When I arrived at Scarlet Fire BBQ—it’s tucked inside the complex that shares space with BareWolf Brewing, in Amesbury—I was told not to let looks deceive me. “Last night,” says Rebecca Fraser, who owns the barbecue spot with her husband Mike, “it was shoulder-to-shoulder.” She had warned me to come early.
But I had some background reporting to do, mostly in the form of imbibing. Around the corner, at BareWolf Brewing, which has its own dedicated following, my husband and I tasted through some of the brewery’s 12 tap lines. BareWolf does not offer flights; instead, they provide ample samples, enticing drinkers to choose what they like. For my part, that was the Doublespeak, a so-called “wild oenobeer,” a kettle sour that has been wild fermented in stainless steel and then blended with New York State Riesling that was fermented in-house (BareWolf has a dual winery and brewery license). The result is a brew that crosses boundaries; it tastes a little like a wine that has achieved the maximum level of funk.
BareWolf, which is owned by Stevie and Paul Bareford—Wylie Bednar is the lead brewer—rotates their tap beers (some stick around for the long-haul and some make only fleeting appearances, in deference, say, to the season). My husband and I caught the last of the Oktoberfest, but we also drank through the regularly appearing Rice Krispy—it’s a regularly appearing rice lager; the Ginger & Juice, a fruited kettle sour; and the heady, 10-percent ABV Inch, a Belgian dark strong ale. A selection of complex cans, like the cheeky Corn Czechs, a corn lager, are also available. There’s one for every palate.
Back in the other room, things were starting to pick up. As it turned out, a trivia night had brought in a lot of ‘cue lovers. At the Scarlet Fire window, I ordered a plate of St. Louis-style ribs (a plate comes with cornbread, two sides, and sauce: I chose creamy smoked mac and cheese and apple pie pit beans); a quarter pound of sliced brisket; a quarter pound of pulled pork; and a plate of nachos, along with a side of the slaw, made with Granny Smith apples.
The meat is the starring attraction. Pork ribs, slow-cooked for three hours at 250 degrees, wrapped, and placed back on the smoker for another hour or so at 275 degrees, are fall-off-the-bone tender. The brisket, cooked seven to eight hours at 250-degrees and wrapped and put back on the smoker for three- to four hours at 275-degrees, is fatty and rich with a thick bark that only comes with care and attention-to-detail.
Rebecca and Mike serve their ‘cue with a homemade barbecue sauce, a cross between a Carolina vinegar-style and a Kansas City sweet sauce. It’s thick and a little tangy (that same sauce dresses their nachos, too, and also serves as the base for a kids’ flatbread). But, like any good barbecue, the meat stands alone; it doesn’t really need it. Moist and flavorful enough to go without, it’s a nice condiment—but you should try it on its own. Other dishes—tacos, burgers, pulled pork sandwiches—are more composed versions of what Rebecca and Mike are doing best here, which is to say: making compelling and good meat, affordably, and to a crowd who—and I hate to say it—has already discovered it. Shoulder-to-shoulder, well, she was right about that. By the time we left, at 7:30, there wasn’t an empty seat in the house.