Why Is Boston Butt Called Boston Butt
Let’s be honest—when you first hear the term “Boston butt,” your mind probably goes somewhere weird. Maybe you picture a grumpy New Englander with a chip on his shoulder. Or y...
Let’s be honest—when you first hear the term “Boston butt,” your mind probably goes somewhere weird. Maybe you picture a grumpy New Englander with a chip on his shoulder. Or you imagine a literal backside with a Red Sox tattoo. You’re not alone. Every home cook I know has scratched their head at the butcher counter, staring at a massive pork roast and wondering who thought that name was a good idea.
But here’s the thing: Boston butt has nothing to do with the city, and it’s not actually a butt. It’s a cut from the upper part of the pig’s shoulder, near the front legs. So why the ridiculous name? It’s a classic case of historical mix-up that makes you appreciate how weird language can be.
The Real Story Behind the Name
Back in colonial New England, butchers in—you guessed it—Boston got creative. They packed tougher cuts of pork, like the shoulder, into barrels called “butts.” These barrels were sturdy, cheap, and perfect for shipping meat to other colonies. So “Boston butt” literally meant “the pork from Boston that came in a barrel.”
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Over time, the word stuck. People forgot about the barrel and assumed it was a body part. Imagine if your grocery store called a can of beans “Cincinnati hip.” It makes about as much sense, but here we are, three centuries later, still calling it a butt.
To make it more confusing, the actual pig’s rear end is called a ham. So if you ask for a ham butt, you’ll get a blank stare. It’s like a secret code where you have to know the secret handshake just to buy dinner.
Why We Love It Anyway
Once you get past the name, Boston butt is the unsung hero of backyard barbecues and lazy Sunday roasts. It’s forgiving, cheap, and packed with marbled fat that melts into pure flavor. You can screw up almost everything else, but a Boston butt will still taste like a hug.
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I once burned the bark on a Boston butt so badly it looked like a meteorite. My friends were polite, taking tiny bites and glancing at each other. But the meat underneath? It was so juicy and tender that they went back for thirds. That’s the power of this cut—it just wants to be loved.
It’s also the most forgiving cut in the kitchen. Drop it in a slow cooker with some root beer, walk away for eight hours, and you’ll get pulled pork that makes people forget you exist while they eat. It’s the comfort food equivalent of a couch you never want to get up from.
The BBQ Connection
If you’ve ever been to a Southern barbecue joint, you’ve eaten Boston butt. It’s the heart and soul of pulled pork sandwiches, slathered in vinegar sauce or sweet molasses. No one in the Carolinas is yelling “Pass the barrel meat!” but that’s exactly what they’re doing.
Does anyone know what the cut known in USA as "Boston Butt" would be
There’s a weird pride in making a Boston butt. You smoke it low and slow for hours, watching the temperature like a hawk. You wrap it in foil, then you leave it to rest like it’s a sick child. And when you finally pull it apart with forks, steam rising like a ghost, you feel like a backyard wizard.
And here’s the kicker: nobody cares about the name when the meat hits their lips. They just care about the juice and the crunch of coleslaw. The Boston butt is the quiet friend who does all the work while everyone else takes credit.
A Name That’s Pure Americana
So why isn’t it called “pork shoulder” or something simpler? Because Americans love a good story. The name “Boston butt” is a little piece of history that survived the ages, like a weird family heirloom you can’t throw away. It’s clunky, confusing, and oddly endearing.
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Think of it this way: if you called it “pork shoulder barrel cut,” you’d sound like a textbook. But say “Boston butt” at a cookout, and people lean in. They want the story. They want to laugh at how silly it is. And then they want a plateful.
Next time you’re at the market, grab a Boston butt. Don’t think too hard about the name. Just imagine a bunch of 1700s butchers sitting around, shrugging, and saying, “Eh, close enough.” That’s the spirit of this cut—it’s not perfect, but it works beautifully.
And if anyone asks you why it’s called a Boston butt, you can now sound like a wise old pitmaster. Stand there, nod slowly, and say, “It’s a barrel thing.” They’ll nod back, and you both will have a good laugh—right before you devour the most satisfying, messy, glorious piece of pork you’ve ever tasted.