Wood Ranch BBQ & Grill

5050 Cornell Road
Agoura Hills, CA
(Yes, it is really located in a place called "Whizin's Plaza")

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"Oh, no, you don't want to eat barbecue in California," my brother's West Coast friends told me. "You'll just be disappointed."

I tried to explain to them that I was no barbecue bigot, that just because the Carolinas are home to innumerable world-class pulled pork joints didn't mean I wasn't receptive to slow-smoked brisket and beef ribs and sausage links and any number of other barbecue variations. I even tried to explain to them that barbecue had a long history in California, that in the 1930s and 1940s no upper-middle class ranch home was complete without a custom brick barbecue pit in the backyard.

They were unswayed. "Stick to fish in California," I was told. "There's no good barbecue here."

This was two years ago, and I was in Los Angeles for my brother's wedding, which was taking place at a ranch in the hills near Malibu (not far from where some of the big wildfires have been burning, but this was a week before those started). On the opposite side of the 101 freeway from our motel in Agoura Hills was a fairly frumpy looking building with a green, pagoda-like roof and a plain sign saying "Wood Ranch BBQ & Grill."



The exterior looked like something out the late 1970s, the kind of building that might house a Ponderosa or some sort of buffet cafeteria. But, a continuous plume of smoke churned from a brick chimney, and when the wind was blowing the right way the entire motel parking lot was awash in the fabulous aroma of roasting meat. The cautions of my brother's friends were still fresh in my mind, but my barbecue ecumenicalism won out. How bad could it be?

The answer is: not bad at all. Wood Ranch surprised me. I was expecting the interior to be bare-bones and a bit run down. Instead, I found a very modern, upscale restaurant with young, perky servers wearing buttondown shirts and ties. Now, this might bode ill for a barbecue joint in some parts of America, but in California it must not, for the Wood Ranch had a true item of glory on its menu: barbecued tri-tip.

I had never seen tri-tip on a barbecue restaurant menu before, so I bypassed the pork and beef ribs and the slow-roasted chicken and went with the specialty of the house. This was a big two-inch slab of beef that had been slow-roasted overnight then finished just before serving on a mesquite-fired grill. I had mine medium rare (which is as rare as it comes), and it was juicy, tender, and utterly delicious.



The Tri-tip roast is a cut from the bottom sirloin and, though obscure just about everywhere else, it's apparently a popular choice for barbecuing in California. So, to those naysayers who claim California doesn't have a distinctive barbecue style or, even worse, doesn't have any good barbecue at all, I say, try the tri-tip.

How to Make a Barbecue Sandwich - Bradley's Pit Bar-B-Q (Sweetwater, TN)

I have spent the better part of my life in South Carolina, and I am a Carolinian through-and-through. I love mustard-yellow barbecue sauce and hash over rice. Hash over rice, in fact, may well be the best barbecue side dish ever concocted. But when it comes to barbecue sandwiches, I have to say that the state of Tennessee has us licked hands down.

This was driven home to me when I stopped off at an unassuming little barbecue place on the side of the highway in Sweetwater, Tennessee, on the drive back from my visit to Benton's Smoky Mountain Country Hams. Bradley's Pit B-B-Q and Grill doesn't have much character, but the waitresses were very friendly and, man, did they ever serve a good barbecue sandwich.

As I was writing my recent re-evaluation of Charleston's Home Team BBQ, I kept thinking about the sandwich I'd had that afternoon from Bradley's, and the more I thought about it the more I realized that it was a near-perfect sandwich. And, when I dug through my digital camera and came up with the picture I had snapped, I knew that it was true.

The sandwich from Bradley's wasn't large--just a regular sized hamburger bun with a modest amount of meat. But, the bun was toasted with a good soaking of butter so the edges were crispy and brown. The meat was smoky and delicious, with lots of little crispy burnt-end bits to add texture, and it was chopped just right--not too fine so that it lost all its consistency (like Eastern North Carolina barbecue often does), but not as ropy and chewy as pulled pork, either. The coleslaw was just right, too, adding just enough crunch to round out the experience.

And, since it was small and compact, you could eat the sandwich one-handed while driving down a Tennessee mountain highway without totally staining your pants legs.

Like a great cheeseburger, a great barbecue sandwich is an exercise in balance, with just the right ratio of meat to sauce to bun. And the boys in Tennessee seem to have mastered the art.

