The enemy of any decent barbecue joint is always change.
That change is often simply growth — far too many excellent places have turned pedestrian because they expanded beyond their capability to maintain what made 'em good in the first place. But in this tale, the change, the enemy, is simply ambition. I regret to inform the entire world that the boy and I will no longer be having "Barbecue Friday" at Railroad Barbecue in Manchaca. Why? you ask. I will explain. Railroad Barbecue was never the Salt Lick or Smitty's or Harold's or any of the other kings of the charred-wood world. It wasn't the kind of place you take your in-laws on the weekend. But it was the kind of place where a working man could get a sliced beef sandwich and a bag of chips during a weekday lunch. Most days it was aggressively average. Occasionally it ventured up to "good." (And don't tell me about "quality control." Show me a place where the food tastes the same every day and I'll show you a McDonald's. I like the idea that the cook can have a good day or bad day. It just means it's real food.) So, Railroad was fairly average on the 'cue. But it did have an excellent "barbecue joint" atmosphere. Because I want to raise my boy right, we started going for lunch every Friday. A large sliced beef sandwich for me. A small sliced beef sandwich for him. And one bag of chips, of which he generally snarfed about 75% Then a few months ago, things started to change. First, they started advertising beer specials. They put in some washer pits. Then it was a new TV and signs urging customers to "watch the game with us." Then they brought in new personnel. And made me tell them my name, so they could call out instead of bringing me my sandwich (even when there was nobody else there). Then the barbecue changed. The first time I got a cold, fatty, greasy sliced beef sandwich, I was so put off, the boy and I didn't return for a couple weeks. And when we did, all was well again. A temporary glitch, I thought. The second time I got a cold, fatty, greasy sliced beef sandwich, the bun was stale, too. Under ordinary circumstances, two strikes is enough for me. But the boy and I had a tradition going. And Railroad was awfully damn convenient. I told myself they would get a third chance. On Saturday (we were a day late for Barbecue Friday), they blew it one final time. Now I know that it's fat that gives brisket its flavor. Too little fat and you've essentially got a dry piece of pot roast. But when you need to dissect your sandwich to remove gelatinous hunks that would choke an elephant, that's just sick. And cold? Who the hell wants a cold barbecue sandwich? Railroad Barbecue, I'm not sure what happened. You were obviously trying to make changes to increase your customer base. And, who knows, it might work for you. There's lots of bad barbecue places out there because most folks just don't know any damn better. But not me and the boy. You know, I'm a little bit sad about this. We had a tradition going. And I'm not one to give up on a tradition. I don't get tired of stuff I like. If not for the changes, we would've kept coming there, week after week, for years and years on end. Damn. Anyway, after the second strike, I went out and lined up a replacement. This Friday, you'll be able to find us at Donn's Texas Bar-B-Q. They have better sausage, anyway.