[A Pig at Large by Wilfrid: August 31, 2007]
It's true. Barbecue is an object of obsession. When you haven't had good barbecue in a while, you start to think you could eat it in any quantity and forever.
I have to say, five consecutive days of eating barbecued pork - six, if you count a random smoked pork loin sandwich in a Nashville honky tonk - is kind of enough. I started dreaming about sushi.
But the bottom line: the general standard of independent barbecue restaurants in Memphis seems to be terrific. Much higher than New York. It's all about the pig of course, and in fact Memphis itself is all about pigs. And ducks. And Elvis. We'll get to the ducks in the second Memphis article today. Elvis? Well, thank the Big Bopper, we arrived in town just as "Death Week" as the locals call it drew to a close. But Elvis is still everywhere, not excluding pigs dressed as Elvis. You can buy a little toy pig, or pig tee-shirt, or pig thong, with or without sideburns, everywhere.
So we are messing with smoked pig here. In fact, we inadvertently ran into pork "with attitude" on the first night, with an unplanned random supper in a Beale Street dive. Pig on Beale wasn't on the list, but I somehow got impatient. The beans were boring, the fries cold, but the pulled pork sandwich - although smaller than expected - wasn't bad. I think it's a music joint too, but it was quiet on a Sunday night.
Okay, time for the good stuff.
Right. And, armed with recommendations, we just happened to start lucky. In a city where families hand down smoking secrets generation to generation, Central BBQ is a relative newcomer. It was also the longest trek from the downtown Beale Street area where we were staying (we went to the Central Avenue location; there's also one on Summer Avenue).
Inside is casual: step to the counter and order, grab a table, beware the greasy floor. But the slab of ribs was astonishingly good. And this is where I slap myself in the chops.
What a crappy picture. The best ribs I've ever eaten; we can assume my hands were trembling. Or maybe it was the lunchtime Red Stripe. Anyway, let's be specific. Meaty, soft as butter, profoundly smoky - but not in a chemical, acrid way - served dry. The meat pulled smoothly from the bones. With the exception of one sample of a pork rib from Hill Country, I've not seen the quality of rich, fatty tenderness in New York, and this was even tastier. $18 for this slab, comfortably enough for two. We had consistently good, porky beans almost everywhere.
Just to get some sauce into the picture, here's the smoked sausage sandwich; apparently larger than its proud owner.
We got the sandwich wet - a thick, slightly spicy sauce - served over a soft bun with coleslaw. The bun quickly surrendered. The sausage was firm, dense (nothing like the loose-textured Texas smoked sausages I've eaten) and the scored skin had a nice snap. Full marks, and friendly assistance with our ramshackle travel arrangements from the tie-dyed tee-shirted manager.
Waiting under the afternoon sun for a cab back into town, over 100 out of the shade, but it was worth it, and we should've gone back.
Day three, another home run, this time at the family-owned thirty-year survivor, Cozy Corner. This was a short hop from downtown. It was the most basic of shacks. In fact, we'd been warned by the driver who picked us up from Central to call ahead. "It's run by a family. If they have something better to do on a Tuesday, they'll be closed."
Looking at that exterior, you have to have confidence in your sources. Step inside, and to the left is the ordering counter; to the right, the entrance to the bare, dark carpeted dining room, a few tables strewn around. We arrived for a late lunch, and it had been busy. The first specialty I asked for - smoked Cornish hens - was finished. Chicken? Finished. Okay, back to the pork, and for variety I ordered the rib tips. I should have said dry, they came very saucy, and the sauce, believe me, got everywhere. One of the specialty sides was available, though: barbecued spaghetti.
Just what it looks like. A little tub of spaghetti tossed in a barbecue sauce, slightly dirty with pork shreds, and spicier than expected. I thought my daughter might reject it on heat grounds, but she sucked it down. I was busy sucking the rib tips.
I'd just started pulling them apart there, and that sauce - vinegary in a good way, not harsh - is seeping off the plate. The rib tips are essentially a mass of extra fatty meat, held together with cartilege; they're removed when a regular slab of ribs is being prepared. These were juicy, and sauce or no sauce, the rich smokiness here was in the same first rank as Central BBQ. In retrospect, I wished I'd ordered a dry slab for a straight comparison, but I was in sticky heaven with these.
Loved the sloppy sandwich too.
