Barbecue Chicken Pizzadilla (Pizza Quesadilla)

March. The month that Kentucky can't decide if it's winter or spring, so it gives you both on the same day. Sixty-five degrees on Tuesday. Snow on Thursday. Fifty on Saturday. The construction site is a mud pit because the ground is thawing and the rain is coming and everything that was frozen is now unfrozen and soft. My boots weigh ten pounds each by noon. My back weighs a hundred pounds all the time. But the light is different in March — longer, warmer, promising — and the light makes up for the mud.

Clay's birthday is coming up. He'll be seventeen on June 13. But that's months away. What's closer is spring football — off-season training starts next week and Clay is already living in the weight room. His coach says he could be all-district next year if he keeps developing. All-district. A Hensley. In a newspaper. For something good. I keep that thought in my pocket like a coin I can rub for luck.

This week I want to talk about a recipe that's not Betty's: my smoked pork shoulder. This is mine. I developed it over the past year, through trial and error and a lot of barbecue eaten, and I'm proud of it in the way that a man who mostly replicates his mother's recipes is proud when he creates something original. This is my thing. The ribs were a start. The pork shoulder is the destination.

You buy a bone-in pork shoulder, eight to ten pounds. The night before, trim the fat cap to about a quarter inch — you want some fat but not all of it. Rub it generously with a mix of brown sugar, paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, cumin, black pepper, cayenne, and salt. Wrap it in plastic and let it sit overnight in the fridge.

The next morning, set up for low and slow: 225 degrees, hickory chunks (or cherry — I've been experimenting with cherry and it gives a sweeter smoke). Put the shoulder on fat side up. Spritz with apple cider vinegar every hour. It's going to take twelve to fourteen hours. Yes, fourteen hours. You start at six AM and you eat at eight PM and the hours in between are spent tending a fire and drinking coffee and thinking about life, which is basically the same thing as therapy but with better smells.

The stall happens around 160 degrees — the internal temperature stops rising because the meat is sweating out moisture. Don't panic. Don't crank the heat. Just wait. The stall can last two or three hours. When it breaks, the temperature climbs to 200-205, and at that point the collagen has broken down and the meat is tender enough to pull apart with your fingers. Rest it for at least thirty minutes. Then pull it — don't chop it, pull it — into shreds with two forks.

Serve it on white bread with a vinegar-based slaw and pickles. Or on a bun with your sauce of choice. Or just in a bowl with your hands. I served it to Travis and Jolene last weekend and Travis ate a pound by himself and said "Dad, this is the best thing you've ever made." Better than Betty's fried chicken? "Different," he said. "But yeah. Maybe." I'll take it. I'll take the maybe. A maybe from your son about whether your food is as good as his grandmother's — that's as good as it gets.

You can’t smoke a pork shoulder every night — fourteen hours is a weekend commitment, a labor of love, the kind of cook that requires you to be present and patient in a way a Tuesday just doesn’t allow. But the barbecue craving doesn’t clock out when the workweek starts, especially not in a house with a seventeen-year-old living in the weight room who needs fuel at all hours. That’s where this Barbecue Chicken Pizzadilla earns its place: it takes everything I love about a good BBQ plate — the smoky sauce, the melted cheese, the crispy edges — and gets it on the table before Clay finishes his post-practice shower. Betty never made one of these, which means it’s mine too.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 20 minutes | Servings: 2–3

Ingredients

2 large flour tortillas (10-inch burrito size)
1 1/2 cups cooked chicken breast, shredded or chopped
1/3 cup barbecue sauce, plus more for dipping
1 1/2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese
1/2 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese
1/4 cup red onion, thinly sliced
1/4 cup pickled jalapeño slices (optional)
2 tablespoons fresh cilantro, chopped
1 tablespoon olive oil or butter
Salt and black pepper to taste

Instructions

Toss the chicken. In a small bowl, combine the shredded chicken with the barbecue sauce and stir to coat evenly. Season lightly with salt and black pepper.
Build the pizzadilla. Lay one flour tortilla flat on a clean surface. Spread half the mozzarella and half the cheddar evenly over the entire tortilla. Distribute the barbecue chicken mixture over one half of the tortilla, then top the chicken with the sliced red onion and jalapeños if using. Fold the cheese-only half over the loaded half to form a half-moon.
Cook the first side. Heat a large skillet or griddle over medium heat and add the olive oil or butter. Carefully lay the folded pizzadilla in the skillet. Press down gently with a spatula. Cook for 3–4 minutes until the bottom tortilla is deep golden brown and the cheese nearest the pan begins to melt.
Flip and finish. Carefully flip the pizzadilla and cook the second side for 3–4 minutes more until the tortilla is crispy and the cheese is fully melted throughout.
Rest and slice. Transfer to a cutting board and let rest for 1–2 minutes. Slice into 3–4 wedges with a pizza cutter or sharp knife.
Garnish and serve. Scatter fresh cilantro over the top and serve immediately with extra barbecue sauce on the side for dipping.

Nutrition (per serving)

Barbecue Chicken Pizzadilla (Pizza Quesadilla) — When the Pit Master Needs a Weeknight Shortcut