When most people think barbecue, they think of hot dogs, hamburgers, and maybe the occasional steak seared over propane flames. For a dedicated few, however, cooking with fire is more than a casual diversion. Such is the case with Richard Prestwich and Steven Beaudoin of Grantsville and Richard Copeland of Tooele. In their capable hands, fire is the medium to a unique culinary art form.

Richard Prestwich

Richard Prestwich is a skilled culinary artist all around.

At 13, he was employed washing dishes at the Club Manhattan restaurant in Salt Lake.

“Because I kept showing up, I got promoted right up the line to chef,” he recalls.

As a broilerman chef, he learned the ins and outs of fine-cooked meat. Regular dishes consisted of steak, lobster, chicken, pork and lamb chops. His culinary career was cut short, however, when he was “shipped off” to serve in Vietnam.

A few years later, fellow members of his LDS congregation caught wind of his cooking talents.

“Every [LDS] ward I’ve been in, they would find out I was a chef and call me to cook for them,” Prestwich said. “It was whatever they had planned. Whatever they wanted. [I could cook] on a griddle, or I could cook on a barbecue.”

Ultimately he decided to go with barbecue.

“When you expose the meat to the flames, it forms benzopyrenes on the surface of the meat,” he said. “You don’t get that smokey, barbecue flavor [on a griddle.]”

Today, Prestwich’s barbecue techniques combine his experience serving church members with his career as a chef. He makes a basic blend of garlic, black pepper and fine-ground sweet basil for meats, and modifies as needed. Except for hamburgers, salt stays on the shelf until serving time — a rule he learned in the chef’s kitchen.

“[Salt] dries out the meat and makes it tough,” he explains. “Let the person who’s eating it season it to taste.”

Prestwich employs other tricks in his barbecue, as well. To cook the perfect steak, he uses a literal rule of thumb. Pinch the thumb and forefinger together with one hand, and notice how long the muscles below the thumb remain relatively soft. That’s the firmness of a rare steak. Pinch your thumb and middle finger together, and the muscles tighten a bit. That’s about how firm a medium steak should feel. Pinch the thumb and ring finger together for well done, and thumb and pinky for extra well done.

Prestwich doesn’t need a thermometer for poultry, either. Instead, he pushes a fork through to the bone to see if the juices run clear. If not, the bird isn’t done.

His style also benefits from a love for the great outdoors. Heading out to Flaming Gorge, he makes sure to bring a barbecue basket for cooking over open flames. The metal wire casing extends on a rod, allowing him to roast cuts of meat over a campfire in a similar way to hot dogs or marshmallows. Any meat is game, from hamburgers to broilerman specialties like fish, steak and chops.

Based on his eclectic cooking career indoors and out, what’s Prestwitch’s favorite cut of steak? New York.

“It’s got more flavor than a tenderloin, and it’s the second most tender steak on the cow,” he said.

Steven Beaudoin

Steven Beaudoin got his start in barbecue about 10 years ago, when he and some neighborhood friends decided to join forces building a custom smoker from their garages. They painted the prototype like a cow, named it Betsy, and started hosting barbecue socials in their cul-de-sac.

“We found out the unit was too small and wasn’t efficient,” Beaudoin recalls, “[We] went on to phase two, and three and four. We’ve each built a dozen [smokers] now.”

Beaudoin has long since moved from that old neighborhood in Washington state. Fortunately, his innovative hobby and passion for barbecue followed him to Grantsville. His latest smoker is a giant wheeled cylinder that hitches to the back of a truck. He cooks for a variety of gatherings around the valley, and is especially known for roast pig.

That’s a whole pig, mind you, served “Sphinx” style with legs tucked beneath and an apple in its mouth. Debate rages on just how a smoked pig should lay. For Beaudoin, it’s all about releasing the flavors through the low and slow exposure to heat.

“The key to the sweetness of the meat is the fat and collagens inside as it burns off and cooks,” he says, adding, “You really can’t mess up a piece of pork.”

