Bangkok Glutton

We are on the verge of being barbecued out. So far we have dipped a toe into the vast pool that is saucy St. Louis barbecue (the kind we get back in Bangkok), worked our stomachs through the tomato-based charms of Kansas City barbecue, and taste-tested our way through the dry-rubs and spice mixes of slathered on Tennessee pork. We’ve even given in to the South’s implicit encouragement to let loose our inner Lindsay Lohans and indulged in a tipple or two, getting gently soused at the Grand Ole Opry and absolutely plastered at an Alamo Drafthouse showing of “Guardians of the Galaxy”. We have been as thorough in our “research” of the region’s meat and mead as our digestive systems could possibly allow.

But it’s the “white barbecue” of northern Alabama that I’m curious about the most. Unlike the red, sweet and frankly ketchup-y sauces of the American Midwest, white barbecue sauce is based on mayonnaise, tarted up with cider vinegar and pepper for a bit of kick. Because it’s mayonnaise-based, this sauce is either applied at the very end of the cooking process, or served on the side like, well, mayonnaise. It’s something most Asians — and, I’m willing to bet, Northerners — don’t know much about, and it’s served in the tiny patch of land between the northern Alabama border and Birmingham. There was no way we could miss this.

Alabama

Big Bob Gibson

Big Bob has several locations, including a brave outpost in the rival BBQ land of North Carolina. The one we head to is just off of Highway 31, and like every BBQ place we’ve been to before us, it is packed. This is also a proper restaurant, with the feel of a BBQ-based Denny’s. Recommended: the ribs and brisket, and we get a bit of pulled pork to go with it. Of course, Karen also wants the cole slaw, since she appears to be intent on taste-testing every slaw that crosses her path on this trip. And there are the beans, which seem to be properly cooked instead of the doctored beans-in-a-can that have been one of the mainstays of our diet for the past two weeks. Most importantly: set on every tabletop in the place is a big bottle of Big Bob’s white barbecue sauce, as well as their more traditional “award-winning” tomato-based sauce.

Verdict: For the first time, the ribs feature meat that sloughs off the bone. How wonderful to see gravity work on something that doesn’t involve a part of our bodies. Portions are substantial, the slaw is chopped finely and simply dressed (we have been at this enough to develop a preference for this kind of slaw), and the beans are oomphy and well-seasoned. BUT THAT SAUCE. That white sauce — a mix of the sweetish, faintly chemical taste of commercially-made mayo married to the burning-rubber acerbic tang of vinegar — was almost orc-like in the majesty of its sheer awfulness.

So I guess I’m not a fan. In fact, traumatized by our encounter with white barbecue sauce, we have beer for dinner in Birmingham.

Georgia

Gladys Knight’s Chicken and Waffles 

You might already know how I feel about fried chicken. And waffles are okay too. So when our friend Dwight Turner of bkkfatty.com recommended this chicken and waffle place, we made sure to include it in our itinerary. In fact, it might be the biggest reason why we are in Atlanta.

There are two kinds of chicken and waffles. One is the Amish version, which involves piling shredded, stewed chicken meat on top of a waffle and covering the lot in gravy. You don’t see too much of that in restaurants, probably because it sounds a little gross. The second is the kind that we are all familiar with: fried chicken set alongside a waffle with butter and syrup. In other words: dinner and breakfast, all on one plate. The most common myth on the origins of this dish rely on its dual nature: when jazz musicians in Harlem in the 1930s finished their gigs in the wee hours of the morning, they couldn’t decide between breakfast and dinner, so combined the two. And voila, chicken and waffles was born.

Gladys Knight (yes, THAT Gladys Knight) offers a dish fittingly called the “Midnight Train” (an original waffle with four fried chicken wings), but we wanted leg, thigh and breast meat instead. We also wanted to try their other waffles (we tried both apple-cinnamon and pecan, along with original because of course). The combination of crunchy hot fried chicken with sweet, buttery waffle is just as you would expect it to be. In a word: DELICIOUS.

