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Brother Jimmy’s Carolina ‘Cue

Brother Jimmy’s BBQ’s pulled pork sandwich with coleslaw option, this one from the Union Square branch. Note the presence of the charred outer parts of the meat, sometimes known as “Mr. Brown.”

[In connection with a feature that will be appearing this Wednesday in the Village Voice, I’ve revisited half a dozen barbecues, old places I hadn’t been to in years, and new places I hadn’t had a chance to visit before. Here are some thumbnail sketches of my experiences.]

If you’re a fan of great barbecue, it’s easy to ignore Brother Jimmy’s. When I went 10 years ago, I found the ‘cue awful. But maybe I wasn’t focusing on the right things. Or maybe the place has simply gotten better, as the quality of New York barbecue has risen dramatically.

On an early weekend afternoon, just before the basketball-cheering hordes begin to arrive.

Brother Jimmy’s never claimed to be much, a down-and-dirty rib joint where the emphasis was more on booze and rollicking good times than on the food. But now the place loudly proclaims its Carolina affiliations, and caters to alumni of schools like Clemson, University of North Carolina, Wake Forest, and North Carolina State, and proudly shows their sports contests on multiple screens. Foamy pitchers of beer are seen on every table on weekend afternoons, and cheers periodically shake the rafters.

In this context, it may be difficult to pay attention to the barbecue, but i found the iconic pulled pork sandwich to verge on the very good. Keep in mind that Carolina pulled pork — originally, and sometimes still made from whole hogs — is often not all that smoky. It is, though, conventionally doused with white vinegar, and the version at Brother Jimmy’s was. Vinegar-based slaw is usually put right in the sandwich. At Brother Jimmy’s, the slaw is served on the side and it’s mayo-based. Put it on the sandwich anyway, with the accompanying dill pickle slices, and you’ve got a great sandwich. Certainly, the version of this classic at Fletcher’s Brooklyn Barbecue is better, but then Jimmy’s has branches all over Manhattan, while Fletcher’s is practically in the Gowanus Canal. Besides, at Jimmy’s you get to eat the sandwich in the presence of Southerners, which is novel in NYC. Heck, you may be a Southerner yourself.

But the really glory of Jimmy’s is their Brunswick stew. This is a North Carolina and Georgia specialty that involves putting fragments of leftover barbecue in a tomato-based stew dotted with what is sometimes frozen mixed vegetables. The tomato base is sweet, and hey!, even if they’re frozen, vegetables are good for you. The leftovers impart a smoky flavor to the sauce that can’t be beat, and Brother Jimmy’s version is superb. Who’d have imagined?

Brother Jimmy’s Brunswick stew

Brother Jimmy’s BBQ
116 East 16th Street
212) 673-6465

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Queue and ‘Cue at Strand Smokehouse in Queens

The succulent rib eye represented the best of the meat output at the Strand.

It’s funny that no one thought of it before: combining a beer garden and barbecue into a single institution. Well, now it has been done in Astoria, Queens. Named after a movie theater that once lurked in the vicinity, the Strand Smokehouse is located a rib’s throw from the Broadway elevated stop on the N and Q, making it a convenient destination spot as well as a hang for locals. But how well it serves both constituencies was not apparent until I arrived there this past Saturday night with a friend from the nabe to find the place mobbed, with long lines for meat and beverages, and only a few days after opening.

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From top left corner going clockwise: collards, pork belly, pulled pork, pastrami, rib eye, and cheese-and-macaroni salad.

It was a big mob, too, because the place must seat at least a couple hundred, with further seasonal outdoor seating in front on the street and in the back in a courtyard, now peopled only with cigarette smokers. A long counter runs along one side of the room, where customers line up separately for barbecue (the evening’s offerings chalked above the station) and booze (including boutique whiskies, craft-brewed beers, and cocktails). A band playing a kind of ragged country folk on the other side of the room doubled an already ear-splitting volume level.

Of course, the genius of the concept is that liquor will always trump food, and the beer-garden aspect of the place handily wins out, making the smoked meats seem almost like an afterthought. Nevertheless, the wait for flesh is long, and some of the ‘cue is good. At 9 p.m., it was apparent that some of the offerings were already sold out. From those that remained, we picked rib eye steak, pork belly, pulled pork, and pastrami, and avoided seared salmon and what looked like a rubber-skinned chicken. We picked — from a slender and short-on-carbs collection of sides, which didn’t seem particularly well-conceived and did not include any sort of potatoes — collards cooked with ham hocks and an odd cold macaroni salad that featured cubes of cheese. Why not heat it up and let those suckers melt?

