Real barbecue is the antithesis of grilling.  There’s nothing quick and easy about it.  To properly cook a pork shoulder over smoldering coals for hours until its tender, moist and humming with smoky flavor takes patience and attention to detail.

So it’s no wonder we only pull out the smoker now and then.  Every time, we bite into pulled pork straight out of the smoker, though, we regret that we don’t do it more often.

It’s hard to beat the taste of well-marbled pork cooked until the outer layer becomes deep brown and crusty.  Pile it on a bun with tangy, crunchy cole slaw and life doesn’t get much better.

This is a can’t-miss dish for a party.  And just the thing for the waning days of the summer vacation season.

The recipe is an adaption of  The Renowned Mr. Brown from Cheryl and Bill Jamison’s “Smoke & Spice” (Harvard Common Press, 2003).   We use a Weber Smoky Mountain vertical water smoker, known affectionately by its fans as the Bullet. It’s solidly built, and the heavy metal body holds heat well.

However, it’s also possible to smoke the pork on an ordinary charcoal grill using the indirect method. Barbecue guru Steven Raichlen explains the technique here.  The critical elements are low, even temperatures and time — 6-10 hours of time.

And of course, there’s the all-important question of sauce and cole slaw.  I prefer the South Carolina mustard sauce I found in ”Steven Raichlen’s BBQ USA” (Workman, 2003) and the creamy, vinegar-laced slaw from ”Thrill of the Grill” by Chris Schlesinger & John Willoughby (Morrow, 1990)  Put them all together and you have a sandwich you’ll never forget.

Sure, real barbecue takes time and effort. But it’s worth it.

One of the things I miss most about working in Silicon Valley is the bounty of great ethnic eats served in little strip malls scattered around the south end of the Bay.

Now, if I crave a really good bowl of ramen, say, or a pita filled with crunchy falafel, I have to make a special trip over the hill or figure out how to make my own.  I’ve decided to pass on making ramen — the perfect noodle has eluded far better cooks than I.  But falafel definitely seemed worth a try this spring when I was stuck indoors on too many cold and rainy days.

While I was at it, I decided I might as well see if I could bake my falafel rather than fry them.  It wasn’t only about health, although I should limit fried food in my diet.  Truth be told, I just hate cleaning up oil spattered all over the kitchen after I’ve been frying and will go to almost any length to avoid it.

Falafel, it turns out, are pretty easy to make and they bake up beautifully.  The flavor changes slightly, but the reduction in oil allows the earthy taste of the beans — whether favas as Egyptians prefer or the chickpeas favored by Iraelis — to shine through.

You do have to plan ahead, since the beans must be soaked overnight. Then they’re quickly ground into a coarse paste in a food processor, spiced with cumin and chile, and shaped into little balls or patties.

I made mine with a Lebanese mixture of favas and chickpeas as recommended in “Artichoke to Za’atar,” by Greg and Lucy Malouf (UC Press, 2008).  I found the dried favas at a Middle Eastern grocery in San Jose but noticed later that my local market carries them under the Bob’s Red Mill label.  They contribute a fresh, almost herbal flavor to the traditional Middle Eastern street snack.

Chickpeas alone will work fine, however, if that’s all you can find. On the West coast, they’re usually called garbanzos.

To bake the patties, you’ll need to be fairly generous in oiling the baking sheet if you want to get a crisp crust.  Any missing crunch will hardly be noticed if you load up the pitas with crisp cucumber and bell peppers along with the tomatoes and tahini sauce.

Grilling on a grid with small holes also works well as long as you keep the patties chilled and brush them liberally with olive oil just before putting them on the fire.

It pleases me no end to know I can have fresh falafel at home now without all the mess.

BAKED FALAFEL RECIPE

As much as I’d love to, I’ve never been to New Orleans for Mardi Gras.  The memory of  the great food I ate on my one trip to the Big Easy still lingers, though.

About this time of year, I always start thinking about celebrating Mardi Gras at home with some of those unforgettable flavors. There’s no way I can hope to recreate the fabulous Gulf Coast seafood where I live, of course.  But it’s not that difficult to approximate  the savory satisfaction of the muffuletta sandwiches made legendary by Central Grocery in the French quarter near the turn of the last century.