Whatever Happened to Virginia Barbecue? - Extra Billy's (Richmond VA)

5205 Broad St.
Richmond, VA
http://www.extrabillys.com

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There’s long been a knock against barbecue in Virginia. Though it was the historical birthplace of barbecue in America, the story goes, the tradition died out somewhere back in the 19th century and now is hard to find at all. Like most claims about barbecue, this one is likely to be disputed hotly by a group of partisans, and, if not exactly thriving, barbecue can at least be found in the state of Virginia. But is it really "Virginia Barbecue"?

While in Richmond not long ago, I was taken by a group of locals to Extra Billy’s, a barbecue joint on West Broad St. The name itself is intriguing, suggesting a barbecue man with reputation for serving up large portions. But, as it turns out, William “Extra Billy” Smith was actually a noted Virginia politician and Civil War hero who served two terms as Governor (1846-1849 and 1864-1865). There are varying reports on the origin of the nickname “Extra Billy”. The restaurant’s menu claims he earned the name “because of the extra effort he always made for his constituents”, while other sources claim it was for “questionable perks” he received as a federal mail contractor in the 1820s.



Either way, it’s a good name, and one that has no apparent connection with the restaurant, which has only been around since 1985. But, the barbecue was pretty good. I had the lunch combo plate with pulled pork and sliced brisket—perfect to guarantee a sluggish afternoon—with slaw and potato salad. The side dishes were tasty but totally unnecessary since the two mounds of meat on the platter alone were more than I could finish.

The pork was pretty good—tender and slightly smoky—but the brisket was better, with just the right crispiness on the outside and a good quarter-inch pink smoke ring and the hickory flavor to match. The table had two bottles of barbecue sauce, one a spicy vinegar-based, the other a reddish, thicker blend. I preferred the latter, which my dining companions referred to as "Virginia style".

As it tends to do, the conversation drifted toward other barbecue restaurants and everyone’s favorite barbecue styles. And, as it turned out, not all of my lunch companions were native Virginians. One, a recent transplant from Memphis, waxed longingly about that city’s rib joints and declared them to be the only "real barbecue". Much to my surprise, the two Virginia natives did not come to their state’s defense. In fact, they left the field uncontested, with one admitting that he actually preferred Lexington, North Carolina style pork, and the other proclaiming that the sweet mustard-based sauce (which is found mostly in my neck of the woods in South Carolina) was his favorite.

And what was the deal with that brisket, anyway? It was good—don’t get me wrong—but smoked beef brisket is a hallmark of Texas barbecue, not Virginia. Ditto for the smoked sausage that is also on Extra Billy’s menu, described explicitly as “Texas rope sausage with mustard flavor,” and the red tomato-based sauce that I found such a good compliment to the brisket.

I think this is far more than just another isolated example of the geographic dissonance of fast-casual barbecue. In fact, I suspect the naysayers are indeed right and there really is no Virginia barbecue anymore.

The advertising for Virginia barbecue joints confirms that this once-proud barbecue state now has an inferiority complex. In their “story” on their website, Buz & Ned’s in Richmond, VA, claims to have explored and sampled every great barbecue joint across America, returning with 150-year old recipes and bringing traditional barbecue to Richmond, “a great city, but without a real BBQ tradition.” The Silver Pig Barbeque Restaurant in Lynchburg claims to have “the most authentic Carolina barbeque this side of the North Carolina state line.” Three L’il Pigs in Daleville (just North of Roanoke) boasts “the tastiest, slow-cooked, hickory-smoked North Carolina-style barbeque anywhere in the valley".

The menu for the Virginia BBQ Company in Ashland offers the Original Virginia BBQ Sandwich, which it claims is “Virginia’s traditional style, hand pulled pork, tossed in a flavorful homemade BBQ sauce.” But, the owners are either not very confident in their local product or are simply pragmatic about market demands for they also offer the Classic NC BBQ Sandwich (“Folks down in North Carolina would never put none of that red stuff on no BBQ”) and the Texas BBQ Beef Sandwich.