The best thing we ate that evening, and a good thing it was, was the rib eye steak, priced at $32 per pound. A quarter-pound turned out to be a good-size hunk, pink in the middle, caramelized on the outside, and pleasantly fatty. The smoke and flesh combined for a perfect texture and flavor. The pork belly was also good, nicely layered and porky tasting, while being only faintly smoky.

The other two meats blew. The pastrami seemed to have been made by thrusting an already-smoked lean pastrami into the smoker, which only dried it out and left the meat stringy and nearly inedible. The pulled pork, which might have brought a smile initially to the lips, turned out to have all its flavor deposited not in the shreds of meat, but in a dingy fluid that coated them, as if introduced separately from the actual smoking process. I don’t know quite how they accomplished it, but it was a clear fail.

The beer and whisky list is really wonderful, with plenty of choices at reasonable prices (the $18 pitchers of brew are a boon). My whisky-drinking companion also declared the liquor list interesting and proceeded to knock back a couple of neat shot glasses’ worth.

A word about the architecture: It’s a slap in the face to the neighborhood and sticks out like a sore thumb. And one can only imagine the noise proceeding from the place in the summer.

Still, grab a slice of rib eye and a pint of IPA, and you’re nearly in heaven.

Strand Smokehouse
25-27 Broadway, Queens
212-684-1955

From the exterior at night, it looks more like some ancient public works project than a restaurant.

As befits a beer garden, the interior is cavernous and no-frills.

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Gold, Meehan, and Me Invade KC

The brisket burnt-edges sandwich at Gates Bar B.Q.

The last week of April, Peter Meehan, Jonathan Gold, and I went to Kansas City for three days of binge eating. The conversations that ensued have been edited and presented in the fourth issue of Lucky Peach — the Summer, 2012 edition. In it we mainly talk about food and music. By my count the three of us managed to eat in 22 places total, though sometimes not as a full crew.

The grisly aftermath of a meal at Gates in which we tried to taste nearly everything.

Visiting places like Stroud’s, LaMar’s, Winstead’s, and Arthur Bryant’s, we partly followed in the footsteps of Calvin Trillin – who long ago maintained that Kansas City food was the best in the world. It may have been a mistake that we took the proclamation more seriously than its author. Here are photos of some of the things that we ate. One of the greatest pleasures of the trip was finding out that the three of us – all veteran critics – disagreed completely about half the time.

The founders of Gates Bar B.Q. in a shaft of holy light

The Stroud’s pan fried chicken was pretty much a hit with all of us, right fellas?

And so were the fried potatoes, at least as far as I was concerned.

Stroud’s cinnamon rolls have their fervent admirers, but most patrons end up taking them home for breakfast the next day.

The interior of Stroud’s

Here’s a place we skipped for lack of time — and appetite.

The double hamburger (foreground) and fry-onion ring combo (background) at Winstead’s caused us to ponder the nature of burgers in Kansas City.

At midday, the interior was diner-like and somewhat dark.

LaMar’s cinnamon roll was too big to fit in the picture’s frame.

Breakfast at Town-Topic

Open 24 hours!

Tamales from La Posada Spanish Grocers

Arthur Bryant’s on Brooklyn Avenue, by sunset

Woodrow Bacon was pitmaster at Arthur Bryant’s for 60 years.

Despite the colorful plate, the first pass at the legendary Arthur Bryant’s was none too great; we went two days later and it was better.

Probably the worst thing we ate in three days was the burnt-edges soup at Jack Stack Barbecue.

On a second visit, the milkshake at Town-Topic was formidable.

These ribs from Oklahoma Joe’s — across the state line in Kansas City, Kansas — generated the greatest controversy of the trip.

Oklahoma Joe’s is located in a gas station.

We checked out every barbecue we could find, no matter how unpromising.

The ribs at Winslow’s BBQ weren’t bad.

LC’s is located on the southeast edge of town — also in a gas station, though one no longer operating.

The burnt edges sandwich at LC’s. What’s not to like?

On a second visit to Bryant’s, the smoked sausage sandwich was a delight.

