a world-class chef like me can totally screw up a good recipe with imprecise cooking techniques. Believe me, I've done it before and I can definitely do it again. Wish me luck.
But before I start cooking, there are a couple of questions I must address:
1) Is Missouri even IN the mid-west?
I'm aware that the legions of Chef G. fans are pretty much evenly divided into three camps regarding Missouri's place in these United States.: The Southern State-ists, The Mid-Western State-ists, and the Hybrid State-ists. I think I understand the confusion and I'll try to sort thing out. Lucky for you, I'm not only America's most beloved satirical chef, I'm also a geyser of geographical knowledge.
I've done some traveling in Missouri and have heard some pretty indecipherable southern accents there. Plus, it's the next state above deep-south Arkansas. Those points do support the "Southern State" theory.
The "Hybrid State" theorists concede that the Ozark region of Missouri is very southern, but they point to the fact that it is located right below Iowa, which is the quintessential mid-western state. And the citizens in the northern part of the state speak just like Iowans, which is to say, they speak like mid-westerners. Ergo, Missouri has the features of both north and south.
Then there are the "Mid-Western" believers like me. We are the people who were given that information by the nuns who taught our fourth-grade geography classes. Since I am the host of this program, and since I believe almost everything I was taught five decades ago, and since I need this article to fit in with my mid-west food theme, I going to with the idea that Missouri is a full-fledged mid-western state.
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| Further proof: Missouri sits right there in the center of the country, bordered by the mid-western states of Iowa and Illinois. |
2) Okay, let's assume Missouri IS a mid-western state. What do mid-westerners know about ribs? About barbeque? Those are SOUTHERN things.
I will grant you that northern states aren't commonly associated with great barbeque. Sure there are backyard grillers in Minnesota, Michigan, Wisconsin, et al., who think of themselves as championship caliber BBQ chefs because they can cook a tasty hamburger or hotdog. Sorry dudes, that kind of grilling is not the same as southern barbeque. Nobody has ever salivated over an Illinois-style brisket. Nobody has ever driven half-way across the country for some Ohio-style pulled pork. Nobody cares about a Michigan-smoked ham. Indiana grilled shrimp? Forget it!
Texas brisket, Carolina pulled pork, Virginia country-smoked ham, Australian shrimp on the barbee--that's what the people want. And when it comes to ribs, the State of Missouri maintains a strong reputation for the best barbequed ribs in the world. Sure, Austin, Texas and Memphis, Tennessee are famous for their rib joints. Maybe some other cities too. But what other state has TWO cities after which two distinct styles of BBQ ribs are named? I submit that the answer is "there ISN'T another one."
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St. Louis-Style? Kansas City-Style? What The Heck's The Difference?
In some ways, the two styles are interchangeable. They both involve pork ribs. They both involve smoke and fire and a grill. Neither of them involve sticking them in a crock pot or wrapping them in foil to bake them in an oven. Neither of them are in any way related to the "barbequed ribs" you will find at an all-you-can-eat buffet among an array of stainless steel pans full of mashed potatoes, gravy-like substances, macaroni and cheese-food, taco fixin's, slices of things that resemble pizza, fried chicken pieces dripping with grease, something fishy, syrupy peaches, canned corn, wilted lettuce salad, thin chicken noodle soup, something red with kidney beans & tiny bits of hamburger that they call "chili," and sometimes a well-done chunk of steak that looks like an army boot.
Look, I like buffets as much as the next guy, but it's important to distinguish between mushy ribs that have been festering under a heat lamp for hours while soaking in a bath of runny sauce, and ribs that were prepared over hot coals by a dedicated Missourian.
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| If you like the former, go to a place like this. If you like the latter, please read on. |
Anyway, back to the difference between the two styles of Missouri ribs. After many years of exhaustive analysis, I have determined that St. Louisans prefer spare ribs and Kansas Citians go for baby back ribs. I guess the next question is, "what's the difference between spare and baby back?" I know spare ribs are bigger. I know nothing more than that and I don't have enough curiosity to learn more than that. I don't NEED to learn more than that. After all, I'm a brilliant chef, not a butcher. But I HAVE grilled both and I much prefer the baby backs. They're leaner, tenderer, eye-pleasing-er, and delicious-er.
Along with the spare rib/baby back rib controversy, the other main difference between the two Missouri cities is that St. Louisianados take less pride in their sauce than Kansas Citiacs. I'm more like Kansas Citiophiles in that I really dig a rich, thick, sweet, gooey BBQ sauce.
And then there's this: A few decades ago, a famous New York journalist and food writer named Calvin Trillin shocked the sophisticated food world when he declared a little Kansas City hole-in-the-wall rib joint named Arthur Bryant's to be "the single best restaurant in the world." In the recipe that follows, I'm going to show you WHY Kansas City-style ribs are so delicious.
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It's Time To Barbeque
Anybody can grill ribs. Many people do it. And everyone who does venture into the rib world believes, with all sincerity, that their ribs are the best. That just shows none of them have tasted MY Kansas City-style ribs, which are truly the world's best. The proof is in the hundreds of awards I would have won had I entered them in any international rib cooking competitions.
All seriousness aside, I admit there are some other BBQ artists with pretty good rib making skills. That's why I felt some pressure to distinguish MY ribs from all the other racks of ribs out there. Today I came up with an idea for doing just that.
EUREKA!!! It's the Minnesota weather! Some kind of mysterious chemical reaction takes place within the meat when a hot grill is surrounded by cold snow. Scientists have yet to explain the phenomenon but, trust me, the hot-cold dichotomy seems to impart extra deliciousness. AMEN TO THAT, BROTHERS AND SISTERS!
In addition, the winter weather makes it easier to maintain a low temperature inside the grill, which is important for slow-cooking the ribs. Just try to regulate the heat on a hot summer day without constantly messing with the top and bottom air flow mechanisms or using such tricks as a pan of cold water underneath the ribs. A gas grill provides more accurate temperature control, of course, but no self-respecting Kansas City rib chef would approve of that. "Go charcoal or go home," he'd say.
Wood is fine too, I guess, especially if you like your ribs with a smokier flavor. I've smoked ribs in the past and they were good, for sure, but sometimes the smoke overwhelms the meat. My preferred method is simply a moderately slow-grilling process. The charcoal itself provides enough smoke for me.
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But let's back up for a minute, because I forgot to discuss the preparation of the meat before tossing it onto the grill. It's quite simple, really. Only two steps are involved.
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| Remove the membrane (silverskin) from the bone side of the ribs. Seriously, it makes a difference. |
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| "Aye, there's the rub." -Shakespeare "Aye, there IS no rub." -Chef G. |
I simply salt and pepper both sides of the ribs. They don't need a spice rub. All they need is a good sauce. The sauce is the rub.
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It's been a couple of hours, so let's go back out to the grill. The ribs should be ready for some sweet, sticky, gooey, sauce.
Oh yes, I've tried many BBQ sauces in my illustrious grilling career, but I think I've finally found the very best. It meets all of my specifications: Rich, thick, sweet, gooey and sticky. Purists might chastise me for not making my own rich, thick, sweet, gooey and sticky sauce, but, I assure you, I've tried. I just cannot match the perfection that is "Rufus Teague Made Some Sauce." There is nothing like it, and it's made in Kansas City, so you KNOW it's authentic. I hope you can find it where you live.
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| There are only three easy steps left: 1) Slice the meat between each rib. 2) Place a few ribs on a plate for each guest. 3) Bow your heads in thanksgiving to god and Chef G. 4) Chow down. (Like in the video below.) |
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