The sandwich takes its name from a large, rather soft loaf of Sicilian bread dusted with sesame seeds. Afficionados insist you can’t make a muffuletta without it.

The bread is not widely available, however, and I’m not that fond of squishy bread anyway.  As far as I’m concerned, the irresistible element of a muffuletta is the briny olive salad tucked inside with good salumi and cheese. The salad is simple to make with olives, capers and the pickled mix of vegetables Italians call giardiniera.

To mix things up a little, I’ve turned the muffuletta into a miniature sandwich perfect for a picnic or a party platter at any time of the year.  I took some along on a hike recently and my friends were as enthusiastic as I am.

These little sandwiches can be made on ordinary sourdough dinner rolls.  Just be sure the crust is not too hard to bite through easily.  Use the best meat and cheese you can find and make the olive salad a day ahead to allow the flavors to meld.

If you can’t make it to New Orleans either this year,  mini muffulettas will take you there in spirit.

In the waning weeks of summer vacation, with the days already getting shorter and the first day of school on the horizon, few of us want to spend a lot of time in the kitchen.  Now is the time to make the most of the incredible bounty of the August garden.

I’m talking tomatoes, here, of course.  As far as I’m concerned, nothing compares to the deep, sun-warmed flavor and chin dripping juiciness of a freshly picked tomato.  Whether it’s a salty, smoky Cherokee Purple or a nicely acidic Early Girl, a good tomato needs very little help to make a good meal.

A couple of slabs of ripe tomato and a sprinkle of salt is the perfect mid-summer lunch.  Add toasted bread and a salty bit of cured pork and you have a simple feast of the season that crosses continents and cultures.  In America, it’s a BLT.  In Spain, it’s pan con tomate, or bread with tomato. One of the most popular offerings in the tapas bars of Barcelona, bread with tomato at its most basic is little more than a generous slice of toasted bread rubbed with the cut side of  a tomato half until the bread has soaked up as much juice and pulp as it can hold.  It’s a classic marriage of flavor and texture that only takes minutes to prepare. 

From that point, you can embellish as you wish. A clove of garlic rubbed over the toast just before the tomato adds a typically Mediterranean note.  So do a drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkle of sea salt.

If you’re particularly flush, a slice or two of Serrano ham is a luxurious addition.   Or, like me, you could make do with some well-crafted domestic prosciutto, which lends savor and a measure of protein.   The ham should be dry-cured and sliced paper thin.  A garnish of good quality anchovy fillet is the crowning touch in my book, but you can leave it off if you share the widespread American prejudice against strongly flavored little fish.

A dish like this doesn’t really require a recipe, although I discovered a good guide in the new cookbook, “The Book of Tapas,” by Simone and Ines Ortega (Phaidon, 2010).  It’s a veritable encyclopedia of the little dishes served in Spain.

The critical point is to use the best ingredients you can find.

A substantial, rustic bread like the Pan Pascal organic demi-miche I found at Trader Joe’s is essential since it needs to absorb the tomato without falling apart.  A good local sourdough with a dense crumb and not too many holes does the job, too.  Get an unsliced loaf so you can cut thick slices. Toast the slices until well-browned under the broiler, on the grill or even in the toaster if it has wide slots.

The tomato must be very ripe and super juicy.  Dry-farmed Early Girls are ideal but any flavorful beefsteak would be great, too.  Cut the tomato in half across its hemisphere and rub in as much of the juice and pulp as you can.

Then drizzle with a good olive oil and sprinkle with a small pinch of sea salt.

Top with a couple of slices of the dry cured ham, garnish with anchovy if desired, and dig in immediately.  Summer never tasted so good.

Wandering around San Francisco’s Mission neighborhood, camera in hand, for Penny de los Santos’ food photography workshop last week, I spotted this sandwich through the window at Tartine Bakery & Cafe.  It was so tempting with its plump asparagus spears tucked beneath a luscious blanket of bubbling cheese and bechamel.  But the line was long and time was short.

I left without tasting it, alas, and I couldn’t get that sandwich out of my mind.  So I resolved to make one for myself when I got home. 

Tartine bills its version as a croque monsieur although it takes a few liberties with the classic.  First off, it’s served open face on a thick slab of peasant bread.  Then there’s the seasonal vegetable — asparagus, of course, at this time of year — offered as an alternative to the traditional ham.