Maybe, but roasting a pig is no task for the faint of heart. A 125-pounder requires about 22 hours of cooking. Day and night he injects apple juice into low fat portions like the tenderloin, which is prone to dry out. On average, it takes two gallons of juice to keep the meat succulent and flavorful through the extensive smoking process.

Heat must be maintained around 260 degrees. Beaudoin’s earlier smokers were heated by coals in an offset box, but the size of his smoking chamber made cooking “a constant monitoring process.”

“Your heat comes in as it rises,” he explains. “Then it has too cool in order to exit. You have to have your exit point match your expended burn point. There’s a calculation they use, but I’m a cook, not a mathematician.”

His latest smoker uses propane to maintain an even temperature, but still burns the hardwood for flavor. When smoking pork, Beaudoin prefers the sweet, pungent taste of Applewood. He applies the chunks for only three hours so as not to sour the meat.

The finished product is a sight to behold, garnering awes and photo shots from an admiring crowd. While taking pride in his smoked pigs, Beaudoin is quick to warn it’s not for everyone.

“A whole hog will turn a lot of people off, unless you’re accustomed to digging in like that,” he said.

Far from only roasting pigs, he also specializes in pork shoulder, sausages, brisket, and baby back ribs — smothered Kansas style in his home-made barbecue sauce.

Despite his reputation, Beaudoin isn’t tempted to enter his acclaimed cooking into formal competitions. Nor does he consider himself in the catering business. For him, it’s all about the experience.

“I use [the smoker] more or less as a vehicle to go around and meet people,” he says with a smile. “It draws a lot of attention.”

Richard Copeland

Richard Copeland may know bona fide Southern barbecue better than anyone in Tooele County. Hailing from Florida with time in Georgia and Tennessee, cooking with smoke has been a longtime hobby. But his career in barbecue only took off after he and his wife founded Elizabeth’s Custom Catering in Salt Lake City.

“I realized that it wasn’t just me that thought it was good,” Copeland recalls. “There were a lot of people who thought our barbecue was really good.”

Realizing they were on to something, the couple began expanding on his cooking talents. Richard’s Round-Up Barbecue was added as a division of their catering company, and Copeland’s skills were honed as he competed in statewide barbecue events.

“There’s some variations to what you have to overcome in competitions. Little things like altitude, temperature, wind, rain — all that affects cooking times and temperatures.”

He also gained experience running a Tooele restaurant with his signature-style ribs, pulled pork, chicken and brisket. The business eventually closed due to building expenses, but public appetite only grew for that distinctive, smoky Southern flavor.

Copeland’s neighborly demeanor helps inspire a loyal following, but the love and precision he puts into his trade is what seals the deal.

Brisket is one example. The large beef cuts spend 16 to 18 hours in his offset smoker, maintained carefully around 210 degrees. Cherry, hickory, oak and apple chunks smoke the chamber for the first few hours. Too much smoke blackens the meat.

“If you’ve got a lot of smoke, that means you’ve got a lot of ash,” he explains. “It sounds crazy, but you want to smoke your meat with very little smoke.”

About five hours into the process he wraps the brisket in foil to cook in its juices for the next 10 hours. The last hour or so, he removes the foil and bakes the seasoned surface into a rich, dark “bark” or crust.

Many smoke enthusiasts mop sauces on their meats, but Copeland prefers a dry rub approach, allowing the seasoning and smoke flavor speak for itself. His brisket is served with sauce on the side, as well as his St. Louis-style ribs.

“You can hide bad meat with good barbecue sauce,” he notes.

That isn’t to say Copeland doesn’t know barbecue sauce. His “Sweet and Sassy” mixture is one several recipes slow-boiled from scratch and in the process of getting on store shelves. The sauce is so good, in fact, he’s seen customers drink straight from the bottle. He also concocts the recipes for his unique rubs and seasonings.

Copeland’s talents have let him rub shoulders with the best. This September, he’s heading to Mesquite to cook against some of the greatest barbecue pit masters in the country. For him, it’s another opportunity to fine-tune his techniques.

“Once you’ve got it down then you’re mainly just improving in things like your rubs,” he said. “No one is ever totally satisfied with their rubs. Everyone wants to make something better.”