How to Dine in the Best BBQ Restaurants in Indianapolis?
Southerners love to argue about the
right way to eat in the best BBQ restaurants in Indianapolis. Should you
slather it with sauce or take it unadorned with nothing more than the smoke of
the pit? Do you pile it on a bun to make a sandwich, eat it from a plate with a
fork, or just pull it from a bundle of brown butcher paper with your fingers?
I have no delusions of being able to
resolve such a long-running debate, but I did recently come across a nice bit
of evidence about how Southerners ate their barbecue back in the old days—and I
mean way back in the 19th century, when barbecue was cooked outdoors over long
pits dug in the ground.
The American history of barbecue
Plenty of accounts describe how barbecue
was cooked in the best BBQ restaurants in Indianapolis. The pits were filled
with oak and hickory coals, and the animals were slow-roasted whole. Back then,
Carolinians weren’t insistent that their barbecue had to be pork, nor were
Texans so enamored with beef. Across the South, the animals might be pigs,
cows, goats, lambs, turkeys, or whatever else local farmers had on hand and
donated to the cause.
What is almost always missing from such
historical accounts is a description of how the guests actually ate the
barbecue once it came off the pit. Such details, I suppose, were unnecessary to
a 19th century Southern reader. You don’t see magazine articles today
explaining how to eat a cheeseburger, after all.
The original American Barbecue
The kindness, generosity, and familial
spirit of pitmasters are what continues to attract me most to the best BBQrestaurants in Indianapolis. I was happy to see that even at the top of the
game, this still holds true. While at Chicago back in November, I was surrounded
by the best of the best in competition barbecue, and each team was only too
happy to sit and chat, even while the arguably biggest competition of their
lives was unfolding.
With a robust aroma, this sauce hits a
lot of the barbecue checkmarks in a well layered and balanced fashion. First
you get sweet, which comes distinctly in the way of molasses. A tomato base
mixes in with an even tanginess from vinegar. The spices are more pronounced
with this sauce's aroma than most—garlic and onion are discernible, as well as
an earthiness from chili powder. A very light smokiness rounds the whole thing
out and completes the barbecue equation.
Paying homage to true Indianapolis
tradition, this sauce is sweet from start to finish. It's heavy on the molasses
right up front, but that sweetness is quickly cut with vinegar which starts to
build depth. Not long after the sauce turns tangy, all the spices begin to
compete for your attention. None are overpowering, instead they mingle to
create a barbecue balance that includes garlic, onion, and chili powder. It's
only as the sauce retreats from the tongue that any heat comes out.
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