This is a simple dish, ideal for a light supper or spring lunch.  It takes more time to shop for the right ingredients than to make it.  Even the buttery bechamel sauce comes together quickly.

A substantial, rustic bread made with whole grains is essential for the base.  The asparagus must be fresh and the cheese should melt easily.  I used a raw milk emmentaler but a nutty gruyere would work just as well.

The vegetarian version lets the fresh grassy flavor of the tender asparagus shine through.  But a thin slice of ham is a nice addition, too.

Either way, this is a terrific dish to mark the arrival of spring at last.

Right now I’m up to my eyeballs in Thanksgiving preparations.  There are groceries to buy, rolls and pies to make ahead, a turkey to dry brine a la Russ Parsons, and a thousand little details to attend to before the big meal on Thursday afternoon.

By the time all the dishes are washed, dried and put away that night,  I’ll be ready to get out of the kitchen for a couple of days.  I don’t know about you but I rarely have the energy or dedication to rework leftovers from the biggest culinary marathon of the year into elaborate new dishes.

I’d rather make some sandwiches and give myself time to get out on a mountain trail or off to the beach after so many hours in front of the stove.  (Just the thought of shopping on Black Friday sends me into a panic.)

That doesn’t mean I’m content with a slab of turkey shoved between slices of squishy white bread with nothing but a dab of mayo.  There are still standards to maintain after all.  Chefs like Nancy Silverton and Tom Colicchio have taught us that even the humble sandwich can make an exceptional meal when it’s put together with great ingredients.

Turkey is a given, of course, and there’s little question that the fowl you’ve roasted at home will be better than anything you can find in a supermarket deli case.  Slice it at least 1/8-inch thick to preserve the moisture in the meat. The bread should have character — I like the multi-grain loaves from La Brea Bakery s0ld at Costco but any good country style bread or ciabatta roll will do.  Condiments should be top notch — stone ground mustard or perhaps a spoonful of minced chipotle peppers or some garlic and lemon juice stirred into Best Foods mayonnaise.   Then add a touch of the unexpected.

For this sandwich, I’ve layered sturdy bread with a smear of whole grain mustard, sliced turkey, caramelized onions and Swiss cheese.  It goes open-faced into the toaster oven or under the broiler just until the cheese melts and the bread gets nicely browned and crisp around the edges.  Then a pile of fresh arugula is added for peppery bite and the top layer of bread is slapped on. It’s a truly memorable post-Thanksgiving sandwich.

The grace note here is the tangle of sweet and sour onions caramelized slowly in the oven.  You can cook them early in the week while you’re doing advance work on the Thanksgiving menu and stash them in the fridge for a week or so until you need them.  They’re also great on pizza, atop lentils and rice or nestled next to a steak.  Best of all, the cooking technique is far easier than caramelizing onions on the stove top, where you have to keep diligent watch to avoid burning them.

The process was inspired by a recipe for balsamic-roasted whole onions in the new “Gourmet Today” cookbook by Ruth Reichl and the staff of the dearly departed Gourmet Magazine (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2009).  The balsamic flavor turned out to be too strong, overpowering the other ingredients, so I fiddled with it and came up with a version made with white wine vinegar, preferably Champagne.  You only need to stir the onions three times in a hour of oven roasting.  Just keep a close eye on them in the last 10 minutes of cooking to make sure they don’t burn.

If you have a little extra energy, throw the turkey carcass into a big pot with chopped onions, carrots and celery and simmer for a couple of hours to make a soup to go with the sandwiches.  Or just toss that carcass into the freezer, sealed in a large plastic bag, and deal with it later.

Leftovers ought be a gift, not a burden, for the exhausted cook.

With our kitchen out of commission for a few weeks, we’re trying to simplify dinner.  Cooking isn’t really the issue — there’s always the grill or the camp stove— but I’m definitely not eager to wash piles of dishes by hand.

Sandwiches are part of our strategy. We’re not talking fast food here. My ideal sandwich is homemade on good bread with lively fillings and the fresh flavors of summer produce.

