I have an innate distrust of marketing (hype). Under the big South-Central Texas sky, though, there’s the New Braunfels’ location, and the entrance is clearly marked off to the lefthand side. Enter a small room with two cookers in it, one was close up and man, the grill master, one would suppose, he was dark as night, friendly as all day, and probably as tall as he was wide, with a toothsome grin and merry eyes.
I stood and gaped at the fare spread out under his cooker, slabs of beef ribs, pork ribs, pork loin, pork chops, rib eye steak, chicken, ham, turkey, and several cuts of sausages. Better than a kid in a candy store.
He waited, smiling, and patient. I — eventually — selected pork ribs and brisket, and some sausage, although most of it was rather inviting. He loaded up a tray and passed it through to the counter help who bagged and tagged the meat. Asked about sides, but didn’t try to sell anything too hard. Except for homemade pies. Passed. Just some tea. Didn’t see peppers, onions or bread — all of that was out with condiments.
The dining area was a large shed with long picnic tables, attached benches, in neat rows, ready for more people. As I sat, started to sample, it’s good BBQ, maybe not the best, but pretty fair for what it was, the pork ribs had a touch too much salt, but that only served to enhance the flavor, and I would’ve preferred my ribs cooked just a few minutes longer because I like the crispy crust, but again, this is a minor flaw, and, to be really honest, it’s a stylistic choice of the pit master.
The red image is from the gallon jar of pickled peppers, set at intervals along the rows of tables. Made a perfect Ruby Tuesday image.