Just in time for summer, Porter Road has launched a new package of cookout provisions, the Grilling Heroes Box. The bundle, retailing for $119, includes two dry-aged steaks, two pounds of dry-aged burger patties, and two packs of dry-aged hot dogs. It’s a proper summer cookout delivered straight to your door—a cooler of Miller High Life, cornhole boards, and Grateful Dead tunes not included.
Nashville-based chefs Chris Carter and James Peisker launched Porter Road to revive the spirit of small-town butcher shops that once dotted America. The chef duo opened a brick-and-mortar shop in Nashville before eventually taking the operation online. Porter Road sources beef, pork, lamb, and chicken from family farms across Tennessee and Kentucky. The meat is antibiotic- and hormone-free, hand-cut by real butchers, and dry-aged in-house. It’s the sort of old-school craftsmanship that has become increasingly rare in the age of shrink-wrapping and freezers.
You can buy à la carte meat from Porter Road—say, a pack of ribeyes, porterhouses, or sausage—but I prefer the variety packs. There’s more than just fresh meat, too. Porter Road’s charcuterie is scrumptious, and the buttermilk biscuit mix included in the Brunch Bundle is so tasty it could shame a Kentucky granny.
Meat delivery is a godsend for this New Yorker
Living in Brooklyn, I’m hard-pressed to find high-quality meat from my local grocers, which are mostly glorified bodegas. My neighborhood of Bushwick is heavily Hasidic, and decent pork, in particular, is scarce around these parts. To make matters worse, the hordes of hipsters who move here tend to be militant vegans. This boy needs his damn protein, and meat delivery companies have been my salvation.
I’ll confess that I don’t own a grill—another casualty of urban living. No matter. My cast-iron skillet lends a fine caramelized crust to Porter Road’s burgers and franks. If I’m on a fitness kick, I’ll pile the charred meat atop a rice bowl or salad. When nostalgia strikes, I reach for a pack of Martin’s Potato Rolls, a six-pack of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, and a slab of Cabot extra-sharp cheddar. Add a hit of Gulden’s mustard and a mess of pickles to a medium-rare patty and, as Jimmy Buffett sang, you’ve got yourself a cheeseburger in paradise.
