Ribs at Rendezvous

The hardest part of any long road trip is finally settling in to the car, turning the engine over and putting the gear in to drive. In what would eventually become a 1,870 tour around the "Upland South" part of the country involving five states, I began my drive at about 2PM one afternoon, lighting out from Dallas to Memphis, Tennessee where I would stop for the evening. My destination was Carbondale, Illinois which despite at least a ten-hour planned drive according to Mapquest.Com was actually easier and more affordable to drive to than fly in to any one of about four airports close by that would reduce the drive to three hours or less, Memphis included. I had all the time in the world and no particular hurry to be there so Memphis, here I come.

Memphis is a town I've been through on numerous occasions, nearly all at high speed on my way to or from Texas or the East Coast. I've never spent much time there outside of one day-trip visit to Graceland. On this occasion it would be another overnighter as I was again on my way somewhere else, leaving many offerings and attractions still to be discovered for another time. This time, however, after six and a half hours on the road, I rolled in to town looking first for a place to grab some dinner and it was a no-brainer where I most wanted to go. My only concern was at eight-thirty in the evening whether or not the place would still take seatings or if they would be winding up for the night.

I needn't have worried. "Charles Vergos' Rendezvous," or "Rendezvous" for short, was doing a roaring business on a Thursday night. I'm not a GPS kinda guy so it took me a bit of driving around the central part of the city. I'd eaten there once before and figured where it would most likely be, not too far from Beale Street or the Peabody Hotel. I found the alley entryway and headed downstairs where the exceedingly bored looking hostess suggested I try the bar if I wanted a table at all anytime soon.

Sweet tea and a mixed plate consisting of half a slab and chopped chicken did the trick for me. It was during this meal that I finally allowed myself to declare that I'm not a fan of the famous "dry-rub" style of ribs. Dry rubs need a very fatty meat to help them go down smoothly; the service was fast and the food piping hot but after two bones I reached for a bottle of the "mild" sauce to finish off the ribs and the sadly old tasting chicken. Almost thirty dollars later with tip I left quite full but not as satisfied as I would have hoped.

"Rendezvous" has a dedicated and loyal following so it is not just hype that keeps the place hopping. As one of the most famous restaurants in town its reputation is well earned. As one of the many tourist attractions at the same time I can easily say I've been there, done that and am ready to move on.

Gotta go.

Bodacious Bodacious BBQ

If you're going to eat barbecue in Louisiana is it naive to wonder if at least a few selections on the menu might be swimming in a cayenne infused blend of traditional sauce? Is that a combination that either hasn't been considered yet or has been tried and failed miserably, never to be revisited again. My co-worker and I didn't know what to expect when we first walked in to "Bodacious BBQ" in Monroe, Louisiana other than the fact that it was a hole in the wall BBQ joint, the best kind bar none, and it came highly recommended by colleagues in the city.

The greasy auto-mechanic behind us in line quickly sniffed out that we weren't from around Monroe but was enthusiastically cheerful in telling us that Bodacious made the best fried catfish up and down Louisville Avenue, the main east-west drag in Monroe. "Better than Catfish Cabin," I asked incredulously, one of many places I'd spotted while searching for someplace interesting to eat but not stopping at. I'm not much on fried catfish but the mechanic was so cheerful that good conversation, at least, was a good thing. We allowed him ahead of us as he wanted the Five-Fillet special while my co-worker and I were still shopping the menu.

True to form I always look for a sampler plate of some kind, wanting to run an establishment through its paces across the three mains of any self-respecting barbecue house. The co-worker went with chicken and crawfish etouffee while I called myself eating light by going with the two-meat sampler instead of the three-! Orders were taken and cut at one end of a high counter, sides added in the middle and the whole heap rung up at the register to the left, assembly line style and very quick and efficient as well.

