There is perhaps no word in the culinary lexicon of American English that sets mouths to watering and arguing as profusely as barbecue. You probably know what it is, and what it is not. We all know that when at its best, barbecue is an apex of achievement in American gastronomy. It is the art of coaxing deep flavors from meat through the application of slow, indirect heat and wood smoke. Hickory and mesquite are the most commonly used woods, but apple, cherry, alder, maple, oak and others also find their way into the mix. There are various dry and wet seasoning techniques utilized before and during the cooking process, and an array of sauces can be had as condiment. Most aficionados of the Southern U.S. style of barbecue agree that sauce should never be applied to the meat until after the cooking is finished, and then only according to individual taste. The über-purist will maintain that if barbecue requires any sauce at all, it’s simply not that good. Suffice it to say that the variations on technique and composition are myriad, and that pride in regional barbecue styles is generally quite strong. Though none of us should need reminding that there is glee to be gotten from outdoor cooking of any sort, or that we are wealthier for the variety.

Most etymologists agree that the word barbecue comes to us from the indigenous Arawak people of the Caribbean by way of Christopher Columbus. Barabicu - which became the Spanish barbacoa – refers to a framework of wood or sticks built over a pit for cooking meat. In the Arawak tradition, the meat was typically a whole goat or pig wrapped in leaves and placed on the framework, then buried in coals to roast slowly for hours. Fittingly enough, it is the Arawaks who also gave us the hammock.

Esteemed culinarians opine that in proper American usage, barbecue is always a noun referring only to the finished dish, and never a verb. This doesn’t seem to stop Americans from saying, ‘Let’s barbecue,’ or ‘We’re going to a barbecue.’ It is perhaps best to leave the grammatical and etymological argument to scholars. We know that they are often not half so happy, nor half so wise, as us blissful dullards who prefer chewing delicious food to pedantic debate. However the word is used or misused, its utterance will almost universally indicate that a fire will be lit outdoors, and that the flesh of an animal will be cooked on or near that fire. For our purposes here, barbecue will refer to the dish, not the activities or events which produce that dish. With this set in place, we can move on to the question of regional barbecue styles…

First, I got to work on the filling. I had Dungeness crab and bacon, and decided to bind them with potatoes and walnuts. Of course, merely mashing up two potatoes wasn’t enough for me. No, I actually made a micro-batch of fresh shrimp stock from shells, carrot, onion, celery, parsley, apple cider vinegar and white wine. I simmered the peeled, diced potatoes for 45 minutes so they could take up the subtle sweetness of the shrimp and vegetables, then gave them a rough mash in a mixing bowl. I roasted a few handfuls of walnuts in herb-infused olive oil, chopped them finely and added them to the potatoes. Into this I gave the crab meat and bacon (minced and rendered), then a half cup of Fontina cheese. This was all stirred to a stiff, even consistency and seasoned with just a few pinches of sea salt. I went very easy with the salt, as I wanted the soft flavors of the shrimp stock, potato and walnut to take center stage. Besides, I still have flavor coming from the sauce I’ll need to make. The sauce I’m thinking of for these ravioli has a lot of high-end zing to it, so keeping the ravioli on the down-low, subtle side of the spectrum seems wise.

Well, I kneaded flour and eggs, rolled the dough into sheets, scooped balls of filling thereupon, covered the assembly with another sheet of dough, then sealed and cut. Ravioli aren’t such a big deal, they’re just time-consuming and involved. Making them is the kind of task I like to settle into and enjoy with some wine and good company if I’m at home. But if you’re going to make 20, you may as well make 200. The assembly is nothing once you get your rhythm. It’s the prep that’s a pain.