Back in the first few months of 2020, there wasn’t much for a hospitality worker to do except wait. Nicholas Priedite — who was raised in the Bay Area, attended college at UC Santa Barbara and remained on the Central Coast to work in the hospitality industry — was one of the many who watched his career seemingly vanish overnight during the early days of the pandemic.

“It was basically over for a lot of us,” he told SFGATE. “Or I guess you could say, it was time to get creative.”

But Priedite didn’t just wake up one morning and start grilling. His passion for barbecue and his commitment to break down its similarities and differences by region — using that knowledge to create something all its own here — started by happenstance on a road trip during his formative years.  

“I was traveling a lot through college, not necessarily looking for barbecue, just being young and traveling,” Priedite told SFGATE during a recent Saturday morning visit to Los Alamos to sample the fare at his eponymous outfit. “But I noticed, in a food way, wherever I landed there was some form of barbecue.  

“And I grew up eating Santa Maria-style tri-tip [cooked with] red oak and that kind of stuff. But when I was traveling around, I saw all these different styles from the Carolinas to Texas to the Midwest — and I was just really inspired by this classic American food that’s very simple at its core, but so different depending on where you’re at.”

Soon after Priedite returned from his travels, he made his name as bar director of The Lark Santa Barbara, which opened in 2013.  

The Lark became the signature restaurant in Santa Barbara’s former industrial district just south of the tourist-heavy Lower State Street. The area, marketed as the “Funk Zone,” received a facelift in the early 2000s, and now serves as a hub for experimental cuisine as well as a showcase spot for local breweries, wineries and artists’ wares.

Though he had made inroads on the front of the house side of Santa Barbara’s emerging fine dining scene, Priedite’s real passions were still outside manning the grill.  

Weekend trial and error cookouts honed his craft and led him to start smoking meats, a technique not often seen in the cradle of Santa Maria-style barbecue. Without a mentor in close proximity, he eventually discovered pitmaster Aaron Franklin’s recipe for a 12-hour smoked brisket. Priedite’s cookouts started to get noticed by local industry friends who liked what they were tasting and encouraged him to keep going.

In the meantime, Priedite continued to think about the region’s defining cuisine and started incorporating that as well, tweaking the way he was preparing traditional Central Texas-style meats and sides.

“There wasn’t really anything like it in this area, so let’s bring a little bit of [Texas style] but mix it with some of the food culture out here,” he said.  

The differences at first seem subtle. Instead of white bread to go along with burnt ends, Priedite started making fresh tortillas. Instead of mac and cheese or a traditional potato salad, he started to serve rice and beans. Instead of a cavernous restaurant with giant flat screens hanging like bats, an outdoor lot featuring upright wine barrels with circular pieces of wood affixed to the top as tables. “I sort of started to see things the way we do food out here, in a taqueria context. I wanted to bring the two together,” he said.

As Priedite started to make his name as the one doing Texas-style brisket, ribs and sausages right in California, he continued to incorporate Central Coast standbys like tri-tip and pork shoulder into his repertoire, sparking, perhaps, an entirely new genre.

“I guess we’re trying to hold it all together,” he laughed. “Pushing a little of what can be done but also bringing it all back to our roots a little bit.”

The results are astounding and the evolution obvious, at least according to patrons who line up as early as 6 in the morning to guarantee themselves a sampling of what Priedite has on offer on that particular Saturday. (Priedite has an online calendar that designates which days it will be cooking. Saturdays are barbecue days and Sundays are burger days. The formula is simple: Doors open at 10:30 a.m. and the barbecue goes until 2:30 p.m. or until they sell out.)

If waiting a few hours in line sounds like a bit of a grind, know this: Patrons enjoy complimentary coffee brewed at Bell’s. For those looking to get a different kind of buzz going as the sun rises over the Santa Ynez Valley hillsides, there are tall yellow cans of Coors Banquet beer or Tecate from a giant tub of ice near the barbecue pop-up’s entrance.  

The mix of early morning beverages and the sweetness and tang of smoked meats that blankets the entire town is beyond alluring. And the line, orderly at first, soon turns into one giant rolling conversation. By about 9:30 a.m., the mood seems to switch into more of a revival. The volume turns up as strangers find common ground. Discussions revolve around books, movies, TV shows, sports, (some) politics — and, of course, food.  

It’s both the anticipation and the results that keep many coming back.  

“This is my third time,” said Devin Cogan, who roused a pair of friends early on a recent rainy Saturday morning and made the 45-minute drive down from San Luis Obispo to sample what was on offer at Priedite Barbecue. “It’s definitely, like, the only Texas-style barbecue in the region. The quality is really good. They source the meat well, it’s so worth it.”

