Serial Griller: Will Fly for BBQ

If you are anything like me, an abrupt and bouncy touchdown on a gusty day leaves a lingering frustration. I can do better.

I’ve found that I’m not alone in the realm of self-criticism: Most pilots have a healthy relationship to judging one’s own performance—and boasting about it to boot. Are we always ahead of the airplane, efficient with ATC, or ready in the off chance our emergency training will be put to the test? Such questions are both constructive and positive; after all, the learning curve in aviation is always on a climb.

In my professional life, I continue to face the same dilemma. Authors are only as good as their last book.

So, when my publisher pitched me an opportunity to zigzag across the South to uncover, eat and document The South’s Best Butts (as in the cut of meat), I nearly leapt at the offer. After all, it sounded like a dream gig.

The only problem? The manuscript would be due in a few months.

My initial Type-A panic gently eased into a promising realization. You see, I had just bought my first airplane: a 1977 Piper Cherokee Cruiser, N9511K. Not only did I have an excuse to fly for that “$100 hamburger”—a pork sandwich in my case—but I’d found a way to pay for it too.

As it goes, my introduction into the world of general aviation was both idyllic and embarrassing. Growing up, my childhood best friend, R.C. Hux, and I would spend our Saturday mornings off-roading golf carts up and down the red dirt hills that outlined Gwinnett County’s Briscoe Field, just outside of Atlanta’s Class B airspace. Meanwhile, R.C.’s father, Richard, would tinker away on whatever airplane he owned at the moment; an array of Cessnas, Pipers and once a Citabria filled his hangar, but my personal favorite was the T-34 Mentor he’d rebuilt by hand. After lunch, we’d set our sights on the skies, only to find out that my stomach was always bigger than my eyes.

They call it “Hotlanta” for a reason, and bumping around at 3,000 feet over Stone Mountain on a hot, humid summer day was just the right recipe for me to determine that I wasn’t particularly cut out for small airplanes—I’ll spare you the details.

Decades later, I moved to Nashville, Tennessee, leaving behind my alma mater in “God’s country” (Athens, Georgia) to settle in the Volunteer State. My family eventually moved eastward from Atlanta to Lake Oconee in Greensboro, Georgia. Frustrated that my four-hour drive home had now been extended to 5½ hours (sans any Atlanta traffic), I had grown weary of the traverse from Interstate 24 to I-75 to I-20.

One summer morning, I awoke to Nashville’s News Channel 5 announcing a new airline, SeaPort, bolstered by the Essential Air Service program, would offer daily round-trip flights between Nashville and Athens. A miracle. From that day forward, my wife, Callie, and I would pile into that Cessna Caravan nearly every weekend to visit family and friends at the lake—we were so spoiled. I jokingly told my wife that if the service ever stopped, I would get my pilot’s license.

In September 2014, the route was canceled. I started my flight training the following week.

I first met my flight instructor, Ed Diaz, on a hot, gusty day at my homefield of KMQY in Smyrna, Tennessee. I had told Kyle Willoughby, owner of Wings of Eagles Aviation, that I wanted an old-school instructor—perhaps someone even a bit rough around the edges. Kyle laughed, telling me he had “just the right guy.”

A Marine veteran, Ed went on to build a career as an engineer for Nissan (bringing him to Tennessee). On the side, he transformed his flight training cash into support for Catholic charities—never charging me the quarter-hour for “ground school” billed by the flight school software because he felt such training was just “part of the gig.” My kind of man.

Over the course of the next 12 months, I would head up in the air with Ed in N5140H, a Cessna 152 known for its hefty penchant of having the doors swing open at any moment. I should say that I’m forever grateful to Ed; he gave me my wings. Though Ed is now based in Puerto Rico flying commercially for Air Flamenco, I still hear his voice telling me to “watch my airspeed” and “fly the airplane” whenever I’m on final approach.

On this particularly hot day in August, I’m making a final approach into McKellar-Sipes Regional Airport in Jackson, Tennessee—and photographer Andrea Behrends’ equipment is strapped down in the back of the Cherokee. I can see her eyes are fixated on the runway. It’s our first run together and her very first time in a small airplane.

I often get asked how I find restaurants and sources to feature in my books. Honestly, I hunt down some places and people incessantly until they finally give in; others are referrals from friends and colleagues. And some, as is the case with Helen’s Bar B Q in Brownsville, Tennessee, are found by flying until you catch the sight of smoke and the smell of meat. Then, my friends, it’s safe to land.

In food writing, just like aviation, some questions are harder to answer than others. Take for example the most common question: What is barbecue? Though often asked, I think most folks don’t like my answer: It depends. Most Southerners will reluctantly agree that barbecue is primarily meat (pork in the Deep South, beef in Texas and Oklahoma, and mutton in Kentucky) cooked slowly and indirectly over hardwood coals. While each state—or, better said, region—has its variances and hypervarieties, great barbecue can be prophetic. It’s been the mealtrack to some of my fondest moments including my own wedding, and it is also usually there to comfort those who gather when a loved one passes on.

One thing that all lovers of barbecue will agree upon is that there are no shortcuts to great barbecue. Helen Turner of Helen’s Bar B Q is one of those pitmasters who does things the hard way: building her fires by hand in the early mornings and cooking various cuts of meats over smoldering coals, with no temperature gauges, thermometers or recipes. When I ask Helen how she’s able to pull off such great creations, she tells me, “I just do.”

