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"&lt;strong&gt;Long before most people have had their first cup of coffee, Aaron Franklin is on his third espresso.&lt;/strong&gt; When you\u2019re smoking the best BBQ in the country, your day starts very early. In order to get his impossibly tender brisket and ribs ready for the lunch rush, Franklin arrives at his no-frills restaurant, &lt;a href=\"https://franklinbarbecue.com/\" target=\"_blank\"&gt;Franklin Barbecue&lt;/a&gt;, in East Austin, Texas, at 3:30 a.m. By ten o\u2019clock a line composed of bleary-eyed college kids, office workers abusing their lunch \u201Chour,\u201D and BBQ geeks will form; by 1:15 p.m. the dreaded sign will be posted: \u201CSorry, Sold Out! Come Back Soon.\u201D\r\n\r\nFranklin\u2019s rise to the ranks of pit-master stardom is incredible considering the sanctity (and proximity) of the legendary spots and the loyalists who support them. Even more impressive, Franklin has done in a couple of years what took others decades to achieve. In December 2009, the then-31-year-old opened a food trailer in a vacant lot behind a friend\u2019s coffee roastery. Weeks later, his barbecued meats (pulled pork, pork ribs, sausages, and stunning brisket\u2014the pride of Texas-style barbecue) became the focus of camera-toting food bloggers and local media. Now this upstart joint, not even two years old, is mentioned in the same breath as BBQ stalwarts Kreuz Market and Smitty\u2019s Market in nearby Lockhart. Some even think it has surpassed the greats. You can count me as a member of that club.\r\n\r\nSome experts argue that attaining BBQ-genius status requires a degree of heredity. If that\u2019s true, Franklin qualifies. His father owned a spot in Bryan, Texas. It was short-lived, but young Franklin was bitten by the bug. Several years after his dad\u2019s place closed, Franklin\u2019s wife, Stacy, who now helps run the restaurant, sent him to the hardware store to buy a grill. Except he didn\u2019t come back with a grill; he returned with an offset smoker. His first brisket was, by his admission, \u201Cawfully terrible.\u201D But friends who came over for the couple\u2019s backyard barbecues started to heap on the praise. His hobby became a profession, and by March of this year, Franklin had outgrown his tiny trailer\u2019s kitchen and opened a bricks-and-mortar location with two commercial smokers. The crowds followed. Franklin\u2019s explanation for his overnight success is almost antithetical. \u201CPatience,\u201D he says in his understated way\u2014to which I\u2019d add exacting sourcing and technique. First of all, he uses Meyer Angus beef, which is humanely raised in Montana without hormones or antibiotics. The fires in his pits are started using only post oak wood and butcher paper drenched in the tallow that covered the previous day\u2019s brisket. Then, after seasoning the ribs with (of course) a secret spice mix and putting them in the smoker, Franklin grabs a lawn chair, checks his e-mail, and usually works on the New York Times crossword puzzle for an hour. Once the meat is done, he wraps it in foil or butcher paper and sets it aside for that day\u2019s service.\r\n\r\nHis brisket requires even more TLC. Franklin swears he uses only salt and pepper to season it. Judging by the complex flavors of the finished product, I think he\u2019s withholding a spice or two, but he promises it\u2019s all about time and the temperature of the pits. Whereas most places smoke brisket for seven hours at a blazing 500\u00B0, Franklin cooks his for about 18 hours at 250\u00B0 to 270\u00B0. It goes into the pits around 9:00 a.m. and won\u2019t come off until about 3:00 a.m. the next day. The meat emerges with a pinkish smoke ring around the interior\u2014the true sign of cared-for barbecue\u2014that\u2019s almost a half-inch thick.\r\n\r\nLet it be known that before visiting Franklin Barbecue a few months back, I never considered Texas brisket real BBQ. I\u2019m a Georgia native and, like most hardened BBQ regionalists, I was convinced that the best BBQ was what I\u2019d grown up eating. For me, the \u201Creal stuff\u201D meant pulled or chopped pork. It was only after I moved to New York City\u2014yes, New York City\u2014some 12 years ago and visited spots that dabbled in all styles that I realized BBQ could involve beef. (I know that sounds crazy, but I\u2019m sure my Southern brethren understand.) Life\u2019s too short to get caught up in the debate about what constitutes traditional, authentic BBQ and what does not. As a wise friend said, \u201CIf you\u2019re talking about it, you\u2019re not eating it.\u201D Today, I\u2019m more concerned with eating delicious smoked meat than with arguing about its origins. Great BBQ can be found all over the country, from Portland, Oregon, to Manhattan. It also just happens to be at Franklin Barbecue.\r\n\r\nSo here\u2019s my mandate: Go to Austin and queue up at Franklin Barbecue by 10:30 a.m. When you get to the counter, Aaron Franklin will be waiting, knife in hand, ready to slice up his brisket. (Order the fatty end.) Grab a table, a few beers, and lots of napkins and dig in. Take a bite, and don\u2019t tell me you\u2019re not convinced you\u2019ve reached the BBQ promised land. But hurry: Franklin\u2019s a prizefighter in the prime of his career. There\u2019s no telling how long he\u2019ll keep up with his schedule. Let\u2019s hope, for barbecue lovers\u2019 sake, that this man never loses his passion for BBQ, or runs out of espresso. Post oak fuels the fire in the pit Watching the master at work Seasoning the pork ribs Espresso shot no. 2 (of many) Checking the smoker Ribs on the smoker Prepping the meats before service Brisket, sausage, and ribs A 3-Martini lunch, Texas style The sign no one wants to see"^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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