Championship Barbeque Number Six---Backroads

If you didn’t read my September letter, you’ll be a bit lost at first, but hang in there, you’ll catch up. I’m going to leave the jovial and lovable Billy Clyde and Rollie Joe, the luscious Miss Lake Jackson, and all the other characters at the “World’s Championship Barbeque Cookoff”  in Houston for the time being. I hate to do that, but I more or less promised myself to finish this Barbeque stuff in this letter, and I want to announce the results of my two year odyssey to discover the best barbeque in Texas (and thus the world). I promise to get back to the Houston cookoff, but I can do that later, when I have more time and space.

I have, during the past couple of years, been over most of the state of Texas on a quest for the absolute best barbeque in Texas (and thus the world). Notice that I said the best barbeque in Texas, not the best barbeque joint, or restaurant or place. I’m not interested in a piece of real estate. I’m not concerned with the ambiance, the view, or the location of the establishment that serves the product. I’m strictly in interested in the finished product, as it is served to the general public.

I did not include chain restaurants, such as Bill Miller’s in South Texas, Luther’s in the Houston area, or County Line in lots of places. Do not misunderstand me, these people serve a good product. There is nothing to prevent a corporation from serving good barbeque, since barbeque is one of the simplest and most forgiving of your basic food groups.

I prefer, for myself and for the purposes of this survey, to stick with small restaurants, more or less operated by one man or one family and branded with the personality of the owner. I like places that have evolved through the years, and assumed the character of their owner. Admittedly, many of the restaurants I visited were not old enough to have much character, and some of them may have told far too much about the personality of the owner, but I tried to ignore these signs, and consider only the quality of the product served.

I said “most” of the state. I did not venture north of Lubbock, west of Fort Stockton, or east of Dallas. I suspect there is something north of Lubbock, west of Fort Stockton and east of Dallas, but I’ll have to see it another time. I had planned to visit and critique each place, but that won’t work in this format. Too many places, too little space. I visited each place, sampled their product, and talked with the owner, cook, cashier, or all of the above. I will tell you about some of the places I saw. If you wonder about a favorite place of yours, or want to send me a suggestion, feel free. I enjoy hearing from you, even when you disagree.

There are several variables involved in the production of barbeque, especially when it is done on a large scale. I confined myself to the tasting of brisket, on the theory that if someone can cook a proper brisket, he or she will also be able to do ribs, sausage, chicken, and pork. For the purpose of this experiment, I compared the quality of the meat, the appearance of the finished product when sliced, the manner and orientation of the slicing, the color of the interior slices, the size and color of the smoke ring, the taste, the texture of the meat at first taste, the texture as it is chewed, and the aftertaste.  I ordered sauce on the side, and tasted the meat straight up, without sauce.  There are hundreds of recipies for barbeque sauce and all of them have merit.  I didn't want an inferior brisket slipping by, hiding under a good sauce.

I also observed the freshness of the “sides,” especially the bread. I didn’t get involved with the potato salad or beans, because both of those are art forms, and I won’t live long enough to cover all that art. As a general rule, those places that cared enough about their brisket to cook and slice it properly also made their own beans and potato salad and it was usually good. Most of the other places have five gallon plastic buckets of potato salad from Sysco under the counter, and gallon cans of Ranch Style Beans on the shelves in back.

I did not  count off for surly service, but I did for overall cleanliness of the establishment. (I could not help but notice when the service was poor or discourteous. I love barbeque, but there’s a lot of it out there, and I don’t have to put up with a ration of stuff from the server to get it.) Discourteous service is one of my pet peeves, but not the only one.

