Flame Job

Feast-Worthy Grilled Fare

By Warren Rojas / Photography by Jonathan Timmes

Some folks retire their grill at the end of each summer, choosing to take their culinary needs indoors. Others look for any excuse to grill—calendar be damned.

This is the story of those brave souls who blaze on through every season, serving up honest, wood-fired fare the way god—or at the very least, Neanderthal man—intended.

Buz and Ned’s
1119 N. Boulevard, Richmond; 804-355-6055; www.buzandneds.com.
Average entree: under 12 ($). Open for lunch and dinner daily.

To hear pit master Buz Grossberg tell it, smoking epic amounts of meat and handily defeating cooking show personalities are the easy part of operating a world-renowned barbecue joint.

Finding enough folks to keep the home fires going is the toughest.

“We are still in the growth mode after 18 years,” the Buz and Ned’s figurehead says of his wildly successful Richmond restaurant. “It’s busy all the time.”

But busy can be a curse, too.

Or so Grossberg discovered when he was forced to chain the doors during three separate rough patches when there simply wasn’t enough staff to meet the mounting demand without cutting corners or sacrificing quality product.

“I kind of set the tone that if I wouldn’t eat [it], I won’t serve it,” he argues.

Based on the near-static lines snaking out the front door, I’m willing to bet the Buz and Ned’s faithful appreciate Grossberg’s self-imposed standards.

On any given day, anxious patrons circle the air conditioned tables, well, like flies at a barbecue—a feeding frenzy that entails around 550 covers on “regular” days and nearly triples to 1,300 covers on “busy” days.

And them’s mostly locals.

Grossberg estimates that roughly one quarter of his weekend business is out-of-towners—including plenty of Northern Virginians—lured in by glowing national reviews and publicity-stoking TV appearances (“Throwdown! with Bobby Flay”;“Man v. Food”).

Allow me to pile on the praise.

Grossberg said they typically fire up their main pit—which holds approximately 700 pounds of raw food at a time—overnight. The mammoth grill gets loaded with wood (whole logs of unseasoned hickory and “wet, white oak,” (an 80/20 percent mix, respectively), while a self-regulating firebox keeps everything going at a deliberately slow, temperature-controlled pace.

Average smoking sessions can run 12-14 hours (pork ribs and chicken are out first; pork butts and brisket receive maximum exposure).

Although baby back ribs are quite obviously top-sellers—“It’s a very neat eat,” Grossberg opines—I prefer the unabashedly porky pull of the larger spareribs.

The disarmingly tender swine arrives caked in a robust sauce forged from tomatoes, molasses, vinegar and honey—wet naps can’t possibly begin to undo the sauce’s handiwork (try a shower). The mesmerizing meat below yields alternating strata of charred skin, buttery fat and spice-rubbed-to-the-core flesh.

Pulled pork takes an entirely different tact, revealing vinegar-soaked swine whose potency builds with every bite, rising from mouthwateringly spicy to bracingly sour. A tomato-rich sauce helps cut the vinegar edge, but the house slaw seems grossly overmatched (it’s neither creamy nor peppery enough to hang with the pull-no-punches barbecue).

A whip-smart cucumber and onion salad (awash in sugar-vinegar brine), on the other hand, injects some welcome sweet into the dining equation.

The Boulevard Woodgrill
2901 Wilson Blvd., Arlington; 703-875-9663; www.boulevardwoodgrill.com.
Average entree: $13 to $20 ($$). Open for lunch Monday through Friday, dinner daily, brunch Saturday and Sunday.

How does one keep the patron-restaurant bond interesting past the gustatory seven-year-itch?

If you’re Boulevard Woodgrill general manager Kent Lawson, you start by listening to your customers and then give the well-seasoned kitchen crew carte blanche in terms of creativity.

“We’re a neighborhood place. We tend to see our clientele at least once or twice a week,” Lawson says of the loyal following they’ve garnered during their eight year- (and counting) run on the Clarendon strip. All of which makes executive chef Paul Murad’s insistence on fine-tuning their carefully crafted menu at least quarterly a prescient blow in the ongoing battle against culinary boredom.

Given that they hang their hat on wood-firing—stoked by maple and oak logs—Boulevard tends to draw its fair share of dyed-in-the-wool carnivores. (“We’re very well known for our ribs,” Lawson notes.)

At least so far Murad et al. have avoided any type of gastronomic tunnel vision, dutifully working to spread the smoke-infused love around to a panoply of proteins and preparations.

One hunger-trouncing sandwich reveals robust Portobello tops—marinated in olive oil and ultra-tart balsamic vinegar and sprinkled with salt and pepper—paraded across the grill until tender, all accompanied by roasted red peppers (provide complementary sweet), melted Swiss (a blanket of mellow) and extra creamy mayo (sneaks in some fat).