Tough on the outside, Helen is even tougher when I ask her to divulge some of her secrets to share with my readers. Instead of putting anything to paper, she directs me to follow along to witness her madness. Like my own grandmother, nothing is measured, ingredients and steps are forgotten, and somehow the food tastes better than ever. The truth is, Helen cooks with love—and there is no recipe that can replicate that experience.

Though most great things related to barbecue happen “low and slow,” the truth is, in aviation, those words are a precursor for caution. So I’ll caution you more, as I must confess, I’m a “serial griller.”Low and Slow or...

Hot and fast—that’s the name of the game when cooking over live fires, which led me to my current work. After years of exploring everything as slow as molasses, I wanted to seek the advantages of what can transpire quickly. Though I’ll admit, my ol’ Cherokee is anything but “quick.”

Back in the skies, Andrea and I are making one of our most memorable trips for my book Serial Griller back to my alma mater and the beginning of this whole aviation mess altogether: Athens. It’s there where I finally meet Mike Bradshaw, the owner of The Grill, a place I have patronized for nearly two decades for their flattop hamburgers and crinkle-cut fries that I lovingly dunk into their homemade feta dressing. At this point, a few books in and with multiple flights under our belt, Andrea and I have settled into a rhythm as smooth as a Lycoming perfectly leaned at 7,500 feet.

The next morning, we depart Athens’ KAHN for Fulton County Airport-Brown Field, where controllers easily accommodate our little escapade into the Class B airspace. We’re on our way to meet Carlton Brandon, aka “Cadillac,” who is known for cooking up chef-driven cuisine outside of the late-night Atlanta institution The Clermont Lounge.

Asking a food writer their favorite cut of barbecue—or any grilled fare, for that matter—is akin to asking a parent which kid is their favorite. (Side note: As a parent, it depends on the day.) But I will tell you, Cadillac’s grilled jalapeño dipped in sea salt and chased with a grilled flanken rib still stands as one of the best bites I’ve ever had in my entire life.

Cadillac leaves me with more than just a great bite, though. When I ask him why he named his operation Lillian’s BBQ, he tells me it’s an homage to his grandmother. “You know,” he says, “Lilian taught me that if you can’t do anything, you can always feed somebody.” It reminds me that grandmothers are always right.

As aviators, we know that success lies much more in the journey than the destination. That said, hopefully some of these delicious destinations I’ve found throughout my travels might give you that extra excuse to get up in the air.

KEHR (Henderson City-County Airport) for Peak Bros. Bar-B-Q in Waverly, Kentucky

KPDK (DeKalb-Peachtree Airport) for Heirloom Market BBQ, Atlanta

KMKL (McKellar-Sipes Regional Airport) for Helen’s Bar B Q in Brownsville, Tennessee

5C1 (Boerne Stage Field) for B-Daddy’s Barbeque in Helotes, Texas

KLFT (Lafayette Regional Airport) for Johnson’s Boucaniere in Lafayette, Louisiana

KAVL (Asheville Regional Airport) for Luella’s Bar-B-Que in Asheville, North Carolina

Want to take your next airport barbecue up a notch? Maybe you have your own master recipe for grilling great food for family and friends, but take it from a pro, there’s always an opportunity to upgrade your skills—both in the airplane and on the barbecue.

Serves 6-8

Hands-On: 1 hour

Total: 25 hours, 30 minutes (including 24 hours marinating)

½ cup orange juice

½ cup mojo criollo marinade, preferably Goya brand

1 Tbsp. Tajín Clásico seasoning

2 garlic cloves, minced

½ cup soy sauce

½ cup brown sugar

1 Tbsp. garlic, minced

1 Tbsp. fresh ginger, minced

¼ ripe Korean or Bartlett pear, mashed

1½ tsp. sesame oil

4 lb. flanken ribs

6 baby bok choy

6 jalapeño chiles, cut lengthwise with seeds and ribs removed

Kosher salt, to taste

Combine the marinade ingredients for each style in separate gallon-size, freezer-weight Ziploc bags. Divide the ribs evenly and add to the marinades. Seal and refrigerate for 24 hours.

Open the bottom vent of a charcoal grill completely. Light a chimney starter filled with charcoal. When the coals are covered with gray ash, pour them onto the bottom grate of the grill and then push to one side of the grill. Adjust the vents as needed to maintain an internal temperature of 350-450°F. Coat the top grate with oil and place on the grill. If using a gas grill, preheat to medium-high (350-450°F) on one side.

Working in batches if necessary, grill the ribs on one side over direct heat, uncovered and undisturbed, for 5-7 minutes. Flip the ribs and cook for an additional 5 minutes. Move the ribs to indirect heat and place the bok choy alongside. Close the lid and cook the ribs for 20 minutes and the bok choy for 15-20 minutes, seasoning lightly with salt while grilling, until tender.

While the ribs and bok choy are cooking over indirect heat, place the jalapeños over direct heat and grill for 10-12 minutes, turning occasionally, until slightly charred and tender.

Remove the ribs, jalapeños and boy choy from the grill. Dip the charred jalapeños into kosher salt and serve with the Mexican ribs. Serve the bok choy with the Korean ribs.

This story appeared in the May 2020 issue of Flying Magazine