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Terroir Tours - Feb 2024

Terroir Tours - Feb 2024

February 06, 2024

BBQ

Austin, Texas - April, 2018

Leaving my hotel room at 7:19am, it’s earlier that I’d typically be up and out the door on vacation. I know I’m already dangerously behind schedule. I grabbed my hat, my book and headed for the elevator.

“Ping,” I walk out the door, phone in hand, Uber app engaged. 7:23am my ride rolls up and we head north, the home stretch of my journey has begun.

If you're tuned into national food and wine scene, you know that Austin, TX has become a mecca for hungry travelers and tourists. James Beard awards are boasted throughout this foodie heaven with international variety. Sushi, Yakitori, Shanghai Soup Dumplings, you name it. However, the crown jewel of Texas cuisine, as well as this culinary adventure, is BBQ. If you’re tuned into the national BBQ scene, you KNOW the name Aaron Franklin. I thought I’d eaten great Q but I was simply a neophyte until I ate the brisket, at Franklin BBQ!

As I mentioned, we’re heading north, a quick ride to a part of town that’s not as “touristy” as 6th st. A bit of graffiti here, homeless shelter there. Seems more appropriate for BBQ than some shiny palace downtown. 7:31 am, I hop out the chariot - good news and bad.

Here’s the cliff notes… a normal guy, in his mid 20’s, decides to make a backyard brisket. No Michelin Star and not classically trained in the art of cooking. As the story goes, the brisket was terrible, but Aaron was hooked on the idea of cooking meat low on slow over an open fire. Two years later he and his wife opened a roadside BBQ stand where they raised enough money to open Franklin’s (2007).

By now, anyone who’s got anything to say (anyone worth listening to) about BBQ (or serious food in America) has eaten this guy's brisket and left outta there sayin’, “it’s the best I’ve ever eaten.” (Bourdain)

He’s become a cult hero, the restaurant, an institution. And this is the only location. He won't open a smokehouse in Brooklyn and he doesn’t have a depot on Abbot-Kinney.

I’m here for a weekend with a bunch lifelong buddies. We’ve had excellent meals, but this one, is special. Everything about this guy's story speaks, no shouts, to my personal quest toward enlightenment.

And the process is totally democratic. You get in line and you wait. I mean, wait. The line at Franklin’s is notoriously, painfully long, and that’s part of what makes it special. Anyone can come get in line. It takes a bit of commitment, the great equalizer. They don’t take reservations. When they sell out for the day, that’s it. And they sell out every day!

I’m from NC and consider myself a “BBQ Guy.” Anytime my wife and I are on a road trip, we’re more than happy to go out of our way to pay homage to the greats and sample the newbies.

Here, our BBQ traditions center mostly around pork, cooked low and slow over hickory. A predominant variety in our neck of the woods. Sauce is a major point of contention, but, that’s another email.

Wood and sauce are the tip of the iceberg. From rubbing to wrapping, spritzing to injecting, there’s certainly more than one way to smoke meat and honestly, I love them all!

Techniques for cooking what are traditionally considered “inferior” or “cheap” cuts, seasoned with nothing more than salt and pepper have been passed down and riffed on for hundreds of years. More than that, it’s been a way of life for almost all American Southerners and, in my opinion, BBQ claims the throne as the preeminent “American Cuisine.”

7:32 am, I proudly stakeout my spot in line.

The bad news, today is Saturday, the busiest day of the week, the line starts early and gets long fast. It’s mid April, unseasonably chilly and overcast this morning and I wish I had a jacket. The line is already around the stairs, down the ramp and halfway across the parking lot.

The good news, there’s a little coffee hut set up over there.

After I introduce myself to the three folks in front of me, I take a seat directly on the asphalt. The locals have a zin like approach to the experience, clearly not their first time. Comfortable lawn chairs, blankets and also, breakfast.

We exchanged a quick introduction. I think they could sense my excitement and because I was by myself, they indulged a few questions before digging into their selection of cheese, crackers and spreads. I must say I admired the way they were doing business.

“This is my first time, did I get here early enough? Am I too late?”

“Is it ok to go get coffee?”

I’d done proper due diligence and thoroughly stalked this place online as to avoid looking like a tourist or worse, offend the locals.

Each morning, shortly after the line has formed, a Franklin’s employee methodically patrols the crowd and tally’s orders so that they can anticipate and accurately predict at what point they will run out and carefully break the news to some unsuspecting carnivore that, unfortunately, “you arrived too late today to get any beef ribs, probably no turkey,” and eventually, they identify they last person. If you're behind that point, “sorry, friend, try us tomorrow.”

