Smoked Prime Rib

Here's a painful truth no one wants to hear a few days before a holiday: Most prime rib is bad. Like really bad. I know—gasp, clutch your pearls. But for a cut so mythologized for its luxurious marbling and "you only pull this out for special occasions" price tag, the average holiday prime rib is a soft, pink, jiggly letdown. That glistening roast coming out of the oven? Looks promising. But once it's sliced, you get edge-to-edge rosy mush, zero textural contrast, and a crust that disappears the moment a knife touches it.

The flavor's good—beef this rich is hard to screw up completely—but it could be so much better. Which is why I will die on the hill that smoking is the best way to cook prime rib. Low, slow heat plus wood smoke gives you everything the standard oven roast can't: deeply burnished edges, layers of smoky flavor, caramelization, enhanced beefiness, and most importantly, structure. Smoking coaxes that rib-eye-on-the-grill character into the roast, creating a slice you can lift with a fork without worrying it'll shimmy off like a deflated water balloon.

And before you protest that firing up the grill on a cold (possibly even snowy) day in December sounds like a punishment, hear me out. If you're anything like me, slipping outside to "check the grill" is the perfect moment of solitude during a holiday gathering. Also, smoking prime rib is not an all-day brisket project. With the charcoal snake setup I outline later, you don't have to hover over the grill. It does its job while you're inside, pretending you didn't hear someone bring up politics.

Choosing and Prepping the Roast

For the definitive guide to selecting and preparing the prime rib roast, I'll point you to our former culinary director Kenji's rules for perfect prime rib. But here's the highlight reel: To start, you must salt your prime rib at least 24 hours—ideally 48—before cooking. Big cuts need time for the salt to penetrate fully. At first, the salt draws out a little moisture, dissolves into it, then slowly travels back in, loosening protein structure (hi, myosin) and improving seasoning throughout without leaving a puddle of briny runoff.

Buy your roast bone-in. It's the only way to go. Not because bones magically infuse flavor into the meat—they don't—but because they act as natural insulation. As Kenji points out in his prime rib roast recipe, meat near the bone cooks more slowly, meaning more of your roast stays tender and perfectly cooked instead of drifting too far toward well-done. It also makes for a gorgeous, impressive presentation. To make carving easier, you can remove the bones from the raw beef and tie them back on if you'd like. (Ask your butcher to do this for you.) A final perk is that gnawing on roasted rib bones is one of life's quiet joys.

And lastly, look for intense marbling—the delicate, white spiderwebs of intramuscular fat. More marbling equals richer flavor and better texture. And unless your guests are the competitive-eating type, you probably don't need the classic pound-per-person calculation. Three-quarters of a pound per person (roughly one bone per three eaters) is plenty.

The Foolproof Smoking Setup: The Charcoal Snake

You do not need a dedicated smoker to pull off prime rib that tastes like you borrowed your neighbor's $1,500 pellet rig. A standard kettle grill is more than enough, all thanks to the charcoal snake setup. This method has been beloved by grilling nerds for years, but I first picked it up from barbecue expert Morgan Bolling when I worked alongside her at America's Test Kitchen years ago. It has been my go-to smoking setup for most of my "large cut + long smoking time + no desire for babysitting" cooking needs since.

The snake, or "C" setup, is created by building a semicircle of overlapping briquettes around the edge of the grill. For this prime rib, the setup is two rows on the bottom, one on top, with wood chunks tucked at intervals along its length. Light one end, and the briquettes slowly ignite each other like a fuse. You get hours of stable heat without feeding it coal every 45 minutes like you would have to do with most smokers.

The snake runs a little hotter and has wider temperature swings (around 225°F–325°F) than more traditional smokers. But those fluctuations don't harm the final result. I've pitted snake-smoked large cuts against the same cuts cooked at lower, more controlled temperatures, and the differences are minor, especially for a well-marbled roast designed to stay juicy. The payoff is that you get a consistent, mostly hands-off cook.

To stabilize the heat further, I nestle a water pan in the middle of the grill beneath where the roast sits. It acts as a thermal buffer, catches drippings, and prevents flare-ups.

If the snake sounds like too much stacking and arranging, you can absolutely fall back on Joshua Bousel's more actively tended kettle-grill method. But if you want to walk away and trust the setup, the snake is as close to "set it and forget it" as outdoor smoking gets.

The Case For Overcooking Your Meat

This might get me booed off most steakhouse patios, but I strongly believe prime rib actually tastes better when you cook it a bit more than you think you should. Not "charred into oblivion” more, but definitely more than the rare-to-barely-medium-rare dogma we've been taught to obey.

Prime rib is built on fat. Thick, gorgeous marbling runs through the entire roast, and that fat needs a little extra heat to soften, melt, and do its job of delivering flavor and juiciness to your mouth. Lean cuts like tenderloin might dry out above 120°F, but prime rib has a fat cushion that can withstand higher temperatures without losing tenderness.

And while we often dread the "gray band" with beef, it's actually doing you a favor here. A touch of that gradient—from gently browned edge to rosy center—gives each slice some definition and contrast. Instead of a uniform wedge of pink Jell-O meat, you get something with structure, chew, and far more character.

So in this recipe, I take the roast to 120–125°F in the center, then let it cruise up to 130–135°F as it rests. Yes, that's edging into "medium" territory. Yes, some chefs would disagree. But the result is a pink, juicy center surrounded by just enough gently cooked exterior to give each bite nuance, texture, and better overall flavor.

Serving

Once rested, the smoked prime rib is deeply seasoned, rich with smoky complexity, and proudly flavorful enough to serve unadorned. But a classic, sinus-clearing horseradish sauce cuts through the richness in exactly the right way, so I always set out a bowl. When you slice the roast, you'll see the best of all worlds: a smoky crust, a pink and juicy center, and a few gradations in between that make each bite interesting.

It's prime rib with personality. Not just a holiday centerpiece, but one worth stepping outside in the cold to make.