The Great Barbie Debate: charcoal vs gas

By NIKKI MACDONALD - The Dominion Post

A barbie at John Tulloch's comes with a promise of entertainment, in a sooty crust.

And that, he argues, is how it should be. Aircraft carriers masquerading as outdoor grills are an assault on Kiwi culture, and a barbecue without fire is like rugby without rucking.

"It begins to feminise the process. What you will notice is with gas, no-one hangs around, there's no communal gathering. You set light to something and guys gather."

But gas now dominates backyard cooking. Harvey Norman salesman Ian Johnstone also champions charcoal for taste and "theatre", but at least 80 per cent of the barbecues he sells are gas fuelled. And there's definitely an element of, as John puts it, "Look at my red sports car".

Ian says most buyers spend about $1000 on a swish stainless model. And already this season he's sold six $3000 bigger-than- the-kitchen-bench burners.

"I suspect they still cook sausages."

But he's not completely averse to gas - he bought his ironically-named father Ash a new stainless four-burner, complete with rotisserie.

Ian and his charcoal-kettle Weber were the undisputed sausage-cooking winners, proving well-managed charcoal still has the flavour edge. But gas barbecuers can play on their points of difference - Ash's juicy rotisserie chicken redeemed his flash gas burner. And there's something to be said for the convenience of one-switch lighting after a long day's work.

Disclaimer: This tasting experiment may have been influenced by methodological flaws and personal prejudice.

Black Magic

John Tulloch's first charcoal barbecuing experience as a 16-year-old ought to have instantly converted him to gas.

"It took about two hours to light. It really was your classic burnt sausage, raw on the inside. I remember being alone outside - people had begun to desert me. I was determined. Maybe it's a primeval thing: you can't return to the tribe unless you bring the kill."

But bloody-minded determination, to the point of grilling under a golf umbrella in downpours, is part of the charcoal appeal.

Scampering barefoot between kitchen and lawn, he shoves foil-covered potatoes into the embers and prods chicken legs and sausages as they char over too-hot coals. Even now he professes limited proficiency - he's been responsible for mass pizza orders and wife Marie microwave pre-zaps all meat to minimise the poisoning risk.

The long-handled barbecue tools are somewhere in Pakistan, where the family worked for the Red Cross's earthquake relief effort. Pakistanis don't use gas to cook their goat meat, John points out.

"I see these massive gleaming monstrosities, like an aircraft carrier with wings either side. It's casting aside the heritage, getting rid of who we are. Suddenly we seem to have embraced this American technology, trying to bring inside convenience outside. Where's the fun in that?"

The sausage score - 23/30

Appearance: 6 1/2 (marks off for charring)

Texture: 8 1/2

Flavour: 8 (good smokey flavour)

Cooking With Gas

"Stuff the ritual, I just want to cook something," Ash Johnstone says bluntly.

Legs and toes exposed to a cold southerly on his Whitby deck, he's basting a whole chicken spinning on the rotisserie of his stainless four-burner Gasmate. It's been cooking for about 90 minutes and is a gorgeous golden brown, dripping with juices as he rests the spinner end on pliers to remove the bird.

Though his best barbecue memories were of cooking on curved iron discs while out lambing or docking as a farm worker, Ash was an early convert to gas's simplicity and convenience.

Which is why he can't understand how son Ian was seduced by the cult of the black kettle. There's a healthy rivalry between the two, and Ash admits there is a taste difference between gas and charcoal.

"I'm not saying it's better or worse."

While cooking a sausage on a gas hotplate seems more like frying than barbecuing, the rotisserie chicken is impressive. The flesh is more succulent than your average oven-dried roast. And it apparently cooks with the same radiant heat as charcoal, so has a more authentic barbecue flavour. Ash uses it year-round for chicken and pork, and no longer roasts in the oven.

And there's a definite size advantage: "You can cook very easily for 30 people. On his little one you can't."

The sausage score - 23.5/30

Appearance: 8

Texture: 9

Flavour: 6 1/2 (slightly skewed by my harsh co-taster)

The Convert

"Fifteen minutes," Ian Johnstone says confidently. That's all it takes from the touch of a paper towel wick against crumpled newspaper to cookable heat.

On his Titahi Bay balcony, his Weber - the original American kettle barbecue that inspired something of a cult following - is stacked with a briquette pyramid. They turn from ink to silver and, sure enough, after fifteen minutes the coals are spread and the sliced and spiced chicken breasts go on.

Though he looks expert, intermittently closing the lid to seal in heat, Ian is a charcoal convert of only about two years.

"I gave the gas away; it just isn't as fun. There's a bit of theatre to charcoal. You can have a few beers while you're preparing. And it just tastes better."

The lidded kettle is designed to also roast whole chickens or legs of lamb. Or you can throw in wood chips to convert it to a smoker. All of which Ian does.

He treats the barbecue as an extension of the kitchen, which, unusually, is also his domain. He barbecues about twice a week, often just for the family.

But he acknowledges coal has downsides - there's no way he can get home from work at 6pm, light the barbecue and get the littl'uns fed in time.

The sausage score - 30/30

Appearance: 10

Texture: 10

Flavour: 10

The Diplomat

Trust a woman to keep the peace while the blokes bicker. Chef Julie Biuso, who's just put out her second barbecue cookbook, Never-ending Summer, has both flash gas barbecue and wood-fired grill.

She grew up with a converted oil drum, halved and hinged, fired with driftwood on the beach.

"The whole anticipation of that smell of wood is so gorgeous, it keeps you outside for longer.

"There's a bit more physical work involved and everyone's hanging around and by the time the food is cooked people are just about falling on it, so you get a very appreciative audience."

Italian husband Remo was raised in an apartment but was quick to embrace the Kiwi tradition.

"Men and fire definitely go together. And men and fire with a beer in hand is an even better combination. Flames are truly mesmerising."

While food tastes better over live coals, Julie realises that's no longer the reality of most New Zealand barbecues, as busy workers seek quick returns. She uses the gas grill for messy cooking like splatter- prone eggplant and keeps the wood-fired ritual for relaxed weekend gatherings.

Julie Biuso's Barbecue Tips
Cool it: most people have their barbecue too hot. Meat should make a nice audible sizzle; it shouldn't be hissing and spitting and charred in two minutes.
Hands off: meat sticks until starting to cook; moving it tears the fibres and that's naughty. Put the meat where you want it until it can be freed quite easily. Poking releases juices you want to retain to make food succulent. Avoid blackouts: marinades often contain sugars or starches that burn. Remove with a rubber scraper before cooking. Towards the last few cooking minutes, spoon back over meat and cook through.
Butter up: oil the meat instead of the hotplate to stop the oil breaking down and turning toxic. Oil steaks with rosemary and slices of garlic.
Size does matter: buy a bigger barbecue, because you'll generally have friends around. Crowding food slows cooking.