These tortas qualify on all counts.  Pork tenderloin, marinated for hours in a vibrant adobo sauce before grilling, is the star.  But it wouldn’t shine so brightly without a strong supporting cast:  Yeasty rolls (preferably fluffy bolillos from a Mexican bakery), grilled red onions, dead ripe tomatoes, salty Mexican cheese, lettuce and avocado.  Plus pickled jalapenos and carrots for a fiery jolt.  Together, they’re a irresistible combination of complementary flavors, textures and temperatures.

If you’ve never eaten a Mexican sandwich, you’re in for a treat. Throughout Mexico, tortas compete with tacos for popularity on the street. The right bread is crucial. Although some recipes call for a crusty roll, the torpedo-shaped bolillos, fairly soft and a little sweet, are the best choice.  In a pinch, a French style sandwich roll will do fine.

Soft, salty queso fresco is classic and easy to find in most Northern California markets, though mild goat cheese makes an acceptable substitute.  Pickled jalapenos and carrots are available in jars, labeled en escabeche, at many stores.

For the meat, I prefer pork steeped in a chile marinade then grilled.  This simple adobo comes from Rick Bayless’ “Mexican Everyday” (W.W. Norton, 2005).  Since I had some dried ancho chiles in the pantry, I made it from scratch, but Bayless also offers a speedy version made with ancho chile powder, which I’m including here.

Most frequently, the pork is sliced thinly before marinating and grilled quickly over a hot fire. It’s very good that way, although butterflying the meat and pounding it to an even ¼ inch thickness is a little tricky.  My experiments, on the other hand, revealed that tenderloin is also terrific when cooked whole and sliced thinly just before serving.   The juicy slices sing with porcine flavor, ancho spice and a hint of smoke.

Flavors this bold and satisfying make a sandwich truly worthy of dinner.

One of the perks of working in Silicon Valley for so long was the little ethnic restaurants found at virtually every strip mall. You could eat your way around the world without ever leaving the South Bay. And I did.

From Salvadoran pupusas in a converted burger shack to Indian dosas in a barely remodeled coffee shop, I discovered vibrant flavors and delightful textures in unexpected places. One of the things I’ve missed the most since leaving the Mercury News is the Vietnamese sandwiches, banh mi, that I used to grab for a quick lunch at least once a week at the hole-in-the-wall shop not far from my office.

They weren’t the best banh mi I’ve ever tasted, but the slender baquettes were fresh and crusty, the filling was lively, and they were astonishingly cheap: just $2.50. At that price, I never even considered making them at home.

After the only Vietnamese sandwich shop I knew in nearby Santa Cruz closed, it seemed banh mi were out of my reach on this side of the mountains. Many cooks make them with the Mexican sandwich rolls known as bolillos, but I craved the thin baguettes with a high proportion of crisp crust to soft interior. Local bakery’s baguettes, though excellent, tended to be much too fat for the purpose.

Then on a recent road trip, we picked up a skinny baguette at a Von’s supermarket in Southern California to go with dinner and an idea was born. It wasn’t the same as the Vietnamese bread, which usually has a thinner crust and softer center, but it was close enough and I realized I could find a similar loaf at my local Safeway, which belongs to the same corporation. The filling would just be a matter of experiment.

Some people like to call these sandwiches Saigon subs, but I think that gives the wrong impression. The banh mi I love are not overloaded meat bombs. A little barbecued pork or chicken, a spoonful of pickled carrot and radish salad, a few springs of cilantro, a couple of slivers of jalapeno and perhaps a slice or two of cucumber are typical fillings, although almost any meat will do. The classic is Vietnamese pate, but ham is popular and so are roast pork and even sardines.

Andrea Nguyen, author of the James Beard nominated Into the Vietnamese Kitchen: Treasured Foodways, Modern Flavors (Ten Speed Press, 2006), favors plenty of good mayonnaise spread on the bread, too, and a touch of soy sauce or Maggi seasoning. I’m just as happy with a little butter, which doesn’t compete with the fillings.

The tricky part for me was getting the carrot and daikon radish salad right. Sweet, sour and crunchy, it’s critical to a first-rate banh mi, but most of the recipes I tried were too bland and watery. I like it with plenty of vinegary tang. That meant more rice vinegar and less water and sugar. Once I hit the right balance, I was set.

My sandwich may not be strictly authentic, but it makes me happy with its great textures and bright flavors. Now I don’t have to drive 40 miles to get my fix.