It wasn’t always this way. The colony of Virginia was the birthplace of barbecue, the soil where the seed was planted and from which it spread throughout the South and, eventually, clear out to the West Coast. By the mid 18th-century, outdoor barbecues had become one of the key social events in Old Dominion society. References to barbecues are sprinkled throughout the letters and diaries of this country's founding fathers, including George Washington himself, and visitors described the gatherings in travelogues as a remarkable phenomenon peculiar to the colony. As Virginians left their home state and migrated south westward through the Carolinas into Georgia, Tennessee, and Alabama, they took their barbecue traditions with them, and it is common to see references in 19th century newspapers to "old-fashioned Virginia barbecues."

So what happened to make barbecue die out in its native state? That's a difficult question to answer. Thoughout the United States in the early-to-mid 20th Century, barbecue was making a transition from being served large-scale at free public gatherings to being a commercial product sold in individual portions at restaurants. In the 1920s and 1930s, Virginia had as many "good old fashioned" election and church-picnic barbecues as anywhere else.

Somehow, no legendary barbecue restaurants developed in Virginia that could rival the likes of Arthur Bryant's or Gates's in Kansas City, the Rendevouz in Memphis, or any of the two dozen joints in Lexington, North Carolina. These restaurants helped codify the style of barbecue unique to their regions and, in doing so, laid the groundwork for those regions' claims for being having the one "real barbecue".

People in Virginia still love to eat barbecue, they just don't seem to have much of a distinct local feeling for the dish.

Burk's BBQ (Rock Hill, SC)

2012 North Cherry Road
Rock Hill, SC
(803) 980-4444‎


View on Al Forno's Big Barbecue Map

I ate at this fairly new barbecue spot up in Rock Hill, SC, over the holidays, and I'm just getting around to logging a post about it. Rock Hill (which is where my parents live, so I'm up there a lot) has long been starved for good barbecue spots, and this one is a nice addition to the town's somewhat limited culinary scene.

The restaurant is in a strip mall off of Cherry Road (2012 Cherry Rd is the address), so it doesn't have a ton of atmosphere. But, right behind the counter you can see the big metal-walled pit where they cook the barbecue, and the scent that hits your nose as soon as you walk into into the place is fantastic.

The barbecue itself is finely chopped and comes with a sweet red tomato-based sauce. The lunch plate (only $4.95) came with some good hushpuppys and finely minced slaw, which in my mind is the only proper way to serve it.

And, the folks behind the counter were very friendly, and the food came out fast.

Burk's isn't a Carolina classic, but it's a solid joint, and the quality of life in Rock Hill just got a little better.

Adventures in Pig Country -- Wilber's (Goldsboro, NC), Schuler's (Latta, SC)

I've been doing a lot of work up in the Raleigh-Durham area, which means a lot of dull four-and-a-half hour drives up I-95. But, as it turns out, my handy electronic barbecue restaurant finder also has the capability for recommending driving routes between two cities (who knew?). It told me that I could make the trip to Durham up U.S. 41 rather than the Interstate, which not only saves a few minutes but is far more scenic.

This has led to some good barbecue, including a little detour over to Wilber's in Goldsboro a few weeks ago and, on my last trip, at stop at Shuler's in Latta.

Wilber's is perhaps the quintessential Eastern NC barbecue joint, one of the few left that actually cooks solely with wood (Wilber Shirley uses oak). The interior looks the way most restaurants looked when I was a kid: brown paneling and red checkered tablecloths. The place is big, too, with two broad dining rooms that seat up to 300 people.

I had a barbecue plate with chopped pork, a finely-minced coleslaw, potato salad, and golden brown hushpuppies, and it was wicked good. I didn't have my camera with me on that trip, but I did get a t-shirt:




As much of a legend as Wilber's is, I have to say that, in my book, Schuler's of Latta is equally worth a stop on a long drive through the Carolina swamps.




It's in a big log cabin building off the side of Highway 38, an all-you-can-eat buffet that's open (like so many SC BBQ joints) just Thursday through Saturday. The chopped pork was good, but for me the star were the ribs--thick, meaty, and very smoky. I can't say for sure, but I think that Shuler's cooks over charcoal (an assumption based upon the fact that there were a bunch of huge sacks of charcoal stacked up out front). In any event, it's good barbecue, and the side dishes (several dozen of them to choose from) will guarantee you leave with a groaning belly.

Along the way, I uncovered a business I never new existed before: Hog Slat.

That's right, Hog Slat (singular).

