Baltimore-style pit beef, in Philly

When you're a Maryland native who now calls Philly home, there are certain things you miss. Good, simple crabcakes that aren't pitched as "Maryland-style" (whatever that means). The Wawa-besting fried chicken oasis that is Royal Farms (coming soon). Baseball teams that are relevant past the first month of the season (let's go O's!).

But my most vivid memories of growing up just below the Mason-Dixon are triggered any time I catch a whiff of smoldering hardwood. It lures my overstimulated eating mind back to pit beef, the closest thing the Old Line State has to a native barbecue style — if you even want to call it that.

A smell-before-you-see specialty of roadside stands, spartan shacks, church cookouts and VFW parking lots, pit beef is a very specific term for a very specific type of preparation. Using simple spice blends, cooks rub down big hunks of red meat — most often bottom round, but top round and eye round can be used, too — before suspending them over meticulously tended open charcoal fires. (Depending on where you're eating, a grill often comes into play, too.)

This process creates a light smokiness and a stomach-stirring outer char. The meat is cooked to varying temps, then ribboned thin, either by hand or on a deli slicer. It's finished once the beef buddies up to a kaiser roll and meets the vitals — rings of raw white onion, sinus-blasting horseradish and/or "Tiger Sauce," a mayo-horseradish condiment.

We've got some nice roast beef options here, but nothing's quite like this stuff around. "Baltimore pit beef is to live-fire cooking what [John] Waters is to cinema," wrote the Washington Post in a 2013 feature. "A bit … different."

Around Baltimore, Chap's and Pioneer are considered the Pat's and Geno's of the category, but there are dozens of operations specializing in pit-roasted meats in the region. Up this way, unfortunately, it's way harder to find.

Until now, as two local chefs have taken it upon themselves to introduce Baltimore's favorite sandwich to America's best sandwich city.

At Rex 1516 (1516 South St.), chef Justin Swain has earned a reputation as a sort of smoke-stained BBQ-urator, using his menu and specials board to play with styles rooted all over the country. He came across Baltimore pit beef in his research and immediately got inspired, since he already had the setup to execute it. "It seems that it's like cheesesteaks here in Philly, when it comes to how each person likes it," says Swain.

Rex's way: He's taking marinated tri-tip, a nicer cut than the traditional bottom round, and grilling it to form the critical exterior caramelization. From here, it jumps into his smoker, where it bathes in charcoal and oak for a little less than a hour. The meat, which he serves medium, comes on Martin's Potato Rolls with raw onion and Swain's own Tiger Sauce. It's $13 for the sandwich, plus a side of fries or salad, and he's offering it as a special every Sunday night. GM Heather Rodkey is even working on getting a stock of National Bohemian, which they'll offer alongside the beef as a beer special.

Further down the street, Peter Serpico of Serpico (604 South St.) is offering his own interpretation of pit beef — this one from a Maryland native. Originally from Laurel, about halfway between Baltimore and D.C., Serpico first tried pit beef as a kid at Oriole Park at Camden Yards, where former O's first baseman Boog Powell runs  a successful pit beef business — consider him the AL East's answer to Greg "The Bull" Luzinski.

They start by calling in a ringer for the bread: Parc baker Nicholas Brannan, who's created a custom laminated-dough kaiser-croissant hybrid, complete with knotted crown and onion topping. Like Swain, Serpico's going nontraditional with the meat itself, cutting up sous-vide short rib and forming loose patties that hit a hot grill to form that important char ("that's 50 percent of the sandwich"). He brushes his rolls with duck fat, then dresses the meat with jalapeno mayonnaise, raw onion and horseradish, serving it with a side of Passyunk Pickles. The sandwiches are served as a special on Tuesday and Wednesday nights.