Seafood fans should dive right into the multi-faceted kebabs. The two- or three-serving skewers typically feature a quartet of fresh fish and shrimp—spice-dusted ahi tuna wore its charred crust like a badge of honor, seared catfish roared with flavor—interspersed with a rainbow of blistered peppers, onions and tomatoes, all nestled in a bed of basmati rice and flanked a side of respectable salsa.

According to Lawson, the kebab structure rotates based on seasonal availability, opening up the door to various ocean-dwelling alternatives including: salmon, mahi mahi, halibut, swordfish and rockfish.

Not quite ready to give up red meat?

Get your fix—and some diet-balancing greenery—via a “salad” of arugula, red onions, peppers and goat cheese crowned with mint pesto-brushed lamb chops (juicy to the core).

Unfortunately, crackling logs are not a panacea.

Much too mild mahi mahi gets completely upstaged by every other fish taco contributor, the pearly white fish taking on an attractive orange glow but evidently eschewing the supposed ancho-chile marinade (nary a drop survived the journey to my mouth).

Filet mignon tips were similarly washed out by a flood of balsamic, the overly aggressive sauce overwhelming the beef so absolutely that each bite was reduced to being merely a vinegar delivery system.

The salt-crusted frites, however, emerged unscathed from the taste blurring tussle.

The Pit Stop
Gilberts Corner (the intersection of Routes 15 and 50); 703-944-3611; Facebook.
Average entree: Under 12 ($). Open for lunch Saturday and Sunday.

Ronald Thomas, a man once charged with feeding high-speed commuters, now makes a living off the barbecue-related backups that form in front of his heavily taxed, roadside grill.

After devoting the mid-‘90s to tending to the dining needs of travelers aboard Amtrak’s Auto Train, Thomas joined his wife, Glynis, in the real estate settlement game.

But the confluence of their relocating to South Riding from Maryland and Thomas’s entrepreneurial spirit came to a head in late 2008 when the self-proclaimed food lover found himself in what he perceived to be a barbecue desert.

“I was just upset that I moved out here to the country and nobody was cooking ribs,” he says of the gastronomic rude awakening.

So, Thomas began scouting spots for a mobile grilling operation, originally courting local churches before county officials suggested he try his luck on the hardscrabble parking lot known as Gilberts Corner.

As he approaches his two-year anniversary (this October), Thomas couldn’t be happier.

Or get much busier.

The Pit Stop now keeps him occupied for the better half of each week:
• Wednesday: purchases all the food for weekend grilling;
• Thursday: begins seasoning/cooking the most in-demand items (ribs; chicken—marinated for 48 hours) and stockpiling side items (he prepares about 20 pounds of extra-chunky potato salad each weekend);
• Friday: grills/shreds the pork barbecue; roasts additional birds for his smoked chicken salad;
• Saturday/Sunday: 6 a.m. – begins loading the seasoned hickory logs into the industrial-sized pit at his Gilberts Corner plot; 8:30(ish) a.m. – starts selling plucked-straight-from-the-grill ‘cue; ?? – cooks until he sells out of product or night falls.

“People come by and have chopped pork sandwiches for breakfast,” Thomas says of the weekend warriors who greet the day by hoisting sauce-slathered sandwiches to their lips.

Those early-rising weekend warriors definitely have the right idea.

The dripping-with-juices swine gets a tangy jolt from his signature barbecue sauce—a composite coverture fashioned from vinegar, brown sugar and some very closely guarded spices.

Just don’t call it Carolina-style.

“I call it Loudoun County-style,” Thomas says of his freestyle creation, “because I only made it when I got out here.”

Everything from the chicken (succulent bird graced with a mouthwatering crust and deeply perfumed flesh) to the ribs (gorgeous bones bearing spice-encrusted, tangy-sweet meat) gets brushed in the house sauce. Latino regulars, meanwhile, remain the core constituency for his “fire” sauce (a custom tonic marrying his signature barbecue base with an experimental, 17-pepper medley).

At press time, Thomas was negotiating the construction of a next generation grill designed to double his cooking capacity. And he seemed dead-set on adding deep-fried chickens to his arsenal (whole birds would be flash cooked and dipped in barbecue or Buffalo-style hot sauce).

And he’d be happy to breathe new life into the abandoned service station opposite his temporary stand. “I would love to take that structure and make it a restaurant,” he suggests.

Magnolia’s at the Mill
198 N. 21st St., Purcellville; 540-338-9800; www.magnoliasmill.com.
Average entree: $21 to $30 ($$$). Open for lunch Monday through Saturday, dinner daily, late-night dining Friday and Saturday, brunch Sunday.

To wood-fire or not?

That was the quandary Magnolia’s execs wrestled with when they solicited approval of their plan to feed both their central grill and pizza oven arboreal fuel.

It turned out to be a split decision.

“Due to county codes we were unable to use both the pizza oven and the grill as solid fuel cooking appliances. We opted for the wood grill,” the collective powers-that-be shared—with partner Kevin Malone asserting “and we don’t regret it.”

