Barbecue means different things to different people – whether your preference is for the vinegar sauces of the South, the fieriness of Texas or the molasses-fueled sweetness of Kansas City. Competitions nationwide to allow the pros to duke it out over which sauce is best, what woods to cook with or even which meat to grill, but the type of barbecue most of us eat is invariably overlooked.
I’m talking about good ol’ backyard barbecue, the kind where you grab a bag of charcoal, fire up the Weber, hang around with friends and listen to music as the scent of charring flesh whets your appetite. To me, barbecue is meant to be a laid-back thing, and the experience is as much a part of the pleasure as the meal itself.
Now, you might be thinking to yourself that this has nothing to do with a restaurant, but it does: At Red the Bar-B-Que Man, it’s as much about the experience as the food. As we drove up a small hill near the edge of Ferguson, we began to see thick black smoke pouring above the horizon and the intense scent of charcoal signaled we were near. Nothing, however, could have prepared us for what we would see when we crested the hill: a bright yellow shack, its giant pits filled with Kingsford roaring in back, literally swarming with hundreds of customers milling about, each of them eagerly awaiting their dinner while talking to friends.
We stood in line while music blared overhead, disrupted occasionally by workers shouting out numbers of readied orders. It was a 10-minute wait just to get a number; an hour and 15 minutes later, our food landed in our hands.
Pork steaks are proudly described as 1-inch thick, but this only lead to an unbearable chewiness. Beyond well-done, not even a slathering of Red’s St. Louis-style sauce – a tomato-based, black pepper-flecked sauce that’s slightly sweet and slightly tangy – could have saved them. That, however, was the low point at Red, and things swiftly picked up from there.
Pork ribs come as a full or half slab with a choice of large or small ends for the latter. I chose the large end, with the tips and riblets still attached; the portion was so enormous, I could have eaten for days. Well-seasoned with a zesty crust of Lawry’s, the ribs were moist and tender without literally falling off the bone. (A gripe, though, for rib-men everywhere: Peel that film off the back, would you?)
Ranging from almost intolerably tough to falling-apart succulent thanks to the glistening fat, rib tips were a step up still. Like chewing on jerky, the tough bits turned out to be best, and their depth of porky flavor was worth every minute it took to make them swallowable.
But it was the beef brisket that stole the show. The fatty slices of tender brisket are cut thinly, placed a top a soft golden-yellow bun and doused with a smothering sheen of sauce. Each bite yielded an intense charcoal smoke that melded perfectly with the rich beef’s flavor and was accented perfectly by the crispy burnt edges and soggy bun.
Nothing at Red comes with sides, but if you have room there are two: a sweet-pickle-twanged mustard potato salad so egg-heavy you could slather it on bread and call it egg salad, and a potently sweet maple syrup-scented cup of baked beans with literally two strips of smoky bacon per serving. Both are passable, but neither is good enough to warrant cleaning your hands and lips of the remarkably messy barbecue sauce to really dig into them. For dessert, a moist yellow cake slathered with a goopy caramel icing – a lot like the store-bought stuff you dip apples into – is not particularly good.
But honestly, it’s not likely you’ll find yourself with room to spare, given the gargantuan portions. Besides, after the long wait, it’s the meat you’ll want to enjoy. Just be sure to check the date, because Red the Bar-B-Que Man is only open three days a week.
This article appears in Jun 1-30, 2008.