Showing posts with label Classics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Classics. Show all posts

Friday, January 2, 2009

Shorty's Bar-B-Q

9200 South Dixie Hwy
Miami, FL

View on Al Forno's Big Barbecue Map

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.

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Gates Bar B.Q. (Kansas City, MO)

3205 Main St
Kansas City, MO 64111
http://www.gatesbbq.com

View on Al Forno's Big Barbecue Map


As soon as I stepped into my room at the Westin Crown Center in Kansas City, I knew there had been a mistake. It was a large room--some sort of suite, so I couldn't complain about that. But the whole broad end of the room by the big plate glass windows was filled with . . . some sort of bizarre, Rube Goldberg-like machinery.



Upon closer inspection I determined that they were not in fact cruel instruments of torture but rather high-tech exercise equipment, of all things: a treadmill, a medicine ball, some adjustable-weight dumbbells, and some sort of big rubber workout ball that I'm not quite sure how one would use. It appeared that I had been booked into some sort of "fitness suite."

Or, as the Westin people call it, the WestinWORKOUT(R) Room, where you can "recharge yourself on your own time, in your own room."

I have no problem with people who follow a rigorous exercise routine when on the road, even if I never quite manage such discipline on my own. Going for a jog in a new city is probably a great way to take in the scenery, and if the weather is bad or you're booked into one of those dreary motels off an Interstate exit, I can see how some laps in the indoor pool or a quick workout on the stairclimber in the hotel gym would go a long way toward keeping off those extra pounds despite three restaurant meals a day.

But isn't having the exercise equipment right there in your room just a tad excessive?

In their delightful 1975 phillipic The Taste of America, John and Karen Hess lamented the "solitary drinking" that seemed an epidemic within the rooms of "hotels that advertise 'free guest ice' on every floor'". It's a marked contrast to the nominally-sociable practice of boozing it up in the hotel bar, where there's at least an outside chance of actually interacting with similarly bored and/or lonely traveling souls.

The WestonWORKOUT(R) room seems the early 21st century's version of solitary hotel-room drinking: solitary hotel-room exercising. A depressing metaphor for the Bowling Alone generation.

I must admit, though, that the treadmill did come in handy. The handrails served quite nicely for hanging my suit pants at the end of the day when I changed into jeans for a visit around the corner to Gates BBQ.



A few hours later, as I lay on the bed stuffed full of hickory-smoked brisket, pork ribs, and ham, I suppose I took some small comfort in knowing that if I woke up at five a.m. with an overwhelming urge to exercise I had a handy treadmill just two steps away.

I woke up at seven, feeling quite fine.