I had no idea what this business was, but the name intrigued me, and I passed by several different outlets on my circuitous route back from Goldsboro to Charleston. Hog Slat, later research revealed, is the "world leader in swine production solutions." Which is a relief, even though I didn't realize we had swine production problems. As it turns out, a "hog slat" is used on the floor of pig nurseries--a sort of reinforced concrete floor with slits in it, which I can only assume is so that the, er, unwanted materials, pass down through the floor to be carried out to somewhere else. Which is about as much about large-scale hog farming as I need to know.

I've also passed by several billboards for the Nahunta Pork Center in Pikeville, which claims to have "The Country's Largest Pork Retail Display." Now this is the kind of thing that it's hard to pass up, but I was pressed for time on my last few trips. I'll be heading back up in a week or two, so lookout, Pikeville, here I come. I'll make sure to pack a cooler.

Moose's Famous BBQ

1440 South Live Oak Drive (Hwy. 17-A)
Moncks Corner
(843) 899-4999

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With barbecue chicken, pulled pork, and hands-down the best beef brisket to be found in the Lowcountry, Moose's is a carnival of eating. Pay as you enter, cash only, the buffet is not only loaded with tasty smoked meats but some damn good side items, too. Wear your eatin' pants with the extra-elastic waist. You'll need 'em.

More: My City Paper review of Moose's

Bessinger's Barbecue

Bessinger's Barbecue
1602 Savannah Highway/US 17 (West Ashley)
843-556-1354
http://www.bessingersbbq.com

Though they are a barbecue joint and have great barbecue, my wife and I usually end up getting cheeseburgers because, without a doubt, Bessingers has the best cheeseburgers in town, hands down. If you're from out of town, though, I would recommend trying their barbecue. You can get a good cheeseburger almost anywhere; Bessinger's is an exceptional example of the mustard-based style, a variety unique to South Carolina. I also recommend getting one of the plates with hash and rice, for hash is the uniquely South Carolina side item. It's pork and various pork parts (don't ask--you're better off not knowing) minced up fine with a lot of spices and served like a very thin stew over rice: fantastic.

Bessinger's Barbecue on Highway 17

A heaping plate of mustard-based barbecue with hash from Bessinger's

Charleston's best cheeseburger

Shorty's Bar-B-Q

9200 South Dixie Hwy
Miami, FL

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I was in Miami for business sometime back and managed to swing lunch at the original location of Shorty's, one of Florida's classic barbecue joints. The place was founded in 1951 by E. L. "Shorty" Allen, a Georgia native who'd recently moved to South Florida. The original log-cabinesque building burned to the ground in 1972, but it was rebuilt and still serves the same menu of ribs, chicken, and pork. (Unfortunately, I didn't have my camera with me so no snaps, but see the Shorty's website for some good images of the places, including the original building going up in flames.)

You might not think South Florida would have much of a barbecue tradition (and certainly "Florida style" rarely appears the canon of barbecue variations). Not so. Barbecue stands started dotting the state's roadsides during the 1920s, targeted the surging numbers of middle- and lower-class car owners who began turning Florida into a major vacation destination. Barbecue was an ideal food for roadside stands. It did not require expensive equipment, just a pit dug in the ground and filled with glowing wood coals. Wrapped in brown paper or placed between slices of bread, barbecue was easy to serve and easy to take away.

In most parts of the country, roadside barbecue stands were seasonal operations, but in Florida the warm climate allowed for a year-round auto trade. Cecil Roberts, a British travel writer who toured the state in the 1930s, noted, “Everywhere one sees ‘Joe’s Barbecue’ or ‘Tom’s Barbecue’. It may be an elaborate pseudo-Spanish bar, with gay awnings and aluminum stools, a soda fountain, or a mere wooden shanty on the roadside.” Shorty's old-timey "barbecue ranch" theme fit perfectly into the kitchy roadside attractions, as you can see in this old postcard from the 1950s:



The 1972 fire seems to have corrected the worst of the garishness, for while there is still a bit of the old log cabin look about the place, it's more just classic BBQ joint decor. You sit at long communal picnic tables with rolls of paper towels for napkins and rolled-down brown paper bags to throw them in. And you'll need that bag, too. The waitresses are real friendly, the sweet tea comes with a wedge of lime instead of lemon (a nice Miami touch). The baby back rib lunch special comes with crinkle cut fries, a slice of garlic bread, and a great finely chopped mayo-based coleslaw. The ribs don't seem slow smoked--I would guess they are cooked quickly over fairly hot fire. Parboiled, maybe--there wasn't much color to the meat--but nevertheless a good grill burn flavor and a nice, sweet brown sauce to accompany them.

