ATLANTA — East of the Rockies, the tri-tip roast is like the Sasquatch of meat.

I have asked for tri-tip in grocery stores from Chicago to Tampa, only to be met with the pleasant stare that comes when the inherently helpful are completely baffled. I have tried using different names for the roast, which looks like a thick, lopsided boomerang laced with fat. Maybe you have a bottom sirloin butt? A sirloin tip roast? A triangle roast?

Like a frustrated Bigfoot hunter, I got close once at an Atlanta Whole Foods. “We had some last week,” the guy behind the counter said, “but they went fast.”

This has thrown a serious curve to my meat game. Back in Northern California, where my tri-tip courtship began, you couldn’t swing a piece of red oak without hitting one.

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