South Carolina

Page’s Okra Grill

We had only one night in Charleston, so we were in danger of not doing our BBQ work that thoroughly (and we all know how vitally important our BBQ work is). In fact, the closest we had gotten to the area’s popular mustard-based barbecue sauce was this:

But that was before we got to Page’s Okra Grill. Now, we have had almost uniformly great experiences at all the places we’ve been to on our trip, ranging from pleasant to heartwarmingly friendly. Okra Grill actually goes beyond this to such a degree that Karen actually became a little suspicious, hypothesizing that maybe they were fattening us up to serve us later for dinner. Don’t worry, they don’t really do that. We are still alive, you guys. I know you were worried. It’s just that these people are so “OMG! BFF” nice.

There is a lot to choose from here, but the menu item that Okra Grill is most proud of is the shrimp and grits. Unlike the usual congee-like soup topped with a few grilled shrimp, the grits here are “lightly fried” into a cake, topping a creamy “stew” studded with cooked shrimp. It’s good, and so so fatty. I can still taste it three days later.

Once they found out about our barbecue tour, they made sure to give us a little sample of their pulled pork and mustardy BBQ sauce. And you know, it’s … just like sweet mustard. Mystery solved! Mustard-based BBQ sauce tastes like mustard. Go figure.

Next up: North Carolina, what many consider the mecca of American barbecue. We are on the tail end of our trip! It’s hard to believe.

Pounds gained: 2,000

Exercise in futile attempt to stave off said pounds: One 60-minute run in Alabama, a 45-minute run in Atlanta, a half-assed 40-minute run in Charleston.

Incidences of heartburn: 2

Pants I can never wear again: 1

Times we have heard Maroon 5 on the radio: 230,357

 

 

Kansas City

There was a moment when I thought about cutting Kansas City out of our itinerary. It was just so out of the way, and involved a lot of monotonous driving on a two-line highway which ultimately made Karen very grumpy. But I’m glad we came. Kansas City is a lovely city, full of lovely people, and its barbecue somehow reflects this. The pork is porkier, the meat is meatier. And nowhere is the sauce any saucier. It’s a good thing Kansas City is so far away from me, because I would weigh 800 lbs otherwise.

1. Oklahoma Joe’s

I have to admit, I get a little bit of a sinking feeling when I see Anthony Bourdain’s photo on the wall. To me, he is the flip side of Bill Clinton: Bill’s photo=generally good grub. Tony Bourdain=crowded and possibly overhyped and full of insufferable food tourists like myself. I want to be the only insufferable food tourist in the room. I think that is the motivation driving insufferable food tourists worldwide.

But I need not have worried. Oklahoma Joe’s is awesome. This is helped by the fact that they are used to food tourists, and tell you what their specialties are up front. They are also happy to serve ribs a “bone” at a time, for people who lack the stomach to eat the full slab. Because, come on. Seriously. I think I am developing gout, and I am not even a 50-year-old man.

The specialty here: the pulled pork sandwich, which manages to be both meaty and tender at the same time. The ribs, strangely, have a smell reminiscent of Chinese spare ribs on them. They are very, very well-seasoned, on the verge of teetering into Salty Town. When we leave, the line to get a meal inside snakes around the front of the building. I have a feeling it’s not all food tourists.

2. Arthur Bryant’s 

The full name of this place is “Arthur Bryant’s Legendary Kansas City BBQ”. I feel like this is tempting fate a little bit. Also: on the wall, not one, but two photos of former President Jimmy Carter tucking into some ribs. Former President Harry Truman is also said to have been a fan. I don’t know if I trust either Jimmy Carter’s or Harry Truman’s culinary stamps of approval as much as I do Bill Clinton. I’m sorry, but I just don’t know.

The good thing: Arthur Bryant’s is quick and friendly, and its slow-smoking oven behind the cooks prominently features several drool-inducing slabs of meat — pork, beef or chicken — cooked over a combination of hickory and oak woods, according to Arthur Bryant’s website. Arthur passed away in 1982 and the restaurant has since been taken over by new owners, but the BBQ is presumably cooked the same way. And the verdict: the burnt ends tender and the ribs are smoky, but that sauce is plenty sweet. I missed the bite of Oklahoma Joe’s or even Pappy’s.

 

3. Fiorella’s Jack Stack 

Next to the more “DIY” atmosphere of Oklahoma Joe’s and Arthur Bryant’s, Fiorella’s Jack Stack is practically Le Cirque. In fact, it’s the fanciest place we’ve been to in a while, with actual waiters who wear uniforms and pretend you are young-looking enough to warrant an ID check, and tables with booths and menus and everything. Karen and I barely know what to do once we are seated, and pepper our long-suffering server Clint with questions about practically everything we think of ordering. Clint responds by sending over a free plate of deep-fried mushrooms. In one fell swoop, our loyalty is promptly bought.

