It’s May in the Berkshires and some of us are finally digging out that dusty grill or smoker from the far back corner of our garages. For me, every time I drag out my vintage red $5 Weber tag sale special, I instantly recall memories of that legendary tomahawk ribeye for Father’s Day that I single-handedly conquered, or that pasture-raised bone-in pork shoulder that just melted in my mouth after 8 hours of apple smoke. But most of the time, I reflect back on the days when I used to barbecue for a living. Long hours of prepping and hustling BBQ during the South Florida food truck craze in 2009-2010 was not as glamourous as Food Network depicts. I always smelled like I had come from a bonfire and every single article of clothing I owned was spotted with dry rub and grease. A small price to pay for a burgeoning pit master experiencing the rapid rise of a business he never anticipated starting.
I was introduced to the other half of what would become the operation through a mutual friend and somehow we started talking about BBQ. His name was Armand Ignelzi, and he assured me, very confidently, that he had a recipe for pulled pork BBQ that was incomparable to anything in the area. He went on about his tried and true recipe that leaned North Carolina style with coleslaw on top. His idea was kind of dressed up a bit with more bells and whistles. Two days later, I was summoned over to Armand’s to try this “holier than thou” pulled pork sandwich. He looked exhausted from being up all night tending to the fire but had an air of pride in his wild eyes when he showcased his work. It did not disappoint. The smell was intoxicating. Not to mention, it was the most stunning pulled pork sandwich I had ever laid eyes on. I had never in my life experienced BBQ like that. It was as if I was being guided through my first hallucinogenic experience and Armand was my BBQ Timothy Leary. The heavy black bark, the decadent combo of pork muscle, fat and spices from the rub blended with the crunchy sweet vinegar from the slaw. It was truly a serendipitous moment for us both. I knew that he had something special and I wanted people to experience what I had that day. OUR version of how we wanted to introduce people to authentic BBQ. The framework for Swanky’s Bar-B-Que out of Lake Worth, Fla., had now been conceived and, like I said, I wasn’t even looking to start a business.
After that day, I felt like I was in a full-blown manic episode as we hit the ground running. All I thought about was BBQ. We started working on a lineup of regional sauce recipes, even giving a nod to the obscure Alabama White sauce, which surprisingly had a cult following. In what seemed like no time, I became the hype man for the business, handling the networking, promotion and concept. Armand was the resident pit master, which meant no recipe hit the street until it was properly vetted and taste tested.
Our favorite clubs were lining up asking us to sell food outside of their venues on the busiest nights of the week. The late night street food scene had all the elements we could ask for: music, food, booze, close friends, debauchery… you didn’t have to ask us twice! During that time, my moments of Zen after dealing with the inebriated folks came at 3:30 a.m. when I was heading home on Dixie Highway from downtown West Palm Beach with a banana licuado from the 24-hour walk-up window at Havana.
The truth is, for the first 4-5 months of our being in “business” we went totally rogue and sold only after 10pm on weekends because we knew that no health inspector would get wise to what happened after 5pm Monday through Friday. Initially, we set up a folding table and my mother (bless her heart) made us these beautiful red and white gingham tablecloths with doily lace material around the edges. But we outgrew that setup fast. I stumbled upon a near-mint-condition hot dog cart that a local antique picker named Nettie was trying to sell. She had put the hotdog cart to good use for years as a bikini clad vendor but decided to hang up her tongs to pursue a new career path. She liked our concept so much that she sold me the trailer on the spot and let me pay her in monthly installments for a year. To the unsuspecting public, we were just two dudes trying to make a living selling dirty water dogs… until you smelled what we were actually cooking.
This was my introduction to the business of Bar-B-Que. Slow cooking these relatively tough cuts of meat to make them fall apart tender takes MANY HOURS. Tending a fire without the aid of propane and maintaining ideal temperatures for up to 12 hours with less than adequate equipment was quite tedious, but the cash was steady and we appreciated the celebrity we were gaining.
Swanky’s calling card was our pulled pork sandwich, the Pulled Pork Sandwich. Boston pork butt (it comes from the upper shoulder) is an inexpensive cut that yields a moist, flavorful bite and is extremely forgiving on long cooks due to its fat ratio and physiology. Piled high with our signature slaw to add some crunchy, sweet tang to the smoky pork and well, we were serving up pork alchemy on a paper plate.
Including this recipe for the slaw that pulled the entire experience of that sandwich together, I am breathing new life into an old business that hasn’t sold a sandwich in 11 years.
The Swanky Slaw:
Half of a large/dense sized red cabbage; (cored out) and shaved thinly on a mandolin
3 large carrots (julienned on a mandolin)
2 parsnips (julienned on a mandolin)
4 green scallions, finely diced on the diagonal
Slaw Sauce:
1/3 cup of mayonnaise
1/4 cup of olive oil
1/2 tbsp of apple cider vinegar
1 tbsp of Dijon mustard
1/8 tsp of Kosher salt
1/8 tsp black pepper (medium ground preferably)
3 tsp honey
1/4 tsp Celery seed
1 tsp of sour cream
Combine all ingredients for slaw, top with sauce and mix well. Serve piled high atop anything.
Editor’s note: These days, when he’s not out barbecuing for his neighbors, you can find Steve Russo behind the counter of Mazzeo’s Meat & Seafood at Guido’s Fresh Marketplace in Pittsfield.