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The 5 Best Things at This Year’s Big Apple Barbecue Block Party

Pork pulled from the whole hog from Ed Mitchell’s, Wilson and Raleigh, NC. Put the slaw on the sandwich!

We have many things to thank the Big Apple Barbecue Block Party for, now in its 10th year. A decade ago, it got the ball rolling for barbecue in NYC, and is partly responsible for our fair city becoming one of the true barbecue capitals of the country. And the festival has introduced us to many farflung establishments that we might not have otherwise visited. Even though the relation of the barbecue produced at, say, a country crossroads shack somewhere in the Carolinas will always be of uncertain relation to that produced in the middle of Madison Square from a gleaming truck using volunteer labor and the work of unfamiliar butchers.

Nevertheless, a good time was had by all this year, even if the Fast Pass lines sometimes ran longer than the plebian ones, and you ended up waiting 30 minutes for what turned out to be some inferior ‘cue. Another heartbreaking feature was the emphasis on sauce at many places, and the consequent indifferent smokiness of the meat. And there’s too much pulled pork! And not enough brisket, sausage, lamb, and chicken. And no barbecues from places like Arkansas, Oklahoma, Kansas City, or Ownesboro, KY. That said, here are the things I liked most this year.

Chopping the meat in a cloud of smoke at Ed Mitchell’s

5. Pulled Pork at Ed Mitchell’s, Raleigh, NC – This is the irreducible product of the antique whole-pig approach originated in North Carolina: glove-soft pig flesh with a delicate flavor and only mildly smoky. The slaw on the side is its co-equal as partner in the pulled pork sandwich. This is barbecue of unswerving honesty.

Ed is set up to travel.

Pappy’s ribs from St. Louis

4. Baby Back Ribs at Pappy’s Smokehouse, St. Louis, MO – Pappy uses a weird-ass spice rub, leaving the ribs midway between the dry and wet styles. You can pick a phantasmagoria of flavors out of it, and ditto with the dark, notably unsweet sauce, which is not loathsome. Whatever the arcane ideas embodied here – not doctrinaire St. Louis, decidedly – there’s no denying these ribs are bone-licking good.

The Pappy’s Smokehouse Booth was on West 26th on the north end of Madison Square.

This year there were more strollers than ever before — proving barbecue fanatics have learned how to reproduce.

Big Bob’s pulled shoulder is my-t-fine, but for god’s sake skip the sauce.

3. Pulled Pork Shoulder at Big Bob Gibson Bar-B-Que, Decatur, AL – This was the most popular of the 17 establishments presented this year at the Big Apple Barbecue Block Party. The shredded meat is quite smoky, especially for this style of barbecue. The little wads of “Mr. Brown” are a boon, too. But this ‘cue comes with a giant caveat. Leave off the sauce! Or rather sauces, which are all over the map, flavorwise and completely overwhelm the pig. And just look at the ingredients on the label. You really want your meat swimming in soda-pop?

Click on image to enlarge, then read the ingredients in Big Bob’s sauce. Do you really want to put that on your barbecue?

The sauce comes in many flavors.

2. Pulled Pork at Scott’s Bar-B-Que, Hemingway, SC – Despite being first-time attendee, Rodney Scott pulled it off, producing a way-smoky pulled product from the whole pig, and presenting the deep-fried skin swatches on the side. Double trouble! More than any other, his barbecue reflects the terroir of the northeastern South Carolina seaside farming region he comes from. What a treat to have him in NYC!

Pitmaster Rodney Scott makes a new fan

Scott apparently brought this crazy homemade smoker from SC.

1. Beef Brisket at Hill Country, NYC – “This place has the home court advantage,” noted a friend as we munched one of the moistest, smokiest briskets ever, delivered in a generous portion and sided with hipster pickles. No sauce needed. The ‘cue was dragged from pits only a few blocks away, having been smoked in real hardwood, while most of the ‘cue at the festival is spawned using inferior charcoal brickets.

Odd to be eating brisket from a booth, when the actual barbecue is just three blocks away.

View up Madison Avenue from 23rd Street, 2pm on the second day

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What To Eat at Big Apple Barbecue Block Party: Scott’s Bar-B-Que From Hemingway, SC

Rodney Scott’s pulled pork, at Scott’s Pit Cook Bar-B-Que in Hemingway, SC

When I was in South Carolina last October, I did what I always do when finding myself in a barbecue state – drive crazily from place to place sampling every kind of ‘cue I could get my hands on. My companion was the The Palmetto State Glove Box Guide to Bar-B-Que (1997), an out-of-print paen to a once-great barbecue state.