Karen is no fan of beef ribs (hence our exclusion of Texas from this particular trip — lucky you, Texans!) but the house-specific “Crown Prime Ribs”, said to be exclusively a Jack Stack thing, are so meltingly tender and succulent that she is converted. I became a big fan after the BBQ Bloody Mary, which is probably the best Bloody Mary in the world thanks to its generous use of bacon salt. A little more puzzling: the popularity of something called the “cheesy corn bake”, which is actually a cup of melted Velveeta with a handful of corn kernels sprinkled over it. Karen and I speculate what other similar dishes could win us a similar level of acclaim: a “creamy Caesar salad” made up of a few shredded lettuce leaves atop a river of Caesar dressing, perhaps, or maybe a “saucy pulled pork platter” of … you guessed it. Actually, we already had that, back at Arthur Bryant’s. Haha, JK. Love you, Arthur Bryant’s.

Pounds gained: 55

Exercise expended in futile attempt to stave off said pounds: Two 45-minute runs in the Holiday Inn fitness room

Times Karen got annoyed with me: 3.5

Times got lost in Kansas City’s labyrinthine highway system: 2

Memphis

I won’t mince words. Memphis has better food than Nashville. Maybe this is because it’s a “multi-cultural” town, meaning it’s located at the junction of Tennessee, Arkansas, and Mississippi. Or maybe it’s because of the influence of the King himself, Elvis Presley. We are doing Memphis properly, which means we are staying at the Heartbreak Hotel, situated right next to Graceland. Later we discover it’s basically a Day’s Inn with some photos of Elvis in all the rooms. “At least it’s really far away from everything else,” says Karen.

1. Rendezvous

Rendezvous’ most recent claim to fame is the fact Prince Harry and the other one came here a few months ago. But tons of other people have been here, including our very own home-grown princes, the Manning brothers. I did not see a photo of Bill Clinton, however. Or of the King.

The special here is the dry-rubbed ribs. I have told you before of my feelings about dry-rubbed ribs. I STILL NO GET. Why get something that you have to basically douse in sauce yourself, when it could come to you already properly sauced? What Karen and I ended up loving more: the lamb “riblets”, barbecued lamb ribs in the same spice rub, which somehow sets off the taste of the meat and keeps the meat juicy. These are delicious. And I don’t even like lamb BBQ.

2. Gus’s Fried Chicken

I love fried chicken. As in, it’s a shame it’s only fried chicken, because we should be married and have little chicken babies. That’s how much I love fried chicken. So of course I would take a break from the unrelenting BBQ and come here. Thank God this place exists.

The chicken is as awesome as you might have heard it to be, especially after a liberal sprinkling of the Louisiana Hot Sauce set on every table. Better yet, the pies — coconut, pecan, sweet potato, and chess (custard, a local specialty) — have a wonderfully flaky, savory crust that sets off the extreme sweetness of the filling (don’t worry, we ordered almost all of them, so we almost know what we’re talking about). Also, there is beer. It was a shame to have to leave, but there was a line of people waiting. The love must be spread.

Pounds gained: 100

Exercise attempted: None

Baseball games attended: One

Alcoholic drinks consumed: 100

Elvis songs heard: 144,300

Nashville, TN

When we get out of the airport, our host — the kind, generous, saint-like Nancy — is already waiting for us with a car. This car will come in handy as we explore “Music City”, a place Deadspin has called “the lamest city in the South”, “a glorified exurb”. I only know it as a place that sure does boast a lot of BBQ joints in a city more known for its music industry. It is also the home of “hot chicken”, which ends up being fried chicken with a lot of cayenne pepper on it. Sometimes this baptism of spice falls on other, equally deep-fried things like fish. But we have yet to move on to an abomination like “hot tofu”. So on the hipster scale of things, we are at Bushwick, not full-on Williamsburg. Congratulations, I guess, Nashville?

1. Bolton’s Spicy Chicken & Fish

We head here straight from the airport, and are rewarded with a nearly empty one-room shack reminiscent of a noodle stall on the side of the highway on the way to Pattaya. It has that same abandoned holiday feel, reinforced when we read the sign to knock at the door knocker once we are ready to place our order at the window.

