Man does not live by restaurants alone.

And when the ‘cue is as crappy as it is in Vegas, there’s only one thing to do: take things into your own smoker.

So, that’s what we did this past weekend — put our money (and time) where our mouth is, and decided to go whole hog (figuratively speaking).

First up, we purchased an Oklahoma Joe’s Highland Smoker-Grill at Lowe’s for the low, low price of $260. (We got the already-assembled floor model, since ELV’s handyman skills rank right down there with his astrophysics aptitude.)

Next, it was a two-day trek to find the largest brisket in town. After looking everywhere it seemed, we stumbled upon a 14.2 pound beauty in the meat department of Wal-mart of all places. (Insert joke here, or better yet, an image of ELV — the man, the myth, the inveterate elitist — actually stepping foot (and shopping!) in Lowe’s and Wal-mart in the same day.)

But find it we did, and then it was straight back to the ELV palatial manse to bone up on our ‘cue IQ. (In case you were wondering, we have smoked meat on many occasions, but never on this scale.)

First, the smoker had to be seasoned. This entailed burning a lot of charcoal at very high temperatures for several hours, in order to burn off whatever chemicals they use to coat the steel when they manufacture the unit. (This is very boring but essential.)

Next, we had to refresh our memory about how to trim a brisket. Luckily, the interwebs now make this a cinch as there are many videos available that walk you through it. Back in the day, all you could do was read about how to do it…which is like trying to teach someone how to sing from a magazine. After looking at several, we decided this professional chef (David Payne) gave the best, and most lucid, advice.

After the trimming was done, it was time for the rub. Now, here’s the rub on rubs: everyone claims a secret rub that is so so special….but they’re all pretty much the same. Most combine paprika, salt and black pepper in copious amounts, accented with whatever cumin, cayenne or coriander suits your fancy. We threw everything in ours but the kitchen sink: onion salt, mustard powder, garlic granules, thyme, chipotle, brown sugar you name it….and it was damn tasty.

Then, all that’s left is to apply the rub, let it percolate into the meat for an hour at room temperature, and then start smoking, right?

Wrong.

That’s when the real work starts.

(ELV knows how to rub out his meat)

Because smoked meat is all about fire management. Keeping that smoke box hot, but not too hot (as in: always between 210-240 degrees F) is not for the faint of heart nor the seeker of sleep. And establishing your charcoal base, then feeding wood chunks or chips on a periodic basis — while never letting the smoke get too hot or too cool takes a man with a thermostat for a heart and a kitchen timer for a brain. All the instructional videos and thermometers in the world can’t tell you when a little too much wood is going to create a whole lotta acrid, overheated white smoke (that can quickly ruin your ‘cue), or when it’s time to shore up your charcoal base with some fresh lumps.

It’s all about feel — for your fuel, the smoker, and the ventilation — and hours and hours of careful cooking is the only way to develop a proper technique for coaxing that cool, blue smoke from the wood on a consistent basis. As it was, we spent twelve straight hours — and seventeen in all — watching the hot box, adding wood chunks (a mixture of hickory and apple) and adjusting the vents, just so we could unwrapped this beauty at 5:00 in the afternoon:

….after having put it in the smoker at midnight the night before.

What about sleep you ask? Sleep is for pussies. Sleep is for after you enjoy the sweetest, smokiest, spiciest brisket you’ve ever laid a tooth to. Making your first brisket is like coaxing a baby into the world. It’s hard, it’s painful, it’s nerve-wracking and it’s a little scary, but in the end, it’s beautiful, it’s all yours and it’s something no one can take away from you.

Unless you want them to take a bite. Which you will.