7:35 am, two guys built camp behind me.

These two were clearly regulars. After immediately yielding to their knowledge and experience, the two were happy to share with me more Franklin lore. They told me how the beef ribs were only available on Saturday, “but we might be too far back.” We’ll definitely get some brisket. We’ll probably get sausage. Might not get turkey.

Missing the Turkey would be a personal tragedy because it’s the recipe I use for my family at Thanksgiving and I’d like to see how I stack up.

I thanked them for their insight, marked my spot in line with my book and headed for an espresso at the hut.

By 7:45 am, the line was across the parking lot and in danger of spilling into the street.

The aforementioned employee taking orders approaches my spot in line. She instructs the 30 or so people closest to me that we can expect to have lunch around 1:30pm. “Realistically”, she warned, “we might not get turkey and probably wouldn’t get sausage today”, based on previous orders. Behind us, 2:00pm approximate lunch time, 2:30pm and so on. After that, you might be wasting your time.

Feeling secure that my spot in line was defined, and pretty damn fortunate that I wasn’t 15 min later, I decided to check out my surroundings. Like I said, it’s still pretty cool out this morning, the locals have come prepared with folding chairs and blankets. Walking toward the front on the line, I saw a nice cross section of humanity. In the pole position, a quartet of big, hefty dudes from LA, been there since 2 am. They told me they came straight from the airport. They had chairs, blankets, a cooler full of beer and some serious determination.

I asked them how long the guys behind them had been there. “About 4am,” they said.

“And the guys at the bottom of the ramp?” I said. “About 6,” they told me. I gave them a nod of congratulations and respect, then, snapped a quick selfie with the iconic “Franklin’s BBQ” sign.

8:15 am, I wonder across the porch and peek my head inside the building. The machine is starting to work but we must be patient. My buddies from LA wont get that first Rib until 11 am.

I wandered back to my spot, and read a few chapters of Medium Raw while I waited for the morning sun to warm my back and help loosen my waggle.

8:35am, I looked up from my book and saw activity on the second level of the restaurant. Out back, where the smokers are.

9:00am, it occurred to me that, although I was alone, all these people were here for the same reason and somehow, among a bunch of strangers, I felt surrounded by “my people.” People that travel for food, people that appreciate craft, people that understand waiting in line isn’t torture, it’s part of the fun.

9:30am the sun peeks out between the clouds. Immediately, I feel energy and eager anticipation for the upcoming throw down. It’s seems like everyone is starting to feel the same. Blankets are being put away, a few guys are no kicking a soccer ball around. The collective Beast is starting to awaken.

10 am, beer sales begin and all of a sudden, it’s a party.

Over the course of the next 3.5 hrs, I met people and listened to their stories. Everyone had an anecdote about being in line at Franklin’s or people they had met while standing in line. I began to understand WHY people come here and why they do this. It was clear, no one was here by accident or just happened to be here. This. Is. A. Thing.

To recap, it’s early, it’s cold and if I’m lucky I’ll get to sample the goods… but not until 1:30pm! Sounds horrible, right? It’s like tailgating except we’re all on the same team (Aaron’s) and ultimately, would all leave with a smile on our face.

Customers recalled their first time at Franklin’s, described and ranked their favorite smoked meats and debated the merits of Lean vs. Juicy.

Folks shared food, wine, beer and other edibles. I met a fellow enophile that worked in the biz in Austin. We exchanged info, we follow each other on Instagram.

1:20 pm, as predicted, I’ve made my way to the threshold of success. Up the stairs and through the front door, the wafts of wood smoke become a bit more pronounced. That heady aromatic cocktail of burning wood and grilled meat stoke my primal instincts. Around the outer edge of the room, the line hugs the wall.

Said walls are covered in news paper and magazine clippings. Both local and national, ALL proclaiming Franklin’s BBQ the Undisputed Heavyweight Champion of the World!

1:35 pm, I’m up. I’ve never done this but I’ve seen it done. A man confidently stands directly in front of me wearing black rubber gloves and holding an 18 in carving knife. He has a friendly look on his face but he’s clearly in the zone. He put down his knife, reaches with both hands for the roll of brown butcher paper fixed to the wall at his left and tears off a large section. He spreads it out in front of himself on the counter and asks, “How much brisket do you want?” Not what do you want, how much do you want, I love it!

