Chow-Chow Down on the Best BBQ in Alabama

Full Moon Bar-B-Que
525 25th St. South
Birmingham, AL





Wow! That was incredible.

That’s all I could say to myself as I scavenged the last orphaned morsel of pork off my plastic tray at Birmingham’s Full Moon Bar-B-Que.

Have you ever eaten something so exquisite that you were filled with regret when you finished it? Like the end of a world-class roller coaster ride.

That’s it? Over so soon?

I wanted more.

I should have tried Full Moon’s bacon studded baked beans. Or world famous spicy cole slaw. Or homemade chocolate chip cookies.

Hell, what I really wanted was a whole ‘nother BBQ sandwich.

Full Moon’s chopped BBQ sandwich was a life-altering experience.

The smoky pork consisted of a harmonious comingling of both the hard outer portions and soft, moist inner portions of the pig, resulting in an indescribable textural crunch in every bite.

Ladled over the top of the pork was a zesty homemade barbeque sauce. Not so much to saturate and dominate the flavor of the smoky pig, but just enough to add some juicy zing to the meat.

Most mind blowing of all, a modest application of Full Moon’s world famous chow-chow on top of all this goodness elevated this sandwich to meal fit for the gods.

Yes. Chow-chow on the BBQ sandwich.

Okay. I had you, and then I lost you. Right?

You Southern barbeque purists are asking, what the hell is chow-chow doing on a chopped pork sandwich?

You Yankees are just asking, what the hell is chow-chow?

Well, my dear Suits in Strange Places readers, let me address both concerns.

Chow-chow is a Southern relish of green tomato, onion and peppers mixed together into a condiment that adds both sweet and spicy to any dish.

You can pick up homemade chow-chow from Southern Baptist Church ladies, small town lunch counters and roadside farm stands selling Georgia peaches, Vidalia onions and boiled peanuts.

Chow-chow is as southern as fried pickles, the Stars and Bars and Bear Bryant’s houndstooth hat.

And let me tell you – Full Moon’s version of chow-chow is incredible on their BBQ sandwich.

Now there is a certain segment of barbeque purists out there who believe the only thing that belongs on a BBQ sandwich is the smoky flavor of the hickory that magically permeates the meat after hours slowing smoking in the pit out back.

I have two words for y’all.

TRY. IT.

The crunch of the pork, the zing of the sauce and the sweet and spicy zest of the chow-chow conspire to create a symphony of flavor and texture that will change your life forever.

Try it.

I promise you won’t be disappointed.

As evidence backing my claim, I submit the crowds of folks packing this little place at lunch time.

I think it’s safe to say Alabamans know a thing or two about good barbeque. And they have voted overwhelmingly with their feet and stomachs as they’ve beaten a path to this little joint just south of downtown Birmingham.

While this location is the original, Full Moon has blossomed into a small chain of about eight outposts in the metro area.

I almost passed the place by when I pulled up in my subcompact Fiat rental.

With a bright colorful smiling moon face covering its cinder block exterior, Full Moon Bar-B-Que looks more like a strip joint than a legendary barbeque pit.

The fleet of giant catering trucks with slick logos and “Best Little Pork House in Alabama” emblazoned on the sides parked out back wasn’t encouraging either.

When a barbeque joint branches off into catering, it’s usually the kiss of death.

But not here.

When you build barbeque this good, they will come. And Full Moon is doing its best to feed them all.

By 11:30am, the dining room was packed.

Truckers, suits and even a politician all the locals addressed as “Judge”, were all there to indulge in the city’s best barbeque.

The walls are covered floor to ceiling in Alabama Crimson Tide memorabilia. Except for a few token corners for Auburn Tiger and UAB Blazer fans.

But that’s what makes great barbeque so great.

White collar, blue collar. Republican, Democrat. White, black.

Roll Tide, War Eagle.

You can get them all to agree on one thing in this cozy dining room of barbeque excellence – barbeque doesn’t get any better than this.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

The Ribs That Dreams Are Made Of

Dreamland Bar-B-Que
1427 14th Avenue South
Birmingham, AL



Bread. Ribs. Beer.

What else do you need?

Nothing. You’ve got to love Dreamland BBQ. My kind of place.

I’ve always considered Dreamland to be the perfect restaurant for anyone on a diet.

As long as it is a low carb diet.

Every other restaurant in America wants to tempt you with carb-loaded sides like corn bread, hush puppies, baked beans and biscuits.

Look, if you put it in front of me, and it’s good, I’m going to eat it.

But John “Big Daddy” Bishop, who founded Dreamland as a small cafe in the college town of Tuscaloosa in 1958 never wanted to mess with any of that.

Bread. Ribs. Beer. That’s all anyone needs.

And the bread – a couple slices of grocery-store bought Sunbeam white bread thrown on the plate – is so untempting, it really shouldn’t even count. No way I’m wasting precious stomach vacancy on that stuff.

Well, okay, maybe a few bites to lap up some of that famous tangy Dreamland sauce.

But it’s always been the meat alone that has been the star of the show at Dreamland.

Racks and racks of meaty spare ribs slowly smoke over the open pit imbuing the entire restaurant with the sweet smell of smoldering hickory and simmering pig meat.

If God has a BBQ pit (and I sure as he--, er heck, hope he does), this must be what heaven smells like.

If your idea of ribs is those “fall-off-the-bone” yuppified baby backs served at your neighborhood Chili’s, you need to get that out of your head right now.

It’s time to grow up and step up to the adults’ table at Dreamland.

Ribs here aren’t tough, but they do provide a nice meaty gnaw in every bite -- every bite full of smoky, meaty flavor that gets boiled away at your local strip mall chain restaurant.

Dreamland ribs are the real deal.

“Ain’t nothing like ‘em nowhere.” That was Big Daddy’s motto.

Unfortunately, Big Daddy Bishop passed away in 1997.

And no surprise, his family has begun to diversify the menu just a bit. Hopefully, Big Daddy isn’t rolling in his grave.

You can actually get beans, macaroni and cheese, greens and sausage now.

But you have to order them separate.

Since this was far from my first visit to Dreamland, I decided to get a little adventurous to see if the new menu additions could live up to Big Daddy’s high standards.

The smoked sausage was five star, all the way. Crisp charred on the outside, soft and spicy on the inside, and absolutely perfect when dipped in Dreamland’s BBQ sauce.

The macaroni and cheese was good too, tender noodles welded together by massive quantities of soft cheese.

I washed all this down with a couple IPAs from Atlanta’s Sweetwater microbrewery. I always enjoy the fruity-sweet flavor evident in all varieties of Sweetwater’s beer.

But no matter how many good things they add to the menu, it’s still the ribs that steal the show.

So I tend to agree with Big Daddy on this one. When you do something this well, there’s really no need to complicate it. Stick to what you do best.

Bread. Ribs. Beer.

Can’t go wrong with that.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!