Go inside for the best South Carolina ‘cue — or simply go to the Big Apple Barbecue Block Party this weekend in Madison Square.

I say once-great, because most of the dozen or so places I tried to visit on a day-long drive through rural areas were long-closed. It seems that the barbecue joints had been replaced by fried-chicken concessions, which are apparently much cheaper to operate as far as raw materials go. And the barbecues that were still open were mainly just big buffets with the smoked meat occupying no more than one percent of the surface area. And the meat didn’t taste very smoky, either, since most pits had been converted from wood to gas or electricity.

Back in Charleston I found myself in the company of the famous Lee Brothers, and I asked them what the best barbecue in the state was. I also contacted my friend Robb Walsh, a Texas barbecue expert who also carefully watches barbecue all over the country. The answer was the same: Scott’s Pit Cook B.B.Q. in Hemingway, SC.

The place was a couple hours north of Charleston, but I jumped in my car right away and sailed up there, through swamps and beach communities, past thick groves of cypress and ash. Hemingway isn’t near the shore, but in a farming area inland about 20 miles. The town (population 500) is economically challenged, though there is some pig- and horse-farming in the area, and a little light industry.

Pitmaster Rodney Scott (right) with a barbecue enthusiast who’d driven three hours from Raleigh, NC to sample Scott’s ‘cue.

Next: more pictures from Hemingway, SC

The ordering window at Scott’s

Scott’s is in a ramshackle country store just a few blocks west of the downtown crossroads. There’s an ordering window, a collection of groceries on shelves, and a seating area with three or four tables. A hand-lettered sign over the window advertises what is available that day, including whole pigs for take-away catering. A crew of very polite and gracious rural ladies prepares and packages your order.

Presiding over all is Rodney Scott, a youngish guy who believes that wood and long-smoking is the key to great barbecue. In despite of the decay of the state’s barbecue scene, he perseveres as if it were the last century. He is one of barbecue’s great heroes, and he will have a booth at this weekend’s Big Apple Barbecue Block Party. His life’s work is not to be missed.

In Hemingway, I had the pulled pork, picked from the whole hog and moistened with a vinegary sauce with some barbecue tidbits floating around in it. Extra sauce comes on the side. In this respect, his ‘cue harkens to the old-fashioned style of North Carolina barbecue.

The vinegary sauce

Next: More on Scott’s Bar-B-Que

For high rollers: the $6 ribeye sandwich

My pulled-pork sandwich was probably the best thing I ate in the entire state on that trip, though I did have some spectacular fried chicken, too. I also ordered a steak sandwich, served on two pieces of white bread. It was good, too, but I bet Scott’s not bringing that to Madison Square this weekend.

Stop by and try Rodney Scott’s ‘cue.

Yams for sale on the front porch of Scott’s

What you’re supposed to wash the barbecue down with

View of Hemingway, SC

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John Brown Smokehouse: 5 Best Kinds of ‘Cue

Located in a working-class corner of Long Island City, John Brown Smokehouse has only been open since August 2011, but has quickly risen to be one of the city’s best barbecues.

John Brown Smokehouse is a quirky sort of barbecue joint, like Fette Sau prone to smoke a strange collection of meats. Which is fine, because several of them achieve greatness. The place is the subject of a longer Counter Culture review in the Voice this week, but here is a more concise look at the best the place has to offer, in reverse order of preference.

5. The chicken is miraculously moist and smoky, with the crusted skin less rubbery than that of most smoked chickens.

4. The pulled pork is better than what you’ll find at 90 percent of the barbecues in North Carolina.

3. The turkey is as smooth and tender as the face of a cherub.

2. The lamb sausage is an instant Queens barbecue classic.

1. But nothing beats the authentic Kansas City-style burnt brisket ends.

John Brown Smokehouse
25-08 37th Avenue
Long Island City, Queens
718-361-0085

Read the entire review here.

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South Carolina Barbecue: A Few Thoughts

Like the sign says, Dukes Bar-B-Q in Walterboro, South Carolina. The pig on the front lawn isn’t real, but the people are.

