Running the Blacktop with Barbequed Brisket--Number Seven

At the “Smoking Gun Bar-B-Q” in Santa Anna, an ole boy that was doing his best to look like Willie Nelson had a pit that appeared to be a Civil War cannon out in front of the old Santa Anna Opera House. It was making smoke, but it was padlocked shut. I went in, ordered a cold drink, and asked about the pit.

He said it was none of my damn business. Now I have done, and said, a lot of obnoxious things in my life, and many times I have deserved this kind of response. This was not one of those times. Even when I deserve a response of this type, I am not in the habit of accepting it gracefully.

I quietly commented that the pit was interesting in that the fire box was remote, and the meat compartment was very small, what with being in the barrel of the cannon and all, and I didn’t see how he could do much more in there than make jerky. He told me in no uncertain terms how he had worked for years to perfect his cooking methods and equipment, and how slick talkers were always trying to steal his ideas.  He said he wasn’t going to abide that anymore, and told me how and where I could go, and what I should do with the horse I rode up on. Another guy was in there, drinking coffee in the corner. He edged toward the door.

Being called a “slick talker” may not bother most folks, but it disturbed me.  I was beginning to suspect that this fellow wasn’t playing with a full deck.  Even so, I was about to lose the soft-spoken, clean-living demeanor that you all know and love so well. I told the Willie clone that I knew full well how to construct a barbeque pit, and had made several with my own hands. I pointed out that if I were going to steal a secret, I would not steal it from the village idiot. I think I may have mentioned, in a moment of weakness, that I certainly would not expect to learn anything from an ignoramus who looked like Gabby Hayes. About the time I mentioned ole Gabby, the coffee drinker remembered a very important appointment and hurried outside. It was real quiet.

            I got tickled. I had a mental picture of the two of us, fat old farts, rolling around on the floor, kicking, scratching, and pulling hair. He had a full beard, but neither of us could afford the loss of much hair. I started giggling. He softened and began to chuckle and in a few minutes we were old friends. He had lived in California and Vegas, and had been an extra in the Willie Nelson movie, “Honeysuckle Rose.” He said he stood in for Willie in two movies, and I guess he did.

We laughed and talked awhile and he sold me another cold drink. I asked for a sliced beef sandwich, but he only had chopped beef.  I said that would be fine. I believe it was Ireland’s Pit Cooked Barbeque, straight from the can. I don’t blame him for locking up that pit. I wouldn’t want to get caught heating up a can of what amounts to Sloppy Joe, either.

I went back through Santa Anna a couple of weeks later. You would have thought I was a long-lost favorite uncle or something. I drank a Coke, but I didn’t eat.

The city of Santa Anna, by the way, was not named for the Mexican General. According to the girl at the Chamber of Commerce, it was named after the Comanche Chief, Santana, and folks back then didn’t know how to spell it. I have several ideas about this and I’ll explore them someday when I get into Texas history, but not now. We need get on with barbeque.

On the south side of Brownwood, there’s a ramshackle new building with really good barbeque. There’s a picture of this fancy Harley-Davidson motorcycle on the wall. I asked the serving lady about it, and she told me her husband sold it to keep the barbeque place open four years ago. She said he worked so hard being an electrician in the daytime and cooking at night and on weekends, and he loved that Harley, but he had to sell it. I asked how the business was going, and she said very well. In fact, she had saved enough money to buy another Harley, and surprise him with it. She fairly glowed as she talked about her husband, how hard he worked, and how he deserved that Harley. I didn’t meet him, but I think I would like him. He knows a lot about barbeque, but he knows even more about picking out a wife.

Also in Brownwood, there’s a little red & white shack called Smitty’s Bar-B-Que, down in the heart of a black neighborhood. Smitty’s is owned and operated by a black gentleman named McArthur Smith, and he’s been barbequing for twenty-seven years. He has his brisket pre-trimmed before he cooks it. I’ve always believed that pre-trimmed briskets will cook up dry, but not McArthur Smith’s. He served as good a brisket as I’ve ever tasted, and he always has them trimmed. He told me Monfort supplied the briskets, and the same butcher always did the trimming, especially for him. McArthur also makes his own sausage, and serves cabrito.  Everything he serves is excellent.

Brownwood has a barbeque cafeteria called Underwood’s.  I understand it’s one of the two remaining, left over from what probably was the first chain of barbeque restaurants in the country. When I was in high school, every major city in West Texas had an Underwood’s, and I helped build a plant in Lubbock that put up frozen dinners under the name “Underwood’s of Texas.” I bought them in a supermarket when I lived in Las Vegas, Nevada.  I have no idea what became of the business, but I understand that the family still operates two locations, one in Waco and one in Brownwood. If any of you can enlighten me on this situation, please do.  

One more note about Underwood’s Barbeque cafeterias in West Texas.  Back in the fifties, they put up billboards all over the Panhandle showing a guy rotating a chunk of meat on a spit over an open fire.  The sign said. “Hey Buddie!  Got a $1.00 to eat on?” and listed the nearest Underwood’s location.  As time went by and inflation took hold, the price was painted over to read $1.10, then $1.15, $1.25, $1.50 and so on.  I wanted them to simply X-out the old price and add the new, but they carefully re-painted each new price.  Everything else on the billboard was faded and old, but the numbers were fresh and new, and increased every couple of months.  I didn’t understand it at the time, but that was sign of things to come.

I am burning up reams of paper here and not getting very far ahead in my quest for the best barbeque in Texas (and thus the world).  However, I am having a good time re-living the trip and remembering all the places I saw and the people I met.  I hope you all will bear with me and keep coming back to read my future episodes.  Next time I will get into some of the oldest barbeque places in Texas, and some towns that are blessed with more than one or two of the very best barbeque establishments in the country.  I’ll visit a group of “L” towns with an abundance of excellent places to eat barbeque.  How about Llano and Lockhart and, of course, Lubbock.  You all stay tuned, now!