Listen. I don’t know what’s in this rub, but I’m 78% sure it was banned by the Geneva convention for being too damn delicious. The moment I opened the jar, a wave of maple bourbon scented chaos hit me so hard and my neighbors Chihuahua filed a noise complaint. I hadn’t even cooked anything yet.
I rubbed this glorious powder on some steak and within minutes, my grill started purring like a Harley Davidson possessed by a jazz saxophonist. The smell was so intoxicating that three Jehovah’s Witnesses who had been canvassing my street, suddenly abandoned their pamphlets and lined up at my driveway with forks in hand.
The flavor? Imagine if Paul Bunyan wrestled a Canadian lumberjack in a vat of bourbon while Dolly Parton sang back up. Sweet, smoky, seductive-like licking the inside of a distillery that’s hosting a pancake festival in hell. I blacked out halfway through eating and woke up with sauce on my ceiling fan and a raccoon wearing my shirt.
Downside: My spouse says I’ve been whispering “meatsohorny” in my sleep for the past week. Upside: the raccoon still comes by sometimes, and we share a bourbon.
Would I recommend this rub? Only if you’re prepared to ruin every other barbecue seasoning for the rest of your life. Buy two jars one-for grilling and one to snort when you’re feeling sad.