Twin Anchors

Two separate people have told me that Twin Anchors has pretty good ribs, and I went with one of them. Okay, New York might not know much about true BBQ, but I'm not convinced Twin Anchors does either. What makes a good rib? Is it the smokiness?

For me, falling off the bone, good fatty ribs, and then, finally, smokiness or the key prerequisites. Sauce options are also preferable, as I like to be my own mad scientist, mixing and matching my exact preference of sauce - which can change over the course of a meal.

I did however, wig out with the combination of whipped butter on slices of soft rye bed. I must have gone through at least five little tubs of butter. Yes, five. And sadly, that was probably the favorite part of my meal.

Twin Anchors, 1655 North Sedgwick St., Chicago, IL

Montgomery Inn: I'm Not Convinced

Okay, let's not get into details, but I found myself in Cincinnati, Ohio a few weeks ago, and a classmate recommended that we all try Montgomery Inn. There are a lot of sports jerseys in Montgomery Inn. I take this to mean that big men who burn a lot of calories and can afford to eat substantial quantities of protein like the barbecue at Montgomery Inn.

I think the big men in sports jerseys should go find a place with linoleum on the floor and sauce in plastic squeeze bottles.

Or they can visit New York and stop by Hill Country or Fette Sau because I like me some super fatty ribs, and Montomery Inn's ribs aren't as lip-smackin' as one would hope.

I will say this for the place, amazingly friendly wait staff. Almost disturbingly friendly. They make people nicer out in the midwest I've discovered.

Montgomery Inn, 925 Riverside Drive, Cincinnati, OH

Catskills Dinners

At the start of this summer, I actually managed to get away for a weekend and head to the Catskills with some high school friends. I tasked myself with feeding us, W was in charge of driving, while K and G covered navigation skills and weekend itinerary.

In preparation, I made a traveling spice bag, which was an idea that had been percolating in my mind after one too many Carribean vacations where in order to have the right spices, I had to buy entire jars for just the one week of cooking. I'd waste a lot of time in island grocery stores looking for particular spices, and then those spices would inevitable not follow me home but instead start an early retirement in its new sun-kissed home.

I had some leftover curry paste from the Thai dinner and shoved that into the bag along with kaffir lime leaves and palm sugar. Also in the bag was kosher salt because I don't like the regular iodized salt that's in most vacation apartments or homes. By the way, at one point I got worried that I wasn't getting enough iodine, since we don't use anything but sea salt or kosher salt at home. Then I realized I eat out so much, that I really needn't worry.

By the time we got to the cottage, it was really really late. First, we had to pick up the car after work and do the drive up North. Then we had to go to the grocery store, where of course we bought an obscene amount of food. Dinner needed to happed quickly, so I decided mussels and claims in a Thai coconut curry sauce would be the fastest way to a meal.

Homemade curry is so much more flavorable than stuff from a can or jar. You can freeze it too. Speaking of which, I should probably do that.

Can you see how huge that loaf of bread is? The grocery store was fascinating because it didn't have the vast array of organic butter that I'm used to seeing. In fact, most of the butter was only available in tubs. On the other hand, the store reflected America's evolving tastes and the product section had some fairly exotic items, including tropical fruit that I don't even see in the Whole Foods.

Our second and last dinner was a bit of a cheat. G had convinced us that we really wanted to go to the FDR museum. We noticed a barbeque joint on the way over to the museum, and on the way back swung in to grab some ribs. Honestly, I don't know what we were thinking.

Who the heck thinks its a remotely intelligent idea to get barbeque in the Catskills? Needless to say, it wasn't very good. The proprietor claimed to have hailed from Manhattan and worked at a barbeque joint in town, but I have my doubts. The meat was dry. We supplemented with an arugula salad, the huge pot of spinach dip I made the first night, Ruffles and carrots.

One of the few positive things about being an adult is the freedom to eat the most random junk for dinner when you're on vacation.

Ribs - You Can't Have Them

For all my talk of ribs at Fette Sau, Wildwood and Hill Country, it all started with these incomparable ribs that I had at the start of summer, and I'm wickedly pleased to report that you can't have them. Just to rub it in your face.

Through KM, I know of two fine southern gentlemen, J and F, who know how to throw roof party. They might not know how to let you in however.

J and F live on the top floor of a walkup in the Upper West Side, and their method of dealing with the lack of a buzzer system is to shove some spare keys in a ziplock bag and toss it out the window when friends arrive. This is all rather quaint and would be quite efficient, if it weren't for the minor inconvenience of a huge leafy tree standing right outside their building. When I arrived at the designated time for the feast of ribs, sides and dessert the boys had promised (oh wait, I forgot they are gentlemen in this entry) I saw some guys shouting up to F, whose head was sticking out of the top story window.

Turns out F had tossed out the keys, which had proceeded to land comfortably in the leafy boughs of the tree, several feet above his guests' head. They had somehow procured a broom (Don't know if that was tossed out the window too. It didn't appear that F had made a trip downstairs.) and were enthusiastically jabbing it at the tree, creating a big mess for the super who was going to have to sweep the sidewalk later.

During this whole snafu, F's neighbor, a very tall man who lives in the ground floor appeared with his dog for a walk. He observed the pathetic scenario and abandoned it with his clearly intellectually superior companion. Upon returning from a pleasant and lengthy walk, he found us, plus a few more locked out guests, still trying to get the keys out of the tree. (Now, when I say us, do not imagine me in this crowd. I was there, but I was not participating. I refuse to be associated with the logistical ineptitude. It is clearly a Chromosome Y problem.) This neighbor took pity on us and proceeded to just reach up and shake the lower branches of the tree, which caused all the branches to jostle slightly, and easy as pie those keys slipped out and fell to the sidewalk. We sheepishly thanked and walked inside the building to trudge up the many flights of stairs.

