My husband called me Saturday from the hardware store. Did I want a pit beef sandwich?

I was confused. Was Falkenhan’s getting into the meat market? But I said yes anyway.

Baltimoreans don’t often say no to pit beef, our city’s answer to barbecue. Whether at the farmers market, Camden Yards or in the parking lot of a local strip club, we’re willing to line up for the sandwiches loaded with thin slices of beef, topped with onions and served on a Kaiser roll.

Like many, I love them doused in horseradish and mayo, a combination somewhat fancifully referred to as tiger sauce. So when my husband came home with a clear plastic clamshell container and the sandwich in tow, I headed for the refrigerator to get the condiments. But first, I took a taste of the beef by itself.

It was delicious — so moist and flavorful, it didn’t even really need the sauce. Was this … the best pit beef sandwich I’d ever had? After devouring my meal, I got in my car. I needed to find the source.

The tradition of pit beef in Baltimore goes back locally to at least the 1960s, but it really took off in the 1980s when people on the side of the road grilled it in converted oil drums. It was around that time that an article in The Baltimore Sun explored the proliferation of roadside pit beef stands with some wringing of hands: “The food is tasty, but is it safe to eat?”

Back at the hardware store, I parked my car to find pit boss Joyce Trigger and her good friend Lisa Rowley manning the grill outside 3401 Chestnut Ave. Trigger told me she first began grilling pit beef almost 40 years ago while she was running a mom-and-pop grocery store at Roland Heights Avenue and Falls Road.

“We were looking for something else to do, and my brother-in-law said, ‘Why don’t you do pit beef?’” Trigger said. They took a 55-gallon drum and transformed it into a grill, perfecting the recipe over time.

Later on, Trigger slung pit beef sandwiches in the parking lot of Dimitri’s, a longtime Falls Road dive bar where she worked as a bartender. When the bar closed in 2018 (it’s now Papi’s Tacos), she moved to Falkenhan’s, another Hampden institution.

Here’s the secret: The night before, Trigger seasons and marinates the meat, stabbing it to make sure the flavors penetrate. She roasts it in the oven for a few hours under a low heat, hanging on to the juices (au jus, if you’re feeling fancy) and boiling them in a pan. On Saturday mornings, she throws the beef on the grill, carving it into thin pieces with a meat slicer and spooning the jus on each sandwich.

Trigger stopped midway as she told me this — “I’m putting out my recipe here” — but she continued anyway. Though she and Rowley pile a generous heaping of meat onto each sandwich, they sell them for a steal: just $9. “It should be more,” Trigger admits. But most customers end up paying with $10 and leaving the extra buck as a tip anyway.

In time, Trigger has built up a loyal fan base of customers who follow her on Facebook for updates. In addition to pit beef, she and Rowley offer turkey, ham, Italian sausages, quarter-pound hot dogs and Big Ass Chocolate Chip Cookies. (That’s the proper name for the cookies, by the way. In addition to pit master, Trigger happens to be an accomplished baker and accepts catering orders for her sweets.) There’s a little something for everyone, including dogs on walks in the neighborhood who have a way of guiding their owners toward Trigger’s stand. The pups are rewarded with scraps for their trouble.

Trigger and Rowley are planning on setting up shop at the hardware store most Saturdays between now and October, as long as it’s not raining. “There’s nothing like coming out in that fresh air and smelling grilled food” on a fall day, Trigger said.

Customers can always call the hardware store to find out if the duo is coming, since they don’t advertise their hours in a traditional way. But they technically subscribe to the oldest form of advertising there is: the aroma of roasting beef enticing people from blocks away.

“When they smell it, they’ll know, ‘Oh, she’s there today.’”