I’m here for the group. The moment of truth has arrived, I step up to the plate and with the confidence of a home run hitter knowing he’s about to get a fastball right down the middle. With a smile on my face that was clearly infectious, I replied, “3 lbs!”

My butcher gives me a nod and a grin as if to say, right on! Then, as protocol dictates, with bass in his voice he repeats my order to the cashier to his right, “3 lb’s brisket!”

In the blink of an eye, he centers a whole beef brisket on his board, wields his knife and begins to carve thin, perfectly uniform slices of the Holy Grail of American BBQ. 50/50 lean and juicy.

He looks up expectantly, sensing that I had just begun.

I did not hesitate, responding as if there was a time limit. “1 lb turkey,” I said. He repeated, and sliced with the precision and accuracy of sushi chef.

We continued.

“1 lb pulled pork.”

“1 lb sausage.”

“1 lb pork ribs.”

Then, I see them. A full rack. 3 bones.

My man knows I not leaving here without THOSE ribs.

One could be forgiven for, after standing on your feet, slicing meat, for a few hrs, you started to get a little fatigued or at the very least, lose a little enthusiasm. This man handled his knife with proper form and treated the product he served with respect. Each slice.

He breaks down the ribs and each one is truly the size of my forearm, a fucking dinosaur bone!

“2 Beef Ribs!” I say with delight. He grins and completes our rendezvous.

My bounty is weighed, swaddled and tucked together with more butcher paper. No frills, no garnish.

I felt as though, while brief, my encounter with this man had been memorable. I admired his particular swagger and I like to think he was impressed with my appetite. At this point the sides are an afterthought. Baked beans, Potato Salad, Coleslaw. The finish line is so close, when the cashier asked, “sides?”, I just kinda paniced. “All of them”, I replied.

“Which size?” he pointed to my 3 standard options, samples displayed right in front of me.

Again, as if I had to complete the transaction before time expired I replied,

“The big one!”

He repeated the entire order aloud a final time, it seemed like the place got quiet as he rattled off the massive amount of goodness that I would soon acquire.

At that moment, I felt proud of my order. I had come a long way, with one intention. We all had.

Victory!

I thanked the butcher and cashier, grabbed an entire loaf of white bread, a full roll of paper towels added a t-shirt, a coloring book, and paid.

Arms full, and pretty hungry, I make it back down the maze of people that are still hoping to score. The line remains in the parking lot, poor bastards.

1:43pm, at the curb, Uber 2 min away.

Out the Uber, street level, my prize gripped with both hands, I stride toward the elevator. I step inside, insert my key which allows access to the rooftop pool. The elevator quickly ascends.

I’m looking through the glass, the people below get smaller and smaller. “Ping!”

Up a set of three stairs. I burst through the rooftop door and into the sunshine. Blue skies and breezy on the rooftop!

I approach the large round table that my soldiers have commandeered. Cold beer on ice.

I place the bags and bundles in the center of the table and carefully unpack the treasure.

It’s beautiful. Like Christmas morning! The entire Franklin’s BBQ smorgasbord.

Everyone stood, with plastic forks and our bare hands, we devoured it all!

The Fringe

Reidsville, NC - January, 2016

Some dear friends of mine raise grass fed lamb in Rockingham Co. On occasion, I host five course wine dinners at Rioja, kind of like a popup. A few years ago, we prepared a meal featuring lamb 3 ways, using their product. Roasted meatball w/ basil pesto, braised shank w/ white beans, grilled chops with carrot puree. All paired with Italian wine - Brunello di Montalcino, Barolo, Amarone della Valpolicella. The event was sold out .... But that’s another email…

24hr prior to the event, I needed a few more shanks as we had 4 last minute reservations for the aforementioned affair. Rather than ask for an emergency delivery, we decided, why don’t we get out of town? Lauren and I headed to Reidsville, NC, for what would prove to be one of the most fortuitous, unique and totally delicious culinary evenings of our lives.

Never been there before, so, we punch the coordinates into our GPS and we’re off. After an abbreviated recap of the past weeks Splendid Table, we approach, we think, our friend’s farm. It’s dark, bumpy and bit touch and go. “I think we're in the right place”, I say. Finally, we see a porch light and head that direction. A tall, healthy looking figure appears in the foreground, a cauldron bubbling just beside him. He’s waving us in so we park, jump out and head that way. Otis greets us with a warm smile and hugs all around. He escorts us up the steps and inside.