On this day, what was he looking forward to having?  

“Usually, I get a pound of the brisket, some pulled pork, the tortillas, oh my God,” he said, then paused. “… They usually have sides that are different, so we’ll see what’s up today. … 

“But it is different. It comes through in the taste and preparation of the meat. It’s the vibe of the town. I’d never go to Los Alamos otherwise, but it’s cool being here.”

Cogan and his crew, who arrived just before me to jump in line just after 8 a.m., had made their way to the front of the queue a little after 11 a.m.

They ended up ordering pulled pork, brisket and ranchero sausage — the last was getting the most buzz among those I’d spoken with while waiting. Just my luck, as soon as Cogan finished ordering his meats and sides: picante pickles, fennel jalapeño slaw and pinquito beans —  Priedite turned to his partner Dwan, who was working the cash register, and swiped his latex-gloved hand left to right at neck height.  

He called out: “86 the sausage.”

“Damn, I’m sorry man,” Cogan turned to me. “You can have some bites of ours.”

He made good on his promise. It was the best borrowed sausage I’d ever tasted in my life.

“First time,” said Steve Sun, who was with partner Alex Mohler on a two-day winter weekend escape from Los Angeles to sample the food and wine of nearby Los Olivos. “It’s great. Delicious, Worth the wait.”

“But they ran out of food,” Mohler smiled.

“Yeah, the pork and sausage, gone — right before we were up,” Sun confirmed.  

But the pair, who wanted to have at least one signature meal during their quick getaway, chose to wake up early for Priedite after careful consideration — and still got what they came for.

“The brisket is amazing, so good,” Sun said.

“I love the sides,” said Mohler, continuing the sentiment, pointing to a picante pickle dangling from his fork. “The whole atmosphere. We didn’t know what to expect, but it turned out to be exactly what we were looking for.”

A first-timer’s pleasant surprise even after coming in with high expectations is the point, Priedite said.  

The other best reward for their work? Texas and Santa Maria barbecue aficionados setting down their differences and coming together over what Priedite can do. “They love it. They love it,” he said.

Even if the food is that good, the clans still do clash here. Priedite explained that locals come from Santa Maria and Santa Barbara and mix with folks from out of state who are stationed at nearby Vandenberg Space Force Base — amping up the energy with a lot of knowledge … and opinions about the California-infused Texas-style barbecue.  

Not surprisingly, some even bring with them a heaping amount of skepticism.

“It’s great to see their reaction,” Priedite said. “Sometimes they say, ‘I’m bringing my grandpa, who’s the pickiest bastard in the world when it comes to barbecue.’ And then I get this older guy who comes back around when he’s done and gives me the thumbs-up.”

“We’ve both done restaurants our whole life,” Dwan said, adding that a brick-and-mortar version of the restaurant could one day soon be in the offing for the pair. For now, they’re starting with a newly acquired food trailer with plans to expand service to multiple days a week.

Will increased hours take away the scarcity and kill the special vibe of what they have going on in Los Alamos on Saturday mornings?  

“We talk about that all the time,” Dwan said. “We’re going to expand the menu and expand the days; chef over here has a lot of good ideas about where we can go.

“But barbecue comes first — it always will. It will always be a special thing.”

And it is. Because of the anticipation that builds during the wait, combined with not knowing what’s going to be available by the time you arrive at the front of the line — where Priedite himself greets you with a chef’s knife and a slab of meat in front of him — it’s hard not to suddenly get greedy and ask for one, maybe two, of everything.  

As a single diner, I tried not to go too overboard on my first go-around. The pork shoulder taco — when they have it — was recommended to me in line by several Priedite fans, and it delivered. The meats were tender and the pickles on top crunchy and provided just enough sweetness to offset the spicy barbecue sauce that is set out at every table.

I turned to some of my new friends at the table next to me — everyone falls to silence as soon as they start in on their meal — and nodded. They nodded back and gave me the thumbs-up.

The brisket, which I feel is the most difficult barbecue to execute, was juicy, almost dripping. Lean, but with a little bit of extra fat that cooked off, which made it almost too easy to devour. Even the ends were tender, but with a spice-infused honey crunch.

When combined with the pinquito beans, the barbecue sauce and a scoop of fennel jalapeño slaw wrapped in a tortilla, the first taste caused me to involuntarily heave out an enormous sigh.

I looked up toward the sky in time to watch the gray clouds temporarily part and shine the sun down, right where I was licking my fingers in a gravelly lot next to a giant puddle. It was the perfect bite in the perfect place.