Bottlecaps

A shift in barbecue tradition

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.

Cooper's in Llano

For a couple of years now, "Cooper's in Llano" has been the pot of gold for Bullworker and I. Elusive … two or three times our efforts to go there have fallen through … but we were determined.

Well, on Monday afternoon, the three of us, Bullworker, me and the boy, hopped in the Xterra and headed west, driving through rainstorm after rainstorm.

To make a long story get to the point, it was excellent. Cooper's gets a bad rap, mostly from tourists who wait in line on Saturday afternoon for 30 minutes only to find that the barbecue joint is having a hard time keeping up with the crowds. But on Monday, the brisket was fine, the sausage just as good. The beans were as perfect as ever.

But what I loved more than anything, was that the place hadn't changed a lick since I first showed up in the early 1990s. I mentioned this to Bullworker and he gave me that quizzical look. I guess he didn't quite get what was good about that. But to me, hell things in San Angelo have changed, the people in Luckenbach have changed, the places in Austin have changed … I've changed … you know, I just embrace what stability I can find.

Shannon mocked our 3-hour journey for barbecue, when the Cooper's in New Braunfels tastes just as good and is much closer. But it's not the same. You can't just invent an old bar or an old barbecue joint.

The point is, Bullworker and I will talk about the trip to Llano for years to come. A trip to Cooper's in New Braunfels is just a meal.

Perhaps the oddest point of the journey we encountered on the drive back. We weren't 10 miles east of Llano when, in a lull in the rainstorm, I saw a rainbow. Then, above it, another rainbow.

The top rainbow was just a rainbow, but the bottom one was brilliant beyond what I could have previously imagined. It was day-glo bright, right there to our left.

The boy wouldn't understand me in three or four hours of effort if I tried to get him to look to his left for an arc of color in the sky. But I said it anyway, "Look! A rainbow!" I repeated it until he finally looked up and gave me a glare that said "Hey! I'm playing with this seatbelt! Leave me the hell alone!"

And so we went. A mile or two, and around the corner, suddenly there was the END of the brilliant bottom rainbow. I mean, it was right there not 50 yards off the road. You could see the colors in the tops of the trees. It was astounding. I could have thrown a rock and knocked the shit out of a leprechaun, I guess.

To say it was the most beautiful natural phenonemon I've ever seen isn't much of a stretch.

Then it occurred to me … it occurred to me as I drove down the heavily-soaked two-lane road with no shoulder and standing puddles of water at 60 miles an hour and big trucks coming the other way faster than that … I wondered, "Is this the last thing you see before you die?"

I mean, it was "come toward the light" beautiful, I'm guessing.

I turned my eyes back to the road. We made it home thirsty but full, ready for some football.

Country Tavern

Well, over the Labor Day weekend, we journeyed up to Starrville to see Bullworker and mom. It was a big adventure with the boy speaking more in the course of 48 hours than he has over the past 48 months.

So I didn't see much football on Saturday … not that I could really concentrate on, anyway … but I did get to check out a legendary barbecue place, which is always a fine thing.

Right across the Gregg County line on the outskirts of Kilgore, there's a place called the Country Tavern. Apparently, it's been an East Texas icon since the 1930s and is known for its ribs.

A quick search on Google will show a little criticism about how the place has apparently changed (it's more upscale than it used to be, I hear), but it won me over quickly.

Make no mistake, it is a barbecue restaurant rather than a barbecue joint — there's a waitress to take your order, there's silverware and plates and they even bring you hot towels when you're done — but there was none of the pretension you find at, say, Joe Cotton's in Robbstown.

To begin with, there was cold beer (always a good start) in a so-dark-it's-hard-to-focus open room (the building itself looks like a giant red shed). We weren't offered a menu just a choice of meat — ribs, brisket, sausage or turkey — and sides — beans, potato salad, coleslaw or chips. And that, apparently, was it.

I went with brisket, potato salad and chips (because I knew if all else failed, the boy would eat those). Everyone else went with the house specialty: ribs.

And everyone ended up happy. The ribs come with a sweet and sticky glaze on them. Now, I can usually not abide sweet, sticky barbecue sauce in the least, but the ribs themselves were so good, that I didn't hesitate to eat the one I was offered.

(The sauce thing is a personal taste of mine, just like my distaste for that greasy, mealy Elgin sausage. But many, many people love Elgin sausage, and just as many love sweet, sticky sauce, so I can't hold it against the Tavern.)