Beef brisket and pork ribs were my selection along with dirty rice and green beans. The brisket was fork tender, the ribs fell off the bone, the sauce was finger-licking good and, as if that weren't good enough, the dirty rice pert-near stole the show! Moist, tender, generously spackled with sausage, this was the kind of Louisiana soul food no surgeon general would ever recommend as a regular part of the diet; it was that good and the beans weren't far behind, tender, sweet onions and tasty bits of salt pork the way Grandma used to do, sho'!

We were lucky, having decided to eat relatively early in the lunch hour, beating the standing room only crowd by about 15 minutes and no more than that. There were hardly ten tables in the small dining area and there was an unspoken understanding among the patrons that said eat quick, bus and clean your own table and free it up for others. And there were plenty of others, all standing around, plate in hand and waiting their turn to enjoy the barbecue goodness.

Bodacious BBQ of Monroe, Louisiana is a husband-wife family owned business that works hard and takes obvious pride in its product. She runs the register and keeps things humming up front while the husband works the back, is most likely the pit master and certainly a skilled one at that. For eating "light" neither my co-worker or I ate anything else the rest of the day!

Gotta go!

Down For Dairyland

My mood was heading south in a hurry after driving some 80 miles to experience the type of food at Herd’s Hamburgers that is supposed to be worth that kind of effort. It wasn’t. Despite the charms of Jacksboro, Texas, an historical frontier town once a destination to itself, I felt the need to leave as soon as possible. I was hungry and disappointed after a disappointing cheeseburger and chips.

On the way south with my mood I noticed a sign announcing the Dairyland Drive In Barbecue Pit on the east side of the road. I’ll have to try that one day I said to myself. Then I decided to do a U-ie and try it right then and there.

The wait staff couldn’t greet me fast enough, telling me to take any seat inside where a young couple was already enthusiastically enjoying a mountain of hot food. The man looked up, we chin-jerked greetings as I took my seat, a glass of sweet tea hitting the table in a near photo finish.

My order of sliced brisket and ribs appeared within minutes, including piping hot crinkle cut fries, Texas Toast, large dill pickle and a serving of THE best ranch house beans I’ve had this side of the Pecos! A squeeze bottle of extra sauce was served as hot as the food in front of me.
“How is evah-thang?”

“THIS was worth the drive,” I managed between bulging chews of tender beef. “I haven’t had better in all of Dallas/Ft. Worth” and I meant it. I left a generous tip at the table and proceeded to the cashier to check out.

“How was evah-thang?”
“I just came from Herd’s.”

I let that one hang in the air for a minute as she jerked her head up from the register, not quite sure if she had heard me right. Then I dropped the other shoe. “And I was still hungry.” The slack-jawed look of amazement on her face, another handsome blonde said it all. And I had to allow that part of her shock was in that a competitor but still a member of her town had treated someone so badly. To her it clearly was unheard of.

I offered to her that Jacksboro seemed a nice place to which she replied that indeed it was full of friendly people. The implied apology on Herd’s behalf was received and accepted. “We’re glad to have your business.”

“You will again,” I said. “With friends.”

The Dairyland is not on the list of “world famous” pits strung through Central Texas which constitute the Texas BBQ Trail but they seem just fine with that. Like hundreds across the region they simply are what they are and are proud to do what they do. For my part I will do all possible to drag spoiled big-city friends to Jacksboro just for the Dairyland Drive In. Jacksboro itself was never in question. The people, the service and the food at the Dairyland more than made sure of that.


Gotta go!


Dairyland Drive In
323 S Main St, Jacksboro, TX
Tel: (940) 567-3705

Lucille's Wasn't A Guitar

Put California and food together in the same sentence these days and it's hard not to automatically envision sculpted or anemic people counting the grains of wheat germ, eating sprouts with chop sticks or spritzing a carrot stick with a light vinaigrette and chasing it with a no-salt daiquiri. "Real food" usually comes with cut limes and a pineapple garnish, clay-oven baked at the most but never - not even tempura - fried. The Redwoods and Sequoias are preserved not from logging but from the locals seeking a high fiber diet to go with their organic tofu.