Crossing the threshold, I see a few familiar faces. The lady of the house, Kathy, our friends Sandy and Ronnie, and lots of other folks, cutting up and carrying on. After greeting them all I quickly take inventory…

Everyone is standing around a big oval shaped kitchen table. I see peeled shrimp, homemade cornbread, and all of a sudden, Otis comes in behind me with a ¼ peck of steamed oysters and pours them directly in the middle of the table.

Enough with the pleasantries. I pushed and shoved, got some elbow room, popped open an ice cold beer and my attention turned to the freshly fetched bounty straight from the NC coast.

It’s mid January, smack dab in the middle of shellfish season. Apparently, Otis and Co. had driven these gems back from Calabash this morning, still covered in mud. Hosed them off about 30 min before we arrived.

There must have been 12-14 of us, and everyone, instinctively knew exactly what to do. Our hosts had placed several shuckers, formal pieces and improvised tools, at each position at the table. Clearly, this is no one's first rodeo.

Bivalves are truly one of nature's perfect foods. They tasted of the ocean. Briney, sweet NC coast . Perfectly steamed so the shells just allowed the slightest peek inside. Each tiny little morsel rewarding my meticulous effort.

In a flash, the huge bucket of oceanic perfection disappeared, shells being tossed to the discard bowl, ting, ting, ting.

Given a chance to catch my breath, I glanced to my right. I shit you not! There was half a lamb on the countertop! Smoked, that day. To the side, a big knife and a jar of mustard.

I felt like I was on an episode of No Reservations! “Are you kidding me? Do you guys do this all the time? What’s the occasion?”

Keep in mind, this was an impromptu visit. “Well, today is Saturday.” Kathy chuckles.

I cracked open a second beer and helped myself to the smokey, gamey beast.

Later, our host collects the lamb shanks which we need to officially accomplish our mission. As we say our goodbyes, a jovial fella with overalls and a very long beard taps me on the shoulder. “ Where ya goin’, music’s ‘bout to start?”

Five or six dudes roll in with guitars, washboards and other musical instruments that I couldn’t quite identify.

WTF.

Saturday night in Reidsville? We felt like we were getting away with something.

While we could have stayed and helped ourselves the remainder of the evening. We graciously snuck out, having collected the shanks, and headed to dinner….

That’s right. We had another stop this evening. Some other friends own an Irish Pub in the area. We never miss an opportunity to checkout a well run local restaurant when we’re close by and this one’s been on my radar for sometime.

We exit HW 29 and roll into Downtown Reidsville. If you haven’t been here, it's a sleepy southern town, kind of like where I grew up. Most people know each other. There are a few stop lights and the dairy queen is the Friday night spot. Turn left into the parking lot of a free standing building. We get out the car and approach the front door, welcome to the Celtic Fringe.

We walk in the door and BAM, place is packed. Fairly tight, standing room only. Dim lights. The decor is perfect, dark wood, small tables, well placed, efficiently snug. The waitresses are hustling back and forth, quickly but without hurrying. The women behind the bar is clearly the one in charge. She speaks with conviction and authority, directing other servers and appeasing her patrons.

Kim Forrester is tall, blonde haired, blue eyed and moves with confidence and a smile on her face. Although the bar is about two deep, we make eye contact and she gives me a nod. Out of nowhere, 2 pints of Bell’s Hopslam magically appear.

Personally, I like to sit at the bar, for several reasons. Mostly, if the place is any good, the bartender has been there a while and that person knows what’s up. Generally, after a couple short minuets of stalking, any good restaurant veteran can spot a couple that’s asking for the bill and will quickly acquire their real estate. 86 the 1hr wait. We slide in after only half a beer.

Kim quickly sets us up with water, menus and a smile that says, take your time, I’m in the weeds.The place feels warm, busy, smells great and seems like it’s been here 50 years. Everyone’s a regular customer and everyone wants facetime with Kim.

We start to look at the menu and it’s right on time. Scotch eggs, to start. Ruben for her, Shepherd's Pie for me!

Skip to the end, each dish was absolutely spot on. Runny yolks, balanced and earthy flavors, creamy texture. Totally crushed it! The best part, however, was the wine.

Don’t take this the wrong way, I’ll speak for myself, I didn’t expect much… Irish Pub, Reidsville… The Bell’s Hopslam should have tipped me off.