The sauce-in-the-bottle to go with the brisket was sweet, too, but thin enough and tasty enough so as not to be cloying. The brisket itself was very good. A few pieces were a little more dry than the others, but the quality and cut of the meat was so excellent, that it was all fantastic.

I thought the potato salad was tasty, too, with character of its own. Bullworker, who knows my taste in beans, had told me they weren't all that good, so I didn't even try them.

Still, though I favor barbecue joints with slabs of meat on butcher paper and smoke stains on the walls, I was a very happy customer. As far as barbecue restaurants go, I'd have to rank it up there with my favorites, right after the Salt Lick and The Shed (if that place is still open).

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Turns out for all my bitching about allergies, I've been walking around with a raging sinus infection for three weeks. I'm on antibiotics now and a steroid (whoo) to help me ease off my Vick's Sinex addiction.

I knew there was something strange going on. This explains why I've been feeling crappy all month, too.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So I was editing this sports column the other day (I've been doing a lot of sports, recently) and it was this guy talking about his goal to watch one quarter of game action from every Division I college team.

That's 120 teams in Division I, two in each game. So he's looking to watch 60 quarters of football over the course of the season. That boils down to the equivalent of 20 games. No problem, right?

(I mean, assuming you're not married, don't have children and have a sports bar down the street.)

The real challenge there would be finding televised matchups of teams such as Compass Point Louisiana vs. Western Kentucky. Or Eastern Michigan vs. Kent. That then raises the question of why would anybody who is not a graduate of said school or have a relative who plays for said school actually expend the time and effort to watch a matchup like that.

Except, of course, to complete a list. To complete a quest. I understand this litle obsessive thing all too well.

But all 120 college Division I teams is beyond my grasp. I need something simpler.

How aobut all 32 NFL teams? To watch at least a quarter of a game featuring all 32 NFL teams.

It's not much of a challenge, really. A fellow with a good sports bar down the street could, conceivably, pull this off in the first two weeks of the season, if he had a good sense of timing and a high tolerance for alcohol.

But I have the boy. And I'm quite married. And watching football all day on Sunday is not an option.

The interesting thing, though, is that if I watch all of the Dallas Cowboys games, and at least a quarter of every Monday Night Football game, I'll pick up 28 of the 32 teams over the course of the season.

Then, assuming our local TV station carries the Texans instead of the Titans, I could also conceivably pick up the Bengals, the Jaguars and the Rams.

But there's no at-home option to see the Detroit Lions, unless (ha!) they make the playoffs. No, I would have to go to a sports bar to see them. And why would I want to do that?

Tell you what. I'll keep track. If the list gets ahold of me, we'll see if those Lions drag me in.

Song of Sausage

In a vulnerable moment, I asked Shannon if she would be jealous if I ... wrote a love poem to Opa's sausage. She said no.

Song of Sausage

Oooo-Pa's!  Oooo-Pa's!
I'm so in love with you!
You bring me such delight
As I chew and chew and chew!
Oooo-Pa's!  Oooo-Pa's!
You're the best I ever ate!
Each and every night
I dream of sodium phosphate!

Thank you.

-----------------------------------------------------------

We've been a little short on sleep here the past two nights. I was pretty much passed out Sunday night thanks to my Cowboys-inspired sojourns into the beer cooler throughout the afternoon and evening and last night was the typical get-home-late-from-work-wake-up-early thang that I deal with several nights a week.

Still, I think I was plenty sane this morning when I made this decree: If Stuart Scott says on SportsCenter the words "Sig Nasty" (and I'm not even going to discuss the evolution of this) one more time … if he says it one. more. time. … then the death penalty should be applied immediately.

----------------------------------------------------------

I'm digging the Bill Kurtis / Michael Phelps TV commercial.

The barbecue list: Part II

I am a fan, to understate it slightly, of barbecue. I have eaten barbecue from Corpus to Lubbock and Kermit to Silsbee. If I go more than a couple weeks without brisket, my DNA starts to break down.

But I am not a barbecue critic, connoisseur, or gourmand. I do not have it in me to try to tell you what is the best barbecue, because individual tastes account for about 75% of the barbecue experience. What is fine sausage to me is a pit disaster to someone else.

Already, friend Rae has posted a comment mentioning that she thinks two places that are fixin' to make my Top 10 list are overrated. And, to many people, they probably are. So, without further delay, here are my 10 favorite places in Texas:

9 (tie): Louie Mueller's in Taylor and The Shed in Wingate. It's pretty dumb to include a place on a list of favorites that you've only been to once. But the brisket I had at Mueller's and the dining experience I had at The Shed are among my favorite barbecue experiences. The Shed, in particular, and their (at least that night) generous, generous second and third helpings of brisket seems almost mystical.