But I digress. And I stand astoundingly corrected. In Orange County, California, center of the world for barely breathing haute couture - Laguna Hills Mall is not even a mile away - sits "Lucille's BBQ." Despite today's international reputation for "light," "fusion" and organic foods that barely register with the digestive system the history of California cooking comes straight from the comfort cuisine and survival sustenance. From south of the border come tacos, gorditos and burritos while north of Fresno, 49er country, comes grilled meats over an open fire and washed down with pure spring water moonshine!

Lucille's is of the latter ancestry, originating in the kitchen of one Lucille Buchanan who came up at her grandmother's knee in Greenville, California, learning and perfecting the recipes patrons enjoy at a dozen restaurants around the state. My traveling companion and I found the one in Lake Forest while on our way south to San Diego and few road stops were ever worth the time as much as this place.

Never mind the atmosphere, which was typical for a barbecue restaurant with hard woods, nostalgic touches and oldies music. This place knows the money is in the meat and they do not disappoint. Whenever I try a new barbecue joint I go for the sampler plate, wanting to see how things go across the beef, pork and poultry groups. The combo platter was nearly a steal, plain and simple, with a smooth sauce that simply defied belief or expectation while the meats were fork tender and bone clean.

The one thing shared between this restaurant and other establishments right down to the hole-in-the-wall set-ups is "mopping." I don't know if it is a unique West Coast style but where the argument back east is between dry rub and wet sauces, the sauce is typically ladled, poured, infused, steeped or squirted on to the meat from bottles. Californians literally use a clean mop handle to brush paint the sauce over the meat before serving. The longer they use the mop the more saturated it becomes with sauce and the easier and faster it is to serve up one delectable plate after the other.

At first I thought Lucille's referred to a certain famous blues guitar since I'm from back east where the blues and barbecue go together like nothing else unless you add beer. After this meal I can easily believe and recall the glory days of northern California's gold rush but still wonder at the success of the place in Orange County! It's there and it's real so go and see for yourself if you want solid food in or near sexy Santa Ana.

And if you don't believe me, just have some guac with that heaping helping of ginger root and rosemary infused olive oil.

Gotta go!

Everybody Eat the Dinosaur

"Where can I find the best wings in town," I asked the 20-something counter girl at the Rochester Airport rental car desk. I was completely geared up for tasting something close to the original even if that was still in Buffalo, some 75 miles to the west of where I happened to be standing.

My employer sent me on a serious whirlwind tour of the United States doing meet-and-greets and data gathering at our various offices and this particular whistle stop dropped me in the great Great Lake city of Rochester, New York. That was exciting in itself because my previous experience in "Upstate" New York ended at West Point. Aside from Kodak I knew little about Rochester but wasn't going to be in the area long enough to add on a trip to Buffalo. Still, I learned enough about the signature dish of Rochester before going to know that I wanted absolutely no part of a "Garbage Plate." I can barely fit in a coach seat as it is!

"Buffalo Wild Wings," came the gum-chewing response along with the keys to my rental. I shook my head in the sigh of the aged when faced with the ignorance of youth and drove off in to town. Now I do enjoy "The BWW" but this is Upstate New York for crying out loud! I was truly surprised that one would be there and still in operation instead of failing miserably and being run out of town, polished chicken bones and coleslaw fringed garbage plates being heaved in its wake. What to do for dinner? I was only in town for the one night before pressing on to the next stop of the tour and wanted a strong memory of a town I might seriously not see again soon.

"Try the Dinosaur," said the desk clerk at my hotel. BBQ? In Upstate New York? Come on, now, said my expression. This is a Texan yer a-talkin' to. "No, really," they implored. Well, if nothing else, I can at least say I toldja so when I got back from dinner.

