Me vs. The Rabbi's Daughter

Last week I discovered a carnivorous oasis here on the Westside of Los Angeles -- a legitimate Jewish Butcher shop. I suppose there are some to be had in the Pico/Robertson/Fairfax district, but I generally make it a rule to drive more 5 miles away from Culver City.

And with Amazon Prime at my disposal, even that seems like too much of a problem: showering, shaving, putting on anti-perspirant, clean underwear, Birkenstocks that don't emit their own strange odors and a host of other inconveniences that make online clicking and ordering the poor man's version of having a Man Friday...

"Jeffrey, bring me forth that new book by Jamie Raskin and a gallon bottle of my favorite Bulleit Rye Whiskey."

But back to the meat of the story.

Years ago, I had been bitten by the pellet-burning phenomena known as Traeger. Since that time I had smoked turkeys (to perfection), pork shoulder (to near perfection), Tomahawk steaks, salmon on cedar planks (delicious) and even brisket. 

The latter always being a hit and miss proposition. This despite my many years as a line cook, a sous chef,  and a short order cook. I follow all the directions to a T and even splurged for a 1000 yard roll of pink, waxes butcher paper. I watched BBQ shows, hoping to learn some secret. And even got a MEATER so I could gauge the internal meat temperature from the comfort of my leather recliner.

Not once, however did I come close to approaching the melt-in-your-mouth brisketpolluza that I had experienced in 2014 when we went to visit the University of Texas in Austin, the Mecca of Smoked Brisket.

Then I discovered the one variable that I had overlooked. I had been smoking meat that came from the supermarket shelf. Often no more than 6 or 7 lbs. cut of meat cut from the flat. Then I realized the pros, Like world famous Franklin, go the distance and smoke whole packer brisket, which is really a two-muscle butcher cut: the Point and the Flat.

You know me, if I'm in for a dime I'm in for a dollar and a calf. So, with family in town to help take the sting of my daughter's 26th birthday (the first one without her mom) I decided to go all in and pick up a 13 lbs. packer, seen above in all its glory.

The butcher picked one out for me that needed very little in trimming. And suggested I lop off the flap for a more even cook.

It's Saturday morning at 11 AM as I write this. in 12-13 hours, we'll know the results.

That is if some hair trigger soviet submarine commander doesn't get the hobbies jeebies, turn the knob to nuclear and incinerate all of us.