In two trips to South Carolina in the last decade, I’ve spent much of my time crisscrossing the state and looking at the barbecue there. Yes, sometimes just looking at it.

Mustard-based sauces are still king in the corner of South Carolina we traversed.

That’s because I maintain a strict definition of barbecue. First and foremost, it must be based on hardwood, or, in a second-best scenario, charcoal. In other words, the meat — whether it be pork, beef, mutton, or chicken — must be imbued with smoke that comes from wood, giving it a serious pink smoke ring, and a savor that only smoldering wood can confer.

Carolina ‘cue is one of the country’s greatest barbecue traditions, an important part of a list that includes the BBQ styles of Texas, Memphis, Kansas City, and Kentucky. It’s based on whole pigs smoked long in the pit (originally, a real pit, later an aboveground smoker), and then shredded, or “pulled,” and doused with a vinegar-based sauce, primarily in North Carolina. In South Carolina, there’s an equally marvelous tradition of mustard-based sauces. Where did these come from? Well, while the mustard that Central Texans put on their hamburgers is undoubtedly of German origin, I believe the derivation of the South Carolina barbecue sauce is probably French.

The whole pig concept is an interesting one. The pigs tend to be small (around 150 pounds in many cases), but even so, the smoke only penetrates the outer layers, so there are masses of pork inside that don’t get very smoky. Of course, pulling the pork means that the gradient of smokiness is well-distributed, though at some places it seems like the smokiest parts on the outside (sometimes called “brown” or “Mister Brown”) are withheld.

The lower level of smokiness at Carolina barbecues, and lack of cheap hardwood, has meant that many of the establishments have converted to using gas or electricity and no wood at all. Which is why, when I approach a place I might potentially eat at, I go around the back and see if there’s any evidence of wood or charcoal. At N.C. places like Wilber’s in Goldsboro, or Allen & Son in Chapel Hill, wood splinters, logs, and ash are everywhere, and the smell of smoke perfumes the air. Hence, the nose is also a good guide as to whether you want to try a place or not.

The actual ‘cue at Dukes in Walterboro occupies only one of over two dozen tubs.

Fried entities now constitute a major portion of the southeast South Carolina barbecue buffet, this one in Walterboro.

Anyway, after spending a day dashing between the barbecues of Charleston (some better than so-so, all offering traditional mustard sauce, but having a lot more ketchup-based sauces), I “lit out for the territories,” as Huck might say. The object of my curiosity was the region between Charleston and Augusta, Georgia. On paper, at least, there were dozens upon dozens of places in the area. That paper, by the way, was a 1997 paperback publication called The Palmetto State Glove Box Guide to Bar-B-Que published by BBQ Digest. I supplemented that with more recent info on Yelp and other consumer websites, which turned out to be good for listings, but clueless when it came to culinary analysis.

The landscape I traversed with friend and fellow critic Melissa McCart was one of scrub pine forest interspersed with cotton fields and the occasional soybean acreage. Towns were well-spaced and of Victorian vintage, often arrayed along the railroad tracks, and with alliterating names like Branchville, Bamberg, Blackville, Denmark, and Barnwell. Almost all had towering cotton gins, but only one appeared to be still operating. The cotton was just ripening, and vast fields of puffy bolls on rust-brown stalks delighted the eye. In some fields, crews of Mexican laborers were seen working the fields. In Blackville, we drove by a frame general store with a rickety front porch. Guys sitting on the porch craned their necks as our car went by, like a picture taken by Walker Evans, Dorothea Lange, or Russell Lee in the 1930s.

Each town is listed as having from one to four barbecues; half the places we drove by were either permanently closed or seemingly disappeared from the face of the earth. The most heartrending example was Tommy Rose Barbecue in Bamberg, of which this promising description was written in the 1997 guide: “For 20 years Tommy and Rose Hutto have cooked barbecue. They’ve owned this place for three. Tommy built it complete with a custom pit he uses to mesquite smoke his hams and shoulders before serving them with mustard and ketchup based sauces. They’re located right on the highway and Tommy says people drive by and smell that meat cooking and you’re lucky to find a seat.”

Of the places we spotted still operating, nearly all were from the Dukes chain — a loosely held franchise that traces its roots to a famed pitmaster of the late 19th century. The franchise mounts a half-dozen barbecues in this area, and a half-dozen in the coastal lowlands. We sampled the one in Walterboro, a pleasant-enough place with a life-size statue of a large pig on the front lawn, and two capacious dining rooms, one with a wild-boar head mounted on the wall. The establishment unapologetically uses gas in the barbecue pits, of which there were two around back.