Toldja so, nothing, I was absolutely flabbergasted from the moment I smelled the place a full block before I got to the restaurant. Ahh...a smoke pit, I thought. Good start so far. Situated along the river, the wood and brick building advertised authenticity, wood flooring, wagon wheel and all, but how was the food?

The Dinosaur would more than hold its own in Texas, that's the simplest way to put it. I enjoyed, almost couldn't finish, the Smoke Pit Combo Plate of ribs, brisket and sliced pork. The ribs were meaty, the brisket fork tender and the sliced pork equally out of this world, all drizzled with a sauce of perfection and washed down with sweet tea by the gallon. The service was fast, efficient and team oriented; any one passing my table either cleared plates or topped off beverages. The price was in line with my per diem and other bbq joints back home.

Two other restaurants operate in Syracuse, the original, and New York City near the Cotton Club in Harlem. I'm just still shaking my head at the irony of smoke pit barbecue THAT good being available that far up north. I hope they don't over reach or grow too fast: the other secret to good barbecue is that it's worth traveling for!

Gotta go!

The Broken Barrel

I was in the middle of yet another week long trip around the country and had considered myself to be winding things up in Tampa when the call came from boss-lady. I was "invited" to stay on in Florida for another six days and pay visits to our operations centers in Melbourne and Jacksonville. The company was picking up the tab, I'd never been to either place and it would be a chance to see both sides of Florida in the same trip.

Well, I apparently didn't miss much in the translation between eastern and western Florida and the drive between the two was decidedly one of the most un-scenic I'd ever experienced in a state world famous for exactly that - its beaches and scenery! I call the area of central Florida (outside of Disneyworld, of course) marshlands trying to be forest but not quite making it because the trees weren't really tall enough. Sort of like a bald-headed man who wasn't really bald but whose hair wasn't long or thick enough to qualify for any other description.

But I digress. I'm from Texas and we love good barbecue. Driving south along Babcock Road I noticed "Memaw's" Barbecue. I didn't stop but when I got to the office I enquired about the place with building security and was advised that it was merely "ok." Better was available according to the guard in his neck of the woods but that was 20 miles farther north. One of the administrators overheard our conversation and all but ordered me to dine at The Broken Barrel Tavern instead only a few miles to the south in Palm Bay.

Was it ever worth it! Melbourne isn't the biggest truck stop on the highway and if you stayed on either US-1 or I-95 on your way somewhere else you'd miss it entirely. It looks and feels as if it were built to serve a wide variety of purposes, from banquet hall to big-screen sports bar with tables and chairs thrown in beside a room for darts and several pool tables in the back. Center stage to all of this is a massive serving bar that boasts over 340 types of beer in bottles and on tap from 15 countries throughout Australia, Europe (seemingly more from Belgium than anywhere else), North America and Asia. Prices by the glass ranged from suburban swill to hops haute cuisine for anything from Singha to Schlitz and Samuel Adams to Sapporo, Becks and back. One that caught my eye was a concoction called "Youngs Double Chocolate Stout?!" I'm just glad I don't drink!

No one working seemed over the age of 25 or particularly concerned about their appearance but the service was quick and the recommendations right on target. Who'da thunk to actually smoke chicken wings but theirs is done in a dry rub typically reserved for Memphis-style ribs with equally scintillating effect. My waiter admitted to never eating a fried wing again once he'd tried the house specialty and I couldn't disagree. Choose from one of four unique barbecue or hot sauces served on the side to dip ("Cuz ya won't really need it!") and this non-descript hole in the wall beside the Goodwill Store truly serves up Solomon's gold.

Melbourne in November is a ghost town compared to the volumes it must receive in the high season. I even asked what anyone would visit Melbourne for that couldn't be found in Daytona, Palm Beach or Miami. It is the closest major town to Cape Canaveral but that didn't convince me since it is possible to day-trip there from Orlando. What none of the other towns have, though, is the Broken Barrel: smoked wings (plus 340 types of beer) that should NOT be the best kept secret in town!

Gotta go!