Labor Day. End of summer, officially. The kids are back in the school groove. Tyler's shop class has him building a birdhouse, which he finds beneath him but is doing with more care than he'd admit. Emma's running for student council because of course she is. Lily has made a new friend named Sophia who is also afraid of loud noises and also likes cats, so they're basically soulmates.
Labor Day cookout was small this year — just me, the kids, and Ma. I didn't invite the neighborhood. Sometimes you want a crowd and sometimes you want your mother and your children and a manageable amount of food. I smoked a pork shoulder — eight hours, low and slow, rubbed with Mr. Clarence's recipe. When it was done, I pulled it and served it two ways: traditional Texas-style on white bread with pickles and onion, and Vietnamese-style in lettuce wraps with pickled daikon, fresh herbs, and nuoc cham.
The lettuce wraps were better. Don't tell Texas.
Ma ate the lettuce wraps and nodded, which from her is a standing ovation. She said, "The pork is too sweet." I said, "That's the brown sugar in the rub." She said, "Less next time." She's not wrong — Mr. Clarence's rub was designed for American palates, and Vietnamese palates run toward salty and savory. Next time I'll cut the sugar by half and add a little five-spice. Mr. Clarence would understand. Mr. Clarence understood fusion before it was a word.
I've been thinking about Mr. Clarence a lot lately. He died in 2011 — lung cancer, which makes sense because the man stood in front of a smoker for forty years breathing mesquite and hickory. He was the one who taught my mother to BBQ, and through her, taught me. He was Black, from Fifth Ward originally, and he and my mother — a Vietnamese refugee from Saigon — became friends over a barrel smoker in the backyard, which is the most Houston thing I can think of.
I keep his rub recipe in my wallet. The paper is so worn it's almost see-through. Someday I'll have to write it down on something more permanent. But there's something about the original — his handwriting, the grease stains, the fold marks — that I can't replace. It's not just a recipe. It's evidence that he was here. That he mattered. That he stood in front of a barrel smoker and taught a Vietnamese woman and her scared little kid that fire and smoke and patience can make something beautiful.
I'm getting sentimental. I blame the pork shoulder. Moving on.
Tuesday meeting. Bill's hip surgery is next week. He's nervous, which he'd never admit. I told him I'd bring food to his house after. He said, "Just bring the burnt ends." Fair enough.
Bill’s request for burnt ends got me thinking about smoke and slow heat — and honestly, I didn’t have eight hours to babysit a barrel smoker midweek, but I needed to cook something that felt like that same idea: tough cut, low heat, time doing the work. This slow cooker shredded beef is my Tuesday-night answer to that, Mexican spices standing in for the rub, a slow cooker standing in for the backyard fire. It’s not Sonny’s recipe, but it comes from the same place — patience, and the belief that cheap meat cooked right can feed people something they’ll remember.
Slow Cooker Mexican Shredded Beef Tacos — Two Ways
Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 8 hrs | Total Time: 8 hrs 20 min | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 3 lbs beef chuck roast, trimmed of excess fat
- 1 tablespoon kosher salt
- 1 teaspoon black pepper
- 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
- 1 teaspoon ground cumin
- 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1/2 teaspoon onion powder
- 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
- 1 tablespoon neutral oil (avocado or vegetable)
- 1 medium white onion, roughly chopped
- 4 cloves garlic, smashed
- 1 can (14 oz) fire-roasted diced tomatoes
- 2 chipotle peppers in adobo, chopped, plus 1 tablespoon adobo sauce
- 1/2 cup beef broth
- Juice of 1 lime
- Small flour or corn tortillas, for serving (Texas-style)
- 1 head butter lettuce, leaves separated (Vietnamese-style)
- Quick-pickled daikon and carrots, for serving
- Fresh cilantro and mint, for serving
- Sliced white onion and pickles, for serving (Texas-style)
Instructions
- Make the rub. Combine salt, pepper, smoked paprika, cumin, garlic powder, onion powder, and cayenne in a small bowl. Pat the chuck roast dry with paper towels, then coat on all sides with the spice rub. Let it sit at room temperature for 15 minutes while you prep the slow cooker.
- Sear the beef. Heat oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering. Sear the roast 3–4 minutes per side until a deep brown crust forms. Don’t rush this—the crust is where the flavor lives.
- Build the slow cooker base. Add chopped onion and smashed garlic to the bottom of the slow cooker. Lay the seared roast on top. Pour in the fire-roasted tomatoes, chipotle peppers, adobo sauce, beef broth, and lime juice.
- Cook low and slow. Cover and cook on LOW for 8 hours (or HIGH for 4–5 hours) until the beef is completely tender and pulls apart easily with two forks. Resist lifting the lid—patience is the whole point.
- Shred and finish. Transfer the beef to a cutting board and shred with two forks, discarding any large fat pieces. Return the shredded beef to the slow cooker and stir to coat in the braising liquid. Taste and adjust seasoning—if serving Vietnamese-style, hold back on extra salt as the nuoc cham brings it.
- Serve Texas-style. Pile shredded beef onto warm tortillas with sliced white onion, pickles, and a few sprigs of cilantro. Keep it simple.
- Serve Vietnamese-style. Spoon beef into butter lettuce cups. Top with quick-pickled daikon and carrots, fresh mint, and cilantro. Drizzle with nuoc cham. Eat immediately. Accept the quiet nod of approval.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 390 | Protein: 42g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 12g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 680mg
About the cook who shared this
Bobby Tran
Week 24 of Bobby’s 30-year story
· Houston, Texas
Bobby Tran was born in a refugee camp in Arkansas to parents who fled Saigon with nothing. He grew up in Houston straddling two worlds — Vietnamese at home, Texan everywhere else — and learned to cook from his mother's pho and a neighbor's BBQ smoker. He's a former shrimper, a recovering alcoholic, a divorced dad of three, and the guy who marinates brisket in fish sauce and lemongrass because he doesn't believe in borders, especially when it comes to flavor.