Thick-cut bologna sausage, smoked, drizzled with a little of that sauce, and served with good, crunchy coleslaw in another out-matched soft bun. Big food, big mess.
The area around the counter is draped with memorabilia, BBQ cookbooks, photographs, family souvenirs. Founded by the late Raymond Robinson, because the home 'cue he was making was too good to keep to himself, it's still run by his wife, and the people helping us - mainly with extra napkins - were sweethearts. Another absolute recommendation. Getting hungry yet?
We inadvertently moved slightly upscale on day four by following a trip to Graceland with a visit to the Bar-B-BQ Shop, conveniently on the way back to the city center. From the name, I expected something more basic even than Cozy Corner, but the Shop turned out to be a couple of nice, large dining rooms, painted cool darkish red, with a full bar and nice table service.
Another long-term service award here, the Shop was opened by Frank Vernon, oh nearly three decades ago. His son Eric is now focussed not only on the restaurant, but on the associated Dancing Pigs line of barbecue products. It was immediately evident from the ribs that we were in the hands of experts again.
Don't panic, that is the slab dinner for two (two beans, two coleslaws). Once more, the ribs were thickly blanketed with the softest, smokiest meat. This time I could quibble, though: I'd ordered them dry, they came with a kind of sandy dry rub you can see in the picture. To my taste, the rub was way too sweet. Almost sugary. A pity, but it couldn't mask the high quality of the pig beneath.
In addition to the predictably good sides, a stack of Texas toast arrives, a nice change from the plain white slices and rolls we'd seen so far. Pardon my bones.
And just in case, some pulled butt in a sandwich; usually sauced, but here presented with sauce on the side as requested, and some fresh hot fries. I would usually be delighted with this, but even here the ribs were stealing the show.
The fifth day, and part of me is very happy, part of me wondering if I should eat a salad. One more before we get on the bus, and the oldest of them all, Charles Vergo's Rendezvous. This sexagenarian doesn't require a trip; it's lodged smokily in a narrow alley right in the heart of downtown, opposite the famous Peabody Hotel (I swear, you can smell the smoke when it's closed). Reputedly packed daily by the local lunch trade, we made sure to get there before twelve.
A woman seated at a high old front desk was explaining the procedure to all arrivals (it was moderately busy, and got steadily more so): "We aren't officially open. We only have ribs, beans and coleslaw, there is only one server on the floor." After sixty years, I guess you do things your own way, and nobody else seemed to have a problem with it. In fact, several guys were bringing out food, some of them cooks I think, and we had a tray of ribs within minutes.
The first thing you notice is that the slab is already broken down. The next thing, as you take a bite, is the vinegar. A lot of vinegar in that rather thin, sour sauce. More in the coleslaw, which was as inedible as it looks. The current owner was on the floor, watching proceedings. Maybe he, and his evidently big following, like their ribs this way. Maybe this was Wilfrid's unlucky day. Maybe they were smothering the flavor of old meat, and just don't care. I don't know. But I'd done well, I was stuffed like a sausage before I sat down, and it was time to get on the old Greyhound Bus and ride.
I wasn't going to start a fuss with these people anyway. Too much weaponry.
No disrespect to Corky's, which is a well-liked veteran of the Memphis 'cue scene. I did my best, but couldn't eat everywhere. Just some final thoughts from the New York angle. As you've seen, I didn't bother to investigate brisket, and actually couldn't get hold of smoked birds even when I tried; but as far as the pork goes, the Memphis reputation is well deserved. It's terrific. Most of the better barbecued ribs I've tried in New York - Pearson's on the Upper East Side (now closed), Ranger's (formerly the Queens Pearson's), Blue Smoke - do not approach this level. The only glimpse of this quality I've had was the very truncated sampling of what the guys are doing at Hill Country (a Texas-themed contender) as mentioned above.
I have never made barbecue in my life. Not an expert. I'd like to know why there's this gulf in achievement. Is it the wood, is it the pit, is it taking the necessary time? I have a feeling, from the sheer thick, juicy, fattiness of the Memphis slabs, that it might just be better pork. The main difference was not just the smokiness, let alone the rubs or sauces, but the meat's texture. If I'm wrong, I'm sure someone will let me know.
Here are some web-sites of varying usefulness: Rendezvous; Bar-B-Q Shop (Dancing Pigs); Cozy Corner; Central BBQ; Pig on Beale.