The salad component of the buffet line at Dukes.

The Dukes in Bamberg was a lot like the Dukes in Walterboro, but with different signage. Like many barbecues in the Carolinas, it’s open only on weekends.

Inside, as is the practice in this sort of barbecue, we found a long buffet of hot and cold items. There were hush puppies, fried okra, Jell-O salads with baby marshmallows, good fried chicken, canned peaches, oily-tasting mac and cheese, mayo coleslaw, broad beans and other canned vegetables, and a single tray of pulled-pork ‘cue. There were over two dozen offerings in all, plus trays of such desserts as vanilla wafer banana pudding and canned-fruit cobbler. Next to the pork was a tray of deep fried cracklin’s (pig skin), and in a notable anomaly, there was also a tray of freshly cooked potato chips, which were one of the best things in the place. The roughly pulled pork had a nice porky flavor, but almost no detectable smoke. It was good anyway. Loaves of white bread were on every table, and two big bins on the steam table held two mustard sauces — one hot and sweet, one just sweet.

When we reached Bamberg, South Carolina, we found another Dukes. It had quite a different sign, making us think it might be unrelated. We were on the way inside, when we paused to look in the window and … we saw a nearly identical buffet as the one we’d just eaten at Walterboro. Instead of gorging there, two blocks south on North Main Street we consoled ourselves with a “chicken snack,” consisting of two dark-meat pieces, potatoes, gravy, and a roll at a crossroads place called Little Howie’s Burger and Chic. The bird was absolutely superb, crisp of its lightly dusted skin, and juicy as all get-out. I never hope to have chicken quite that good again. The place occupied a wooden building fronted with pine planking. No seating, just carryout.

By the time we saw another Dukes in Blackville, we knew enough to keep on driving. We’d called ahead to Edwards Bar-B-Que in Martin, and BMW in Williston, and learned that both were closed, by using a cell phone when one of the few reception hot spots appeared.

Sadly, the only barbecue to use hardwood in the area was permanently closed — Tommy Rose, just west of Bamberg.

Little Howie’s in Bamberg turns out some amazing fried chicken — has poultry permanently replaced pork in the popular diet in this part of South Carolina?

Here’s what Little Howie’s chicken snack looks like.

Next we went down to Barnwell, a good-size town at the confluence of several highways, and a place that seemed to have once had a couple of textile mills, now derelict. King’s Barbeque — a place that also served ribs, had a pair of vinegar-based sauces, and used charcoal for smoke — was missing from its foundation, but further up the road, across from the Walmart, we spied Hogg Heaven. Once again, a buffet line with the usual, including some very good fried chicken, some not-very-good finely pulled pork that had a vinegar sauce and a cat-foody taste, but some pretty good ribs that had been long in the gas cooker, if not in the smoker.

Evening was approaching, so we headed back to Charleston. On the way we speculated: Who was murdering the barbecues of southeast South Carolina? And why had Dukes triumphed, while independent operators had fizzled? Could it be that using wood or charcoal had become economically infeasible?

It was clear enough that there were plenty of fried-chicken places of relatively recent vintage. Could it be that the price of pork had driven restaurateurs to chicken instead? In a down economy, it was obvious that the buffet at Dukes, with prices set at $10 or $11 for all you can eat, and a full range of locally popular dishes, was a model that appealed to cotton-country diners.

Or could it be that, once the wood smoke was subtracted through use of gas-fired pits, the barbecue was no longer all that appealing, and the public gradually abandoned it?

A plate from the buffet at Hogg Heaven in Barnwell

Part 2 Next Week: Barbecues in Charleston and Northward

Take a look at our coverage of Texas barbecues.

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BBQ Plate at the Cardinal, in the East Village

At long last, the East Village now has its own source of decent barbecue.

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The BBQ plate at newcomer the Cardinal allows you to select three of four meats available, and the collection includes smoked brisket, lightly glazed barbecued pork ribs done to a nice deep shade, homemade hot links sausage, and pulled pork (not shown here).

The plate comes with two sides — the yams are to the right of the plate.

The Cardinal
234 East 4th Street
212-995-8600

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