After reviewing the extensive selection. A German Riesling caught my eye. Kim had a quick second so I asked about the 2008 JJ Prum, Kabinett, Riesling, Mosel. She fetched the bottle immediately and presented it for my approval.

Wine people, especially professionals, will often refer back to a specific wine or wines that stand out in their memory. Bear with me folks. We’ve just unearthed a white wine that’s nearly 10 years old. At an Irish Pub, in Reidsville, NC.

However, if you're in the know, Mosel riesling, from a high quality producer, can not only be dry, but are among the most well made, age worthy, sophisticated wines in the world. With renowned complexity, agility and super food friendly.

It was absolutely special. Deep golden color, intense aromas of ripe peach, honey, coconut and petrol. On the palate, baked apple, lemon curd and caramel but bursting with freshness.

As the crowd started to thin, and our bottle emptied, we couldn’t help but grin in silence. This was a completely unexpected evening of food, wine and friends.

We settled up with Kim and recalled the details of our aperitif experience earlier in the evening. An inquisitive look came across her face.

“Are you talking about Otis and Kathy’s place?” she questioned.

“Yes”, we confirmed.

Apparently, as soon as they closed up shop tonight, everyone was headed to the Bright Sky Lamb Farm to hear The Holcom Polcum Band!

Bacon Wrapped Dates in Port Reduction

Active 15 min; Total 45 min

Serves 6

I love to breakout this recipe around the holidays or when I want to make a great first

impression. It’s super easy and has a huge ‘ta-da’ factor. To level it up, add a wedge of your favorite blue cheese.

I like Stilton.

Ingredients:

1 lb center cut bacon

32 oz bag pitted dates

1 cup Ruby Port

1 cup Chicken Stock

1 tbsp butter

½ tsp black pepper

Directions:

1. Preheat your oven to 425.

2. Line a sheet pan with foil or parchment paper.

3. Cut each slice of bacon into thirds (I do this all at once, in the package, with kitchen scissors).

4. Roll each pitted date with 1/3 piece of bacon, overlapping the bacon slightly to close.

5. Arrange the bacon wrapped dates in straight lines on the sheet pan.

6. Bake at 425 for approximately 25-30 min or until the bacon is crisp.

7. While the bacon cooks, place a large pan over medium heat. Pour in the chicken stock and the Port Wine. Stir to combine. Allow the liquid to reduce by half, 10-15 minutes or until you have the consistency of a ‘glaze’. Add butter and black pepper, stir. Set aside.

8. When the bacon is fully cooked, transfer the bacon wrapped dates to the pan, gently toss to combine. Carefully pile each piece on a serving plate. Pour the remaining reduction over the pile.

Serve immediately.

Pro tip: This recipe travels well. Put the Bacon Wrapped Dates and the Port Wine Reduction in separate containers and refrigerate. Reheat separately, then combine and serve immediately.

Can be made up to two days ahead.

Wine: Champagne goes with everything, don’t overthink it.

I like Barnaut Grande Reserve Brut

Shout Out

Many of our fellow travelers know that we love to play the points and miles game! I’ve learned so much from colleagues and podcasts. Recently, the spirit moved me to write in to one of my favorite pod hosts to tell them how much I’d learned and to offer my sincere gratitude. I can’t tell you how exited I was when I heard Chris Hutchins read my email on the show and shout out Terroir Tours! Here’s a link where you can listen to the episode. (1:02)

Feedback

Amazing stories and updates. I'm sure our community is grateful for you all sharing your passion for wine. Will have to add one of these tours to our bucket list! Hope to see you all at Rioja soon.

-Nina H.

Your words have taken me to exciting places with interesting people! Thank you!!

-Diane H.

Love this! Congratulations! Special work you are doing and I can't wait to join an adventure in the future!!

-Stephanie S.

I loved reading this.

-Janis F.

What a wonderful email! Tom and I are so glad we have been lucky enough to travel with you and call you our friends!

Keep on traveling and coming up with the most fabulous destinations to visit in the years to come. Thanks for all you do and for being you.

-Julie T.

If your plans ever include Sicily…

-Cecilia A.

I was thrilled to read your email about the history and future of Terroir Tours! So incredibly excited about your expanding endeavor for you all (and for us, too! :) You have certainly made our gatherings and trip preparation feel very communal. Bill and I are just delighted we found you all when we moved to Greensboro last year. Great wine of course but added bonus of great conversation and lots of laughs with great people. Congratulations! We're looking forward to our first trip with you and more to come.

-Stacy S.

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