8. Salt Lick in Driftwood. I had written in my old blog that as a barbecue joint, it makes a good place to hang out with friends. But in the past few visits, the food has tasted better and better. Still overrated, but given that it's not but 20 minutes from my house, it's a good bet for me.

7. Van's in Oakville. A little barbecue joint on the way to Corpus with mismatched furniture, good food and an old woman in a pink cowboy hat. What could be bad about that?

6. Packsaddle in San Angelo. The sausage is pretty good West Texas-style sausage, the brisket is average at best. What sets this place apart for me is the extras: their burgers, onion rings and blackberry cobbler are fantastic. The service is friendly and quick. If it hadn't been on the other side of town from me, it would've been my home base in San Angelo. Heck, I still managed to go their often enough, I guess.

5. Smitty's in Lockhart. Texas Monthly has heaped their praise all over this place, so I don't have to add much. Still think it would be better with a nice vinegar-based sauce.

4. West Texas Barbecue in Silsbee. The irony of a place in deep, deep East Texas (where great barbecue is common) naming their joint after West Texas (where great barbecue is rare) just adds to the aura of the best sliced-beef sandwich I've ever had. Check out their chocolate pie, too.

3. Cooper's in Llano. Cooper's has taken a beating as overrated and overcrowded and if you're there on a weekend afternoon, it's probably true. But if you show up at 3 p.m. on a weekday (like I will in a few hours), you're going to get some damn fine barbecue.

2. Martin's in Bryan. Home base for me during the late part of my college experience, there was nothing finer than being a student and getting a chopped beef sandwich, bowl of beans, hunk of cheese and a Lone Star beer for less than $5. When I go to heaven (mighty presumptive, I know), it will be there, just down the road from ...

1. Harold's in Abilene. I hate Abilene. You can't swing a cat without hitting a stained-glass window. I would never go to Abilene for anything ... except the best barbecue I've ever had. Why are there so many churches in Abilene? Because that's where God goes to get soul-food-style barbecue. It's a place where overstuffing yourself to the point of gastric pain is completely worth it.

The barbecue list: Part I

Just because ... I'm thinking barbecue. Let me start off by saying that if it's not Texas, it's not barbecue. Don't speak to me of Kansas City or the Deep South, because I don't care. It might be good food, but I'm talking about barbecue.

Today: The short lists. Tomorrow: My Top 10 favorite joints.

Gone to the Big Pit in the Sky

1. Stubb's in Lubbock. I once ate there three times in 24 hours, and enjoyed it more each time. This place would probably be No. 1 on my all-time list.
2. Tom's in College Station. Fond, fond memories. The place where a British beer expert was served a typical Texas meal on butcher paper and he referred to it as "Mount Meat."
3. Soul Sister in Wharton. Possibly the best ribs I've ever had.

Big-Name Places I Think Highly Of
(that aren't on tomorrow's Top 10 list)

1. Goode Company in Houston.
2. City Market in Luling.
3. Hinze's in Wharton.
4. That place in Dallas everybody's always going on and on about.

Big-Name Places I'm Not Hip With

1. Joe Cotten's in Robstown. Sorry, I don't like my brisket delivered a sliver at a time by waiters in bow ties.
2. Kreuz's in Lockhart. Growth is a barbecue joint's worst enemy.
3. Southside Market in Elgin. Some love this sausage, but my taste was tempered by my time in West Texas. Don't make my sausage mealy and greasy, make it dry and firm.
4. Underwood's in Brownwood. Please don't make me think of this again.

Joints That I Love, Just Not the Food

1. Stubb's in Austin. As a barbecue joint, it makes a good live music venue.
2. Sam's in Austin. I love this place, but the actual barbecue hurts me.
3. Harry's on the Loop in Willow City. If Harry can get his barbecue mojo back, then this place will move into my Top 10. But the last two times I've been there, all he had to offer were pretty suspect sandwiches.

Where do I Want to Go Next?

1. Country Tavern in Kilgore.
2. Zimmerhanzel's in Smithville.
3. Snow's in Lexington -- once the Texas Monthly furor dies down (if Snow's survives it).
4. Mt. Zion Baptist Church in Huntsville. Been trying to get religion for a decade now.

(Thanks. I will update this blog as I think about what I forgot while I'm supposed to be working.)