We go as all out as we can, ordering a hot catfish, two filets of hot whiting, and of course, hot chicken. For sides we get mac and cheese, potato salad, cole slaw, and greens. Although the chicken is dry, the fish is delicious, blessed with a crackly crust generously seasoned with pepper and topped with a scattering of onions and pickle slices. Wrapped in a slice of white bread, and maybe topped with a little of the potato salad, there is nothing better in this city. That I know of. Rating: Full-on Johnny Cash. (I know nothing about country music).

2. Edley’s

This is what happens when frat-boy types take over a BBQ place. There is the requisite snaking line, there is the requisite DIY beverage station, there are the requisite tables at which to tentatively plant your burgeoning behinds as you attempt to balance your trays of food and drinks without spilling them on anyone. We get a pulled pork platter with greens and mac and cheese. The mac manages to be bland and the greens are too salty. The pulled pork is meh. I would rate this a Blake Shelton.

3. Hattie B’s

I cannot go without hot chicken for more than 24 hours, so we find ourselves in yet another long, snaking line, the most intimidating of the lines that we have encountered yet. This is on its way to being a Disney Ride line. In the sweltering heat. Luckily, the chicken is juicy when we get it. Unluckily, it is nowhere near “hot”. Have my tastebuds become calloused from years in the tropics? At least we got to stand in line for a long time. Rating: Is there a country music version of Justin Bieber?

4. Peg Leg Porker

Owned by a man who lost his right leg to an aggressive form of bone cancer, Peg Leg Porker proudly sports the mascot of a pig with a “peg leg”, painted prominently on the side of the building as you pull into the parking lot. Inside, the ambience is that of a Las Vegas hotel lounge full of people on the tail end of a particularly vicious losing streak, but service is nice and prompt, and generously accommodating even though we order more after the kitchen has officially closed. The special here is the “dry-rubbed ribs”, so we order a rack alongside a pulled pork sandwich, baked beans and cole slaw (which is quirky becoming Karen’s own personal barometer of quality). The verdict: I am beginning to think “dry” ribs are God’s way of saying that there are aspects to American cooking that I will never fully understand, and that’s OK. Not everyone gets durian, or shrimp paste chili dip, or stink bean. Maybe we should just let things be, and not think about them too much. Rating: Keith Urban, whom I also don’t get.

5. Martin’s Bar-B-Que Joint

Is BBQ really spelled that way here? I am too lazy to google. This tells you something about Martin’s. This tells you that it’s the kind of place to pile a bunch of pre-existing components together into one dish, dub it with a catchy name, and trick people into thinking they are ordering something unique and special when really they are just eating a bunch of crap piled up on each other under the guise of something different. What I’m talking about is the “redneck taco”, which takes “hoe cake” (WHAT IS THIS) and ruins it the way all bread-like items are ruined when wet things are put on top of them. In this instance, the wet items are pulled pork, cole slaw, and a generous slathering of sweet BBQ sauce. It recalls all the things I hate about Ethiopian food, without any of the good qualities. Good things: lovely service, and a very efficient ordering system. Rating: Taylor Swift, who is actually a pop music artist and not country

To summarize:

Pounds gained: Maybe 20 each

Exercise employed in futile attempt to stave off said pounds: Nancy’s fitness room is under renovation, so we do Jillian Michaels’ “30-minute shred level 1” (a lot of jumping jacks) and her mammoth, sadistic “6-week 6-pack abs level 1”.

Pairs of pants ruined: one

Places missed: Prince’s Hot Chicken

St. Louis

The “gateway to the West”, driving into St. Louis really does feel like driving back up into the north. And that is all I have to say about St. Louis.

1. Pappy’s Smokehouse

We have time for one place, so we’d better make that place count. Why not make it Pappy’s, where a line forms promptly at 11 on the dot and diners are already vying for the best tables before the door even opens. Pappy’s, known for its brisket, serves until it runs out — a very Thai concept. To keep track, there is a blackboard of doom listing items that are gone if you get there too late. Happily, the blackboard of doom does not come into play for us. We get ribs, burnt ends, brisket and sweet potato fries. It is, easily, the best barbecue we’ve had so far on our trip. Where have you been all my life, Pappy’s?

Pounds gained: 5

Exercise employed in futile attempt to stave off pounds: Absolutely none.

Places missed: C&K, Bogart’s, Sugarfire