A smoking crucible of muscle, tendon, flesh and fat amid the bucolic landscape of Wisconsin…
Water for the pan, beer for the cook, a mop and mop for the meat…
In which the first mop is applied…
The expert hand of a pit-master…
Behold the astonishment of the crowd*!…
Those pictured: besides three of my seven daughters, our new French daughter, straight from Territoir de Belfort (in grey sweatshirt) in whose honor (and apparently it is her first sight of bbq brisket)and by way of official welcome, we are “doing it up,” as we Americans say, with a Sunday brisket.
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