I believe, for instance, that mankind has evolved to a point which allows him to enjoy his food on a plate, with a real knife and fork. I don’t care how cutesy and nostalgic it may be to throw a chunk of meat on a piece of butcher paper, douse it with sauce, pitch in a couple slices of Mrs. Baird’s thick sliced light bread, and roll the whole thing up in a copy of the “Llano Limping Liberal,” I prefer a plate, a fork, and a napkin. I also like to sit down and eat at a table, or at least stand next to a shelf. My car hood was designed to hide my motor from smart alecs who poke fun, not to provide table space for some over-rated restaurant. I do not like to stand in one line for the meat, and then another for the “sides.”

I have a problem with places that purposely misspell sauce (sause or sawse) or turn the S’s and E’s backwards on their signs. That indicates to me that they believe only idiots or retards enjoy barbeque. Ebonics and Spanglish are fast approaching as alternate methods of communication for people too mentally lazy to learn to speak English. We don’t need to add Barbequeish to the mix. Regardless of my personal preferences, I did not deduct for any of these minor irritations. I tried to be objective and only consider the product they sold.

I had a great time with the quest, which continues even as you read this. I’m still stopping at little places and sampling brisket.  I also try sausage and ribs, but I only record my impression of the brisket. I just try the other for fun and to keep from getting skinny. Almost all of the barbeque I sampled was good, and some was excellent. Anyone in the barbeque business will occasionally get everything right, and serve a great piece of meat. I’m looking for the places that, through discipline and hard work, get it right all the time. I can count the bad experiences on one hand, and most of them were due to a server’s overzealous attempt to sell everything in the pit, even though some of it was overcooked and dried out.

Speaking of overcooked, dried out, surly service, stale bread, and bad experiences, let me nominate for the worst barbeque in Texas, Ken Hall’s place in Fredericksburg.  It is just south of town on Highway Eighty-Seven towards Comfort. I have eaten there several times during the last seven or eight years. Their sliced barbeque sandwich is served on a rectangular loaf of “French” bread, covered with sesame seeds. In a word, it is pitiful. The meat was overcooked. I guess the service was alright, considering the server was a teenager whose best friend is named Beavis.  The bread may have been fresh sometime last week. The little sesame seeds filled the spaces between my teeth so quickly that it was hard to force the stringy barbeque in there. I only mention this because I had the same impression on three or more visits to the place. I’d get to thinking, “It can’t be that bad,” but it was.

As a footnote, I was eating at a little barbeque place in Kerrville, The Depot, and mentioned to a lady that the brisket was pretty good. She said she liked to eat there when she didn’t have time to get to the best place in this part of the country.

“Oh,” I said, “Where’s that?”

“Why, Ken Hall’s over in Fredericksburg,” She answered. Maybe it was the time of day, or day of the week, or something.

If you go about twenty-two miles south of Ken Hall’s on Highway Eighty-Seven, you’ll be at Buzzie’s Bar-B-Q in Comfort. Buzzie jumped off the corporate ladder in Austin a few years ago, and he and his wife Brenda started over in Comfort, converting an old store into one of the most consistently good barbeque operations in the Hill Country. Buzz knows how to cook barbeque, and how to carve and serve it. I’d rather he use a real knife to slice the product, instead of that electric job, but that’s lame criticism.

There’s a big, friendly, red-bearded guy that barbeques in Robert Lee. He has a trailer mounted pit alongside the C-Store on the west end of town. (When I say big, I mean it. He’s about six five and on the wrong side of three hundred.) By way of passing the time of day, I mentioned that I noticed he used two kinds of wood in his pit. He looked puzzled, then lit up the area with a big grin.

 “Yea,” he said, “Green mesquite and dry mesquite.” He wouldn’t let me pay for my sandwich. 

I must stop now.  I'll continue this odyssey in a week or so.  We'll discover what I believe to be the best Barbeque in Texas and laugh about things along the way.  Incidentally, Ken Hall retired and sold his place to a guy named Cranky Frank.  Ken was a great running back but Cranky Frank is a much better cook.  Buzzie was so sucessful that he closed up in Comfort and opened a much larger place in Kerrville.   He still uses electric knives.