Matt Moore - Serial Griller

Copyright 2020 by Matt Moore

Photographs 2020 by Andrea Behrends and Helene Dujardin
Ketchup photograph on front cover by kzww/Shutterstock.com
Wood texture on cover by Flas100/Shutterstock.com

All rights reserved.

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

hmhbooks.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Moore, Matt (Matt R.), author.

Title: Serial griller : grillmaster secrets for flame-cooked perfection / Matt Moore.

Description: Boston : Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2020. | Includes bibliographical references and index.

Identifiers: LCCN 2019042991 (print) | LCCN 2019042992 (ebook) | ISBN 9780358187264 | ISBN 9780358182696 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Barbecuing. | Outdoor cooking. | Cooking. | LCGFT: Cookbooks.

Classification: LCC TX840.B3 M664 2020 (print) | LCC TX840.B3 (ebook) | DDC 641.7/6dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019042991

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019042992

Book and cover design by Kara Plikaitis

Food styling by Anna Hampton

Prop styling by Angie Mosier

v2.0420

To Persistence.

Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence.

To the Grillmasters. Though most of us started as strangers, we are now one family bound by our love for Serial Grilling! I cannot thank you enough for entrusting me with your stories, recipes, and time. Thank you for your patience. Im eternally grateful and humbled by all of you.

To my agent, Stacey Glick. Through the thick and the thinyou are a constant. Your enthusiasm, motivation, and transparency has always been my literary compass, especially in guiding me through this endeavorIm incredibly blessed to have you in my corner.

To Andrea Behrends. Your lifestyle photography continues to capture our journeys beyond my most vivid memories. You are a true pro, a great traveler (so long as you get PreCheck), and a true friend. Thank you for being you. You are such an incredible woman who believes and fights for the very best in this world.

To Helene Dujardin, Angie Mosier, and Anna Hampton. Wow. You ladies sure rocked and rolled on some of the most beautiful grilled food and photography these eyes have ever seen. Merci beaucoup!

To Katherine Cobbs. You are strong beyond strongkeep being a light. Thank you for all of the support. And also to Sid Evans, Anja Schmidt, Margot Schupf, Kourtney Sokmen, Hunter Lewis, Robbie Melvin, Christi Crowley, Lyda Burnette, Martha Foose, and Danielle Costa.

A very special thanks to the incredible team at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt and everyone else who brought this book to life. For believing in me and this project, especially Sarah Kwak and Deb Brody. Cheers to this bookand to the many more to come. And because it takes an army: Jamie Selzer, Tai Blanche, Kara Plikaitis, Brianna Yamashita, Breanne Sommers, Tom Hyland, and Deri Reed.

And finally, to my family. There are a lot of us! To Mom and Dad for your leadership and love, best exhibited through your actions. To Ashley and Daniel for your enthusiasm and encouragement. To my greater family of in-laws, cousins, and moreyour promotion always means more than you know.

And of course, to my lovely wife, Callie, and our daughters, Vivienne and Everly. My selfish gains of gallivanting for gluttony is only tempered by your sacrifice of having me always be somewhere other than home. Thank you for letting me do what I do without fear or regret. I love you girls.

And to the rest of yallthe Serial Grillers reading this book. Crack open a cold beer and get to work.

I must confess: Im a Serial Griller.

Its a messy jobbut I take pride in my work. Truth be told, Im not the only one who finds pleasure in standing among the smoke and the flames to pursue ones craft. You see, for us Serial Grillersno matter the season, the occasion, the meal, or the courseyou can catch us all toiling over fire.

And since Im coming clean, Ill say that I come from a family of Serial Grillers.

My grandfather Giddy spent his days butchering at our family store in Valdosta, Georgia. Though his chickens were always destined for my grandmothers cast-iron skillet filled deep with bubbly, carameld oil, his butcher cuts, as he called them, were always skewered and grilled. Nothing beats my Sittys fried chicken, but the delicious tastes of those grilled cuts certainly survive.

My other grandfather, Papa, a cattleman in Enterprise, Mississippi, lived larger and longer than mostalways enjoying a supper of butter beans and a grilled Angus steaka habit I fostered in favor, especially in his later years, despite the fact he readily demanded his meat be cooked well-done. I suppose each Serial Griller has their own signature way of doing things.

But my real experience in Serial Grilling came from both my father and my mother. Rarely a day would pass that Mama and Daddy wouldnt fire up the grill at our home in Lilburn, Georgia, stepping out on the brick patio they had laid by hand to cook our family supper. To the tunes of James Taylor and the Allmans, a veritable slew of grilled meats, sides, veggies, and desserts would make their way onto our tablethough it was rarely just our family gathering for the meal. The truth is, Serial Grilling might be personal work, but it benefits many.

Many say, including me, that cooking is loveand its Old Smokey that my father partially credits to landing and keeping his wife, my mother, of over forty years.

Long before the white sandy beaches of Florida and Alabama earned the 30A moniker, my family enjoyed our annual summer respite of sun and discovery there. But my father, ever persistent, could never let a vacation be a vacation. Fearing I would forget the mechanics of throwing a circle changeup after a few days on the beach, he would always schedule an extracurricular athletic day, far away from the emerald water and sandy beaches. But this particular year, I had my own game plan.

On that day, I ensured that I would cut our workout short, after I busted my fathers catchers mitt with a two-seam fastball. What can I say? Anger, or lack of vacation, gets the best of us. Dismayed, my father stopped into an old-timey hardware store, the kind that smells of oil and fertilizer, in hopes of finding some leather to mend up our mess. Going about our separate ways, aisle by aisle, I heard my father let out a scream...