Sausage Fest

Hands up: how many of you out there have encountered difficulties cooking sausages over a charcoal grill?

There’s certainly no need to feel ashamed. It’s a common issue.

Typical problems:

• Sometimes your sausages cook too quickly on the outside, but not on the inside.

• Other times they burst and spill their precious juices all over your coals, drying up and causing flare-ups.

• And then there are times when you leave them sitting on a fire too long and they dry up and get shrivelled and tough.

Luckily, there is a solution, and it’s a pretty foolproof one, too.

A couple of years ago I became a convert to the “Simmered ‘n’ Grilled” sausage method J. Kenji López-Alt developed for Serious Eats. The idea here is to create a moist bed for the sausages that will allow them to cook more gently while imparting them with flavour.

So, if you’re cooking German-style sausages like brats or wieners, you might provide them with a bed of sauerkraut moistened with beer or wine. You place your mixture in disposable—but reusable!—foil pans, you nestle your sausages on top, and you place your pans over the coals in a two-zone barbecue. When the liquid begins to bubble, move the pans over to the cool side of the barbecue. It will likely take about 15-20 minutes for your sausages to cook properly, but that will allow the sausages and the bed of sauerkraut to commingle. Keep your meat thermometer handy. After about 15-20 minutes, check their temperature—you’re looking for an ideal temperature of 150º F.

At that point, your sausages are ready to be moved to the hot side of the grill so you can crisp them up and apply a perfect char to them. This process will be quick—a couple of minutes max—and when you’re done, the sausages will be gorgeous, juicy, and supremely flavourful.

In my case, I was cooking Spicy Italian Sausages with Fennel, so I went the iconic route and accompanied them with onions and sweet peppers. But I also had some gorgeous organic Japanese eggplants, so I quartered them lengthwise, chopped them up, and added them to the trays too. I also added a large clove of garlic to each tray. As for my moistening agent, I added some homemade chicken broth.

Because of the eggplants, I started the trays on the grill without the sausages for about 15-20 minutes to give the veggies a head start. Then I added the sausages and followed the Serious Eats method.

Lo and behold, in about 20 minutes, my sausages had reached temperature and were ready for the finishing touches. So I moved them over the coals, and voilà! After a couple of minutes, they were perfect, so I placed them back in their trays and brought them inside.

These sausages, together with the onions, peppers, and eggplant would be phenomenal stuffed inside an Italian roll. An Italian-American street food classic.

But on this particular occasion I had the idea of tossing them with some pasta and Parmesan cheese and serving it in a bowl with some chili oil drizzled over top. It was exactly what I was looking for.

aj

Make Mine a B.L.T. (or even "just" an L.T.), or In Praise of the B.L.T. (and the L.T.)

fig. a: Can you see where this is going?

We love sandwiches of all kinds, of course—lobster rolls, hoagies, smoked meat, club, po’ boys, muffulettas, chopped rib, falafel, burgers, even the lowly P.B. & J.—but there’s one sandwich that stands above them all at this time of year, when tomatoes are plentiful and at the peak of perfection, and that’s the B.L.T.

All the constituent elements of the B.L.T. serve their purpose and hold importance—including the bread, mayonnaise, bacon, and lettuce—but as far as we’re concerned the very most crucial ingredient is the tomato. If you don’t have a perfect tomato to start with, really, what’s the point? You could make the most beautiful mayonnaise from scratch, fry up the smokiest, most delicious artisanal bacon, source the sweetest, most tender-crunchy lettuce leaves, and even bake the most perfect sandwich bread imaginable (or find it at your local artisanal bakery), but if the tomato was unripe and tasteless, the whole contraption would fall apart.

Lucky for us, we’ve been able to score loads of beautiful, juicy, ripe local tomatoes recently, we have access to our favourite Northeastern bacon (North Country Smokehouse, out of Claremont, New Hampshire), and we’ve even been able to find local, organic iceberg lettuce—in other words, the B.L.T. trifecta. We’re a little less obsessive when it comes to the bread and mayonnaise. We bake plenty of our own bread and make our own mayonnaise with regularity, but we’re perfectly fine with using supermarket brands when it comes to these two elements. Recently, we’ve been fond of using Hellmann’s mayo and Pepperidge Farm’s Butter Bread or Honey White.

But it’s the tomato we’re most particular about. And right now, my favourite B.L.T. tomato is an heirloom variety known as the Paul Robeson.

fig. b: Paul Robeson puts on quite a show

The Paul Robeson is a variety of Russian origin that was named in honour of the African-American singer, actor, and activist—”a sandwich tomato with a tang, an extraordinary tomato for an extraordinary man,” as the folks at Fedco Seeds put it.

You don’t have to use an heirloom variety, of course, but for a true B.L.T., it’s imperative to use a big, juicy, supremely tasty slicing tomato. Delicious cherry tomatoes will do in a pinch, but for the full effect, it really has to be a slicer that’s just bursting with juicy goodness. All the greatest sandwiches are messy affairs—or at least they should be—and the B.L.T. is no exception. Your plate should be a glorious mess when you’re done. Napkins and paper towels should be an absolute necessity. Possibly even a shower.

Lastly, the bread must be properly toasted. It should be slathered with mayonnaise. (I’m a strong proponent of mayonnaise being slathered on both slices of toast.). And it’s absolutely obligatory that the tomatoes be salted in advance of sandwich construction. Okay, maybe it’s not “obligatory,” especially if you’re using a salty bacon, but, personally, I think the salt really helps release the tomato’s full range of flavours.

Now, as much as I love a true B.L.T. made with excellent bacon, we don’t always have bacon around. In fact, most of the time we don’t. Mostly it’s reserved for “special occasions.” But that’s okay, because if the tomatoes are exceptional, I get nearly as excited about an L.T. sandwich as I do about a B.L.T. And that’s actually the sandwich we have with the greatest frequency during peak tomato season. (If you’re really missing the salt & smoke of those crispy bacon slices, you could always sprinkle a little smoked salt on your tomatoes in place of your usual sea salt or kosher salt. You won’t get quite the same texture, and you won’t have the intoxicating presence of bacon fat adding to the alchemy, but at least you’ll get some of that smoky saltiness.)

And while I’m a big fan of mayonnaise, and I realize it’s almost heretical to say so, I’m also perfectly fine with a mayo-less L.T. sandwich made with a vinaigrette—as long as the tomatoes are excellent.

But the version I love the most is that classic version—the one with the perfect tomatoes, the choice bacon, and the proper lettuce, bread, and mayonnaise combo. Especially if it’s served sliced on the bias.

fig. c: B.L.T. lunch

Preferably with a cold beverage and some potato chips.

One friend who joined us for a socially distanced B.L.T. lunch earlier this summer called the A.E.B. version “the Platonic ideal of the B.L.T.” The last time Michelle finished one, she just said (in typical Michelle fashion), “Man, that was really, really good.”

All I know is that this is the meal that I crave the absolute most right now. I’ve been having at least four B.L.T. and/or L..T. sandwiches per week for the last several weeks now (usually L.T.s, actually), and each and every one has been just as satisfying as the last. Usually more so.

aj