The menu is posted in big black letters on white signboards on the wall--a nice touch. From what I could tell waiting for a table, it looked like the kitchen itself is enclosed only by screens. This seems like it would be some sort of health code issue, but does that really matter? It was great to stop in and sample a little flavor of 1950s Florida.

Daddy Joe's Beach House BBQ & Grill

1400 W Floyd Baker Blvd
Gaffney, SC 29341
http://www.daddyjoesbbq.com/

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One a recent drive from Rock Hill, SC, over to Greenville, the wife and I stopped in at Daddy Joe's Beach House BBQ and Grill in Gaffney. This was just a random pick off a billboard we saw along I-85, and I still have no idea why a BBQ joint in the Upstate of SC is called a "Beach House" (maybe it's because they have fried fish and shrimp on the menu), but it wasn't bad barbecue at all.

I had a chopped pork sandwich with fries, BBQ slaw, and hushpuppies.



It may not be an old-fashioned pit, but at least they're using some real wood in their smokers:



Top it off with a cold draft beer, and it beats the heck out of McDonalds!

Bono's Pit Bar-B-Q (Jacksonville, FL)

10065 Skinner Lake Dr.
Jacksonville FL 32246
http://bonosbarbq.com/

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My recently-acquired high-tech barbecue locating device served me well this week on a trip to Jacksonville, FL. At lunch time it plotted a route directly to Bono's Pit Bar-B-Q. I was a little skeptical as we pulled into the parking lot since it's just off a four lane parkway near a big mall, and the place looks just a little too clean and upscale.

But, as soon as I stepped in the door and was hit with a big snootful of hickory smoke I knew it was going to be just fine.

We had St. Louis cut ribs, pulled pork and--just for the hell of it, since it's fairly unusual item--barbecued turkey. All three were fantastic. The ends of the pulled pork were tinged that beautiful deep red from real wood smoke, and the turkey--big chunks of white breast meat--was far better than I expected, succulent and rich with smoky flavor. The ribs were perhaps the smokiest of all, the meat still tender and--thankfully--served without a lick of sauce on them. They didn't need any..

Bono's "original 1949 sauce" is a quite tasty yellow concoction that would more than, um, cut the mustard in a South Carolina BBQ joint. It's the farthest South that I can remember finding a mustard base--a reflection, perhaps, that what many call the "Midlands South Carolina" style actually scoots across the border into Georgia in the counties around Augusta. Apparently, it may have slipped a little down the coast into Florida at some point, too, though Bono's has Brunswick Stew and not hash as a side item.

I applied a little of the mustard-based sauce to my pulled pork and it went quite nicely. There was also a "hickory red" sauce that struck me as a bit Texan in origin, but there was really no need for it, since the ribs were more than flavorful enough to stand on their own.

Bono's has been around since 1949, when the Lou Bono opened his first location on Beach Boulevard in Jacksonville. There's now a good two dozen locations, mostly in North Florida. They cook their barbecue in big Southern Pride smokers, which are gas-fired but burn wood for smoke flavor. These are pretty common these days (Southern Pride claims that 12 out of the top 14 barbecue chains use their equipment), but Bono's takes an extra step and finishes the meat on a big open pit over Black Jack oak.

The open pit features prominently in the restaurant, positioned right behind the lunch counter, where you can watch the pit boss take the big shoulders and racks of ribs out and hand-slice each portion as orders come in.

I can't saw for sure how much of an effect the open pit has on the flavor, but Bono's barbecue does seem a lot more smoky and flavorful than a lot of other places that use those combo gas/wood smokers. At a minimum, it makes for a great effect, and keeps the delicious aroma of wood smoke in the air.

And, as a sidenote, I have to say that I'm a big fan of serving sweet tea with a slice of lime, like Bono's does, rather than the more standard lemon. It must be a Florida BBQ thing, since they do it the same way at Shorty's down in Miami, another classic Florida BBQ joint.

Some people like to sneer at Florida and claim it isn't really a part of the South. I can see how one might get that idea if they just fly into Orlando for a conference or a visit to Disney. Such folks ought to drop by Bono's for a little pulled pork, though. It might change their outlook.