(Note to LoCo paper pushers: Methinks they ultimately won that pizza battle, what with the success of Fire Works Pizza in Leesburg.)

If Magnolia’s customers are at all upset of being robbed of the pleasure of wood-flavored pies, they’re not letting on one bit.

The rustic-looking restaurant continues to draw all manner of meal seekers, from the appearance-be-damned dad who didn’t think twice about planting his toddler alongside him at the bar (it counts as bonding time) to clusters of silver haired-retirees (clandestinely jockeying for Foursquare mayorship, no doubt) to the hard-charging business exec who popped in specifically for a favorite dessert (don’t think the sweets devotee even glanced at the menu).

Those who do fancy tickling their taste buds with a hint of dead tree are rewarded with various options—“We find there are very few dishes that judicious use of a hot, hickory fire cannot improve,” management states, estimating that at any given time, up to a third of their menu is dedicated to grill items—covering the gamut of alimentary options (land, air and sea).

Although the grill welcomes all manner of animal matter, it’s powered by two basic fuel sources: seasoned hickory (those would be the neatly stacked logs dividing the main dining room and the bar area) and Cowboy-brand lump, hardwood charcoal (the good stuff).

As anyone who’s dabbled in home barbecuing/smoking can attest, pure charcoal delivers high heat with minimal fuss while the hickory passed along plenty of smoky/woodsy aromas to the object of the grilling.

The Magnolia’s team, quite naturally, sang the praises of their top tier beef (“the hickory smoke and the hot sear … makes a[n] absolutely perfect steak”) and seafood specials (“fish takes to wood grilling remarkably well and adds a special, complex flavor element to the dish”).

But it was the simpler grilled fare that struck a chord during my visits.

Twin slabs of homemade meatloaf, struck from a mouthwatering blend of ground Angus beef, pork and rosemary, encapsulate all that’s right with wood grilling—their blackened faces a testament to the fury of jumping flames and searing grates, while bites of their unscorched rears deliver ample juice and spice.

Flank steak clings to its well-marinated core but otherwise embraces its fiery destiny, developing an alluring char around its still succulent edges and absorbing plenty of nostril-filling, palate-teasing smoke.

Burgers bask in the attention as well, particularly when aided by hickory-based barbecue sauce, smoked bacon and seriously crunchy pickles (smokehouse) or sparsely seasoned, showered in goat cheese and layered with sublimely sweet peppers (lamb burger).

Rocklands
Multiple NoVA locations; www.rocklands.com.
Average entree: under $12 ($). Open for lunch and dinner daily.

Rocklands founder John Snedden is so fond of the nostalgia-inducing scent of barbecued meats impregnated over hours with the essence of spent wood, that he requires every entree at his homegrown restaurants to be thoroughly smoked AND flash grilled before being served to expectant customers.

Their signature pit is a seven-foot tall, vertically-oriented chamber boasting four main cooking areas—pork ribs sizzle at the lowest level, chicken and pork butts bronze in the middle region, beef brisket comes into its moist, delicious own up top—interspersed with grease traps, oxygen-filled chambers and twin fires (fed a roughly 80/20 percent mix of red oak and hickory, respectively).

“We like the flavor profiles that both produce,” Snedden says of the preferred heat sources.

Cooking times vary, with chickens typically getting plucked from the smoker first (after about three hours) while brisket whiles away the longest (up to half a day).

As per Snedden’s specifications, everything gets finished atop their special, wood-stoked Aztec Grill (a convection heat-maximizing appliance)—a flash searing designed to wrap all main dishes in a charred and caramelized crust.

Each featured protein—catch of the day (salmon, tilapia), spare ribs, beef ribs, chicken, brisket, pulled pork—receives individual attention come rub time (salt, pepper and cumin for birds, all three plus garlic for the brisket, etc.), a mission critical move that helps draw out the distinctive personality of the many splendored meats.

Snedden readily admits to developing an affinity for beef ribs while researching ‘cue down in the Lone Star State. And while his supply lines remain in flux—Snedden has to fight to track down the oversized four-bone racks he favors—demand continues to steadily rise.

“It’s a building clientele,” he says of the education-intensive grilled fare.

Listen up, bovine-bone newbies.

The smoky-sweet beef ribs are phenomenal, revealing juice-laden slabs of well-marbled meat that’s unyieldingly tender and intoxicatingly perfumed. A bone or two is ample for a single person—though it is hard to switch off the primordial lust activated by repeatedly hoisting the weighty rib to your lips and decisively ripping each shred of mouthwatering ‘cue from the bone’s reluctant grasp.

Brisket delivers serious juice and tang, each chewy, black pepper-crusted strip damn near dissolving on the tongue—but not before unleashing its salty-smoky payload.

Barbecued chicken sports a tar black skin shielding moist, hickory-infused meat below (their bird absorbs the wood best). Pair it with some Texas corn pudding, a sunrise yellow-mash of sweet corn bits and cornmeal for the perfect savory-sweet duo.

(September 2010)