Upon reaching their apartment, we saw F and J getting everything ready. They had planned a menu of ribs, baked beans, potato salad, corn bread, strawberry shortcake, and key lime pie.

They had been slow cooking the ribs in their oven all day, and had special ordered these jars of sauce from Kansas City that F is particularly insistent about. Then they took the racks of ribs up to their roof to finish on the grill.

Men cooking meat on bones over a hot grill -- for me: total turn-on. (Well, it was for all of their guests, but I'm going to pretend it was for me.)

When F ascertained the ribs were ready, he slathered on the precious sauce.

Which they proceeded to greadily drink up into their fatty meaty insides. Yum Yum Yum YUM yum. I ate 6 ribs. All the sides were delicious. I ate so much that I passed out on their couch, while everyone went up to the roof to actually socialize.

Have you noticed this pattern of passing out? I have a problem. I'm like that drunken uncle at the holiday party that overimbibes and makes himself a hundred pounds plus of physical sleepy nuisance.

At least you know that the circulatory system in my body is really a team player. Once that food hits the gullet, the brain really is rather accomodating and just gives up on reasonable requests for blood and sends it all down to digest the obscene amounts of food I've just sent down. Ugh, that's a rather gross depiction isn't it?

Maybe this will make you feel better. J's first dessert. It just warms my heart to imagine J bent over this cake meticulously placing each strawberry slice. It cracks me up that he's not neurotic enough to make each slice exactly the same thickness. Look at the powdered sugar dusting the edge of the plate. Makes me want to give someone a big ole' squeeze.

The strawberry shortcake looks better, but the key lime pie tasted loads better. The cake didn't have time to absorb all of the flavors, since J didn't have time to let it sit. The pie however was divine. The crust was so rich and savory and crumbly. The filling tart and sweet.

Don't you just hate that you weren't there? Well, I'm not telling you who J and F are because if they met you, they'd probably like you more than me. Then they'd invite you next summer. Even if I managed to beg successfully for an invite myself, I'd have to compete with you for some ribs. And you saw that their grill was already filled to capacity. They don't have room for any more. And I can't afford to fight you for the limited supply. There's a scheduled nap and couch waiting for me. I can't disappoint.

Hill Country - Travesty

The two best things to have at Hill Country are the moist brisket at the pork ribs. This knowledge in hand and knowing that Wildwood really isn't a viable competitor, I took my mom who was visiting from out of town. C, J and W joined in on what should have been a night of serious chow down.

After we explained the somewhat complicated method of ordering (take little card, go to each station, grab a tray and order by weight for meats and serving size for sides), we headed over to the meat station.

They were out of the pork ribs and the moist brisket. WHAT?! That's the sort of thing one should point out before guests are seated. It's like going to a seafood restaurant and finding out they're out of seafood, or going to brunch and finding out their out of eggs.

Well, at least it was an opportunity to try the other meats. That's beef shoulder and beef ribs. We also tried lean brisket and pork chop. I'd already tried the sausage, which is okay. The beef rib at Wildwood is better than the beef ribs at Hill Country.

I don't see the point of eating poultry at a bbq establishment.

And yes, now I can definitely say that the two things really worth getting at Hill Country are the moist brisket and pork ribs.

The sides were still decent: green bean casserole, pickled cucumer salad, bean salad.

Well, not all of the sides: mac n cheese and deviled eggs did not fare as well.

Not Wild about Wildwood

I finally tried Wildwood, but the path there was long and arduous. Basically, W and I got so caught up Friday night griping about work and the presidential elections that we got completely bungled in the head. Or more accurately, I got so caught up griping, and W was so good at listening that neither of us were paying any attention.

I had heard that Wildwood wasn't worth my time of a day from a barbeque aficionado (i.e. friend that comes from a place that actually serves real barbeque). Nevertheless, I have really been wanting to go to Wildwood. It is my Apotheke. Which really shows you how wide the gap is between K and I.

And it's really a shame that so much cumulative effort went into getting to Wildwood. We got lost at least twice on the subway and at least twice more walking around. At one point, Wilson asked if we were headed west (wrong direction) and I assured him that we had just passed 5th Avenue and everything was fine. Two avenue block later and we are coming up on 8th Avenue. All this in the rain with one umbrella.

My friend was right, Wilwood is not worth my time of day, except it was worth it to go so that I could taste it with my own lips and speak with authority. We ordered the Memphis Style Baby- Back Ribs, brisket, and a beef short rib. The ribs were non offensive, decently tasty with the sauce, but not as meaty, tender or fatty as the ribs at Hill Country. The brisket was tender. The texture was pretty darn good, but the flavor was lacking in comparison. This sounds like a truly low blow but it almost tasted boiled or steamed or just generally not really highly seasoned or super smoky. It really relied on the sauce, which to me is a dangerous sign. The short rib suffered a similar problem. The texture was pretty good, but the flavor was lacking oomph. In fact, I'd argue the short rib could have been slow cooked longer to really make it more melt in your mouth.


The coleslaw is really light, which is good because it was the only side we got and had to cut the fatty taste of the three other meals. My advice is to go hear on a pinch, but Hill Country and Fette Sau are better.