True Texas BBQ: Blacks

On the road again
Goin places that I’ve never been
Seeing things that I may never see again
I cant wait to get on the road again
Willie Nelson


Its 7:40. We stroll out to the car. It hand’t even had time to warm up. John looked at me and said “that could be the coolest place I’ve ever eaten”. I smiles and replied, “welcome to true BBQ, and True Texas BBQ takes that a step deeper, I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now lets get to the next place”

John and Martin couldn’t believe it. Yes we were really going to another BBQ place in less than an hour. Oh I would have like to stay at Kreuz longer, but time was running out. Blacks remained to be explored. Question rose, how do we get there. I had no idea…I said just go back that way…we drove about 30 seconds and there was a sign at the end of side street…faded by the many texas summers…BLACKS THIS WAY.

I didn’t need to know anything else. We parked right out front…the unassuming front and entrance meets every expectation I have of a BBQ place. We strolled in and somehow walked right past the entrance to the line. Somehow I was instantly intoxicated by the smell of post oak and rendering meat. It was creeping everywhere in this place. Everything about it was so unassuming and unpretecious. The pictures of the football teams on the wall. The pictures of the Black Family all over. Bottles of sauce and an unmistakable tinge to all the walls saying they cook bbq here. So, I found the line to get food, but like a salmon on its way to spawn, there I was paddling upsteam .

We were corrected quicky by the delicate Hispanic woman working behind the sides…we took a plate, piled on some beans and pickles and walked to the meat counter.

½ chicken…couple rings of cheddar jalapeno sausage…and a beef rib…yes one of those dinosaur bone beef ribs!

I asked the gentleman about his warming pits and he said that when we were done eating to stop by and he’d show us around. I introduced myself to David and thanked him and told him I’d be back to take him up on his offer.

So we sat there. John announces he doesn’t like sweet tea, but cannot imagine drinking anything else here. We stared at the walls, and sampled all the food. Both my guests are amazed at these places. That feeling of becoming overly full starts to set in. A relaxed feeling comes over us, almost like a couple beer buzz. Pleasanly content. At that instant everything was falling together…willie nelson on the radio…the family coming in for a bite, the workers getting ready to close up.

We finished our food and I went directly to David to take him up on taking a look around. He excused himself for a minute and came back with a slightly dejected look on his face.
He let me know that Mr. Black has just left and that he gives a much better story about the place than he could. David is beyond polite. Everything out of his mouth is full of respect and a genuine appreciation that we’re there at Black’s…”just like Mr. Black would want it”. Somehow, staring into David’s eyes, I believe him, his attitude and aura is an extension of the Black family.
We didn’t “see” much…a true Texas pit…a pile of post oak, lifted the lids of the pits, smoke billowed out and wrapped its tentacles around use, giving us a special taste of what makes Texas bbq so true before it assaulted the walls of this shrine or maybe sneaking through a crack in the wall on its way to connect this pit with a little piece of Heaven.

We walked out of the place, several minutes after closing, and Martin and John were just standing there. John uttered the words, "Now THAT is the coolest place I've ever eaten at...I'm taking my family here sometime soon. Thanks Joe."

Me - I thank so many people, Kelly, and DivaQ, and Chris, and Dave, Wayne, and Vencil, David and Kevin, all those people who truely understand BBQ...and who aren't afraid to share it.

Memphis...My turn to Chime in

OK, my good friends Danielle and Chris have already sung poetically of our trip to Memphis this year. As much as I could write about that experience, I’d not offer any new perspective or contribute to the discussion in a forward manner. So instead of talking about all the places and people we shared that experience with, I instead would like to focus on one person…Daryl.



Who is Daryl? He's the gentleman pictured above sitting in the front, left wearing the black stocking cap. (Thanks Chris for the picture) We bumped into Daryl exiting one of the places we visited on Beale Street, which one, it doesn’t really matter. He was a friendly guy, wearing a University of Iowa stocking hat complete with the embossed tiger hawk sitting on his forehead. His coat was weathered, but underneath it, he was an engaging conversationalist. We asked him how to get to Gus’ Fried Chicken.

Daryl gave us directions of how to get to Gus’, but there was something about the doubt in his voice in which he gave those directions that gave us pause. As he was about to go the other direction, Woody and I showed our Hawkeye pride by belting out “In Heaven there is No Beer.” Daryl couldn’t resist and had to show us up by doing his rendition of “Walking in Memphis.” We all laughed…Daryl commented how much Dave Raymond walked with purpose … ”he know where he go…y’all follow him…where he going now…’dat ain’t the way”!!!

Then Woody said it…almost as it was coming off my lips… “Just come join us for some chicken.”

“I couldn’t do that…’day ain’t gonna let me in down der…I homeless.”

“Maybe so, but you’re with us, come on”.

For the next hour or so Daryl led me on a journey to a place I don’t go very often. A walk on the path of trepidations those less fortunate than us stroll along everyday. Daryl's obvious experiences with feigned kindness forced him to move with caution, but for whatever reason he stayed with us. Maybe it was the lure of having a good meal, maybe the optimism of getting a couple bucks from this fun loving crowd, but I want to believe for that moment in time, Daryl just felt comfortable with a bunch of strangers. Two hundred feet from the door of Gus’, his level of anxiety had risen enough that I was convinced he wasn’t coming in. Woody, myself, Chris…everyone in our gang, gave reassuring glances…not looks that begged him to come with us, but looks that said, hey, its OK, your with us, you’ll be fine. No one elevated his stature in our group. Nobody diminished it, he just became another one of us.

We entered but Daryl couldn't bring himself to remove his coat. The server took our drink orders and finally got to Daryl. Daryl froze, barely able to speak, challenged to breathe. ”I’ll just have tea thank you”. As the server went to fetch drinks, Daryl’s face lit up and relaxed. That look is etched into my mind as the symbol of this BBQ sojurn. Relief, delight, disbelief, gratitude, wonderment all jumbled up into a sense of pride, that he’d sat down at a restaurant and ordered a drink. He shed his coat and shared a meal with 11 other people from all across north America. Not a meal begged for or stumbled upon, but a meal he had been invited to.

We gave him the largest piece of chicken. We gave him all the fries he wanted. We shared our fried pickles with him (which also induced peculiar look on his face). But what he relished most was being included, if only for an hour. Telling his his story and listening to others. We joked with him, he joked with us. But he gave us the gift, that twinkle in his eye, if only for short time on this cool and rainy day in Memphis.

Yes we shared. Not because we had to or felt obliged, but because we offered, and Daryl had the courage to accept. So, in Memphis, my best BBQ experience was at a fried chicken place with New Orleans man who had been blown to Memphis by Katrina.

Do I need more evidence that BBQ IS sharing? NO.