I have a passion for BBQ. New York has several premier BBQ restaurants that I have been meaning to go to, but I never seem to get around to visiting. Last night, I was at the office chatting with our new CEO and I stayed there too late to make it to my Wednesday class. With a suddenly free evening, I knew I had to consume huge portions of charred meat. I called Emily—a girl who won’t eat seafood of any kind, but digs the pork and beef—and told her to meet me at Blue Smoke. There was a forty-five minute wait for a table, but sitting that long amidst the wonderful smells of cooking was worth it, once the entrees came.
Emily ordered the pulled-pork with pit beans, a pile of chopped Wilbur was as big as her head. I got the rib sampler, a plate with Memphis, Texas, and Kansas City style ribs. Each rib was very different, but I couldn’t pick a favorite. I might choose the Texas-style, which are like what Fred Flinstone eats, but I can’t give props to Texas for anything. Sorry Dan and Kelly. We also ordered some sides, but they went largely uneaten.
I can’t say if this is the best BBQ joint in NYC, but I’ve never had better (and I’ve been to Brothers, Tennessee Mountain, and Virgil’s). If you ever want to go, I’m always up for it.
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SOTD: Read some Calvin and Hobbes before they get taken down.