I love BBQ, good BBQ. Slow-smoked meats and fish, when prepared correctly, stop me in my tracks and render me silent. I have had the pleasure of dining around our country at some of the best regional, nationally renowned, and hard-to-find spots. Digging into the distinctively different sauce and rub profiles and cooking methods particular to the different areas of the country makes my heart swoon. I grew up with family grilling all sorts of things, however, my first true BBQ introduction was in KCMO.

My vegetarian, long-haired, 20-something self had just moved to Kansas City. Very late on the first Friday night there and after finishing my fair share of a bottle of Jack, Arthur Bryant’s BBQ came into my life. How I got talked into going to Bryant’s BBQ is still a bit of a blurry mystery. What is vivid as yesterday is the dense clouds of hickory smoke, good enough to eat, drifting in the night as we exited the car at 18^th and Brooklyn. I remember walking under the red and white awnings and into the bright fluorescent-lit hallowed ground filled with old school white Formica-topped tables and metal chairs with red vinyl cushions, in a line on the black and white tile floor. At the end of the room a tall plexiglass wall runs the width of the building. Metal stanchions, like you see at ballparks, are there to guide patrons toward the order window.

Your job is to figure out how much you can eat, order quickly from the gentleman behind the window, to take your tray down the line past the open wood-burning pit and to not drool while watching your order being made. A large piece of brown butcher paper gets pulled out and placed in front of you, then two slices of white bread in the middle, your protein of choice (full rack, burnt ends, brisket) that lands squarely in the middle of the bread, an old paintbrush sits in a bowl of heaven-sent BBQ sauce waiting to slather your meat. Next, are sliced pickles and a large handful of hot fries and in a flash your whole meal is wrapped up and slid down the countertop to the cashier. This gentleman rings you up and offers either Coke or beer. Choose beer. The coldest frost-covered glass gets pulled out of a coffin-style ice chest with black folding flaps and filled with good ol' PBR draft. From ordering to paying takes less than three minutes.

Every table has a sauce and condiment caddy — hot or regular sauce, salt and pepper and extra napkins — minimalist dining at its finest. The silent buzz of happy, munching people fills the room. That first night I remember staring in awe at three giant 5-gallon glass water bottles filled with Bryant’s famous sauce, sitting at room temperature on the window ledge to brew. As I continued to watch one of the bottles, large bubbles slowly rose to the top. Hmmmm. I am on the older side; this was a while ago and times have changed.

I consumed a whole rack of the best ribs I had ever eaten, several cold beers and managed to slather my shirt in sauce. That was my reentry into the world of being a carnivore and a lifelong love of Bryant’s and good BBQ. After this virus is under control, a BBQ road trip is in order. In the meantime, it’s low and slow cooking here at home.

What and where is your favorite BBQ spot and or experience? Please share!

Live well …

Great BBQ memories

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