Damn Goode for Big City Barbeque

Goode Company Barbeque
5109 Kirby Dr.
Houston, TX



Houston is a big city. I mean, a really, REALLY BIG city.

It takes at least an hour to drive from one side to the other – without traffic. And there is ALWAYS traffic in Houston.

It’s so big, I once caught a flight from Houston Hobby Airport to…

…Houston.

Yep. Flew out of Hobby and landed at George Bush Intercontinental where I caught my connecting flight home.

Now THAT is big!

But that’s okay. Texans like big things.

And no matter how fast-paced and cosmopolitan of a city you find yourself within the borders of the Lone Star state, Texans always make sure to let you know you’re still in Texas.

That fact always comes to mind whenever I find myself at Goode Company Barbeque.

Authentic barbeque comes from smoky shacks on the sides of lonely bluebonnet emblazoned farm-to-highway two lane roads. Nestled in the Hill Country. Or in the center of barbeque crazed small towns like Driftwood, Elgin, Luling and Lockhart.

But part of what makes Texas such a great nation is that you can find it here too.

Smack dab in the urban hell of sprawling Houston.

This is Big City Barbeque.

If sitting in the horrendous traffic on Kirby Drive makes you forget you are in Texas, you’re reminded as soon as you park your car.

Emblazoned on the side of the barn-like barbeque shack is Goode Company’s mantra:

“You might give some serious thought to thanking your lucky stars you’re in Texas!”

You can also get that timeless bit of wisdom emblazoned on Goode’s T-shirts, coffee mugs and to go boxes of whole pecan pies.

The set-up is classic Texas.

The smell of meat slowly smoldering over mesquite. Guns, beer signs and other rustic décor inside. Beers iced down in an old fashioned tub.

And a long line of hungry customers slowly making their way toward the scary looking dudes with the meat and knives.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear you were in La Grange.

That is, except for all the dresses, suit skirts, ties and Cole Haan dress shoes in line with you.

A trio of indecisive suit-wearing high-rise office dwellers on their lunch break in line behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked me if the jalapeño sausage was too spicy.

You know you’re in the big city when the locals turn to Suit757 – dressed in a suit – to ask for advice on what’s good here.

They’re asking me?

In reality, I’m always the best person to ask – I mean, that’s why I write this blog. I’m been everywhere, tried it all and lived to tell about it.

But I don’t get asked for advice by locals anywhere else I go.

More like stared at suspiciously.

I’m always subject of the ubiquitous, “You ain’t from around here are ya?”

The perpetual out-of-place out-of-towner. The object of the collective head swivel. The guy at Cheers whose name nobody knows. The suit at the pool party.

But here in the Big City, dressed in a suit, like everyone else, I actually -- dare I say -- fit in! I look like a local barbeque connoisseur.

Suit757, we’re not in Lockhart anymore.

“Naw, the jalapeño sausage isn’t too spicy. You’ll love it,” I confidently declared. “And don’t forget your pecan pie. It’s legendary!”

“Great. Thanks,” my fellow suit-wearer said.

After a brief pause, “This is our first time.”

I can’t tell you how hard it was to resist the urge to smugly reply, “Yeah, I can tell.”

“Well, you’ll love it”, I politely said instead, as I thrust my hand into the ice chest to retrieve my drink.

Frosty Shiner Bocks, Lone Stars and Coors Lights all looked tantalizing laying there snugly in their icy beds.

But alas, Suit757 was working today, like everyone else in line.

So I opted for what I thought was a good compromise – a St. Arnold’s beer.

Root. Beer.

Houston-based St. Arnold’s is my favorite microbrewery in all of Texas. Unlike most Texas brewers, St. Arnold’s isn’t afraid to make brews with real taste.

While a St. Arnold Root Beer can’t compare to an Elissa IPA, I liked the idea I was supporting the folks who do such a good job putting a smile on my face once my Suit757 workday is done.

By the time I toted my tray of Texas barbeque to a vacant end of one of Goode’s picnic tables, I only had ten minutes to enjoy my lunch before I had to snap back to reality and negotiate Houston traffic for my 2pm meeting.

But it was the best ten minutes of my day.

When in Texas, you get brisket.

Goode’s brisket was thin sliced and fall-apart tender. Like beef transfigured into butter. Delicious under a thin coating of Goode’s famous sweet tomato-based sauce.

That sauce also covered the jalapeño sausage which was sliced diagonally into big bite sized ovals of smoked meat.

It tasted great, but I was disappointed in the lack of spice. Either the cleaver guy gave me the wrong kind of sausage or my link just didn’t have much jalapeño.

Believe it or not, the spiciest item on my plate was the bread – jalapeño cheese bread impaled into the meat with a plastic spike. Soft Texas toast infused with bits of cheese and peppers, my jalapeño cheese bread was perfect for lapping up that extra sauce and grease.

But man can not live on bread and meat alone.

You can’t come to Goode’s without getting some of their famous over-the-top sides.

Like Texas jambalaya.

Houston shares a lot in common gastronomically with its neighbor to the east, Louisiana.

It’s not hard to find Cajun specialties like gumbo and jambalaya here in “The Bayou City”.

Goode’s Texas version of jambalaya is mostly rice with some peppers, onions and smoky ham mixed in. Trust me, you won’t find that on the menu in Lockhart.

You won’t find anything resembling Goode’s baked beans either.

These beans have no relation to any other you’ve ever tried. In fact, the beans are a mere afterthought compared to the peppers, onion, bacon and stewed apples that make up this incredible recipe.

The spice of the peppers, the savory smokiness of the bacon and the sweetness of the apples create a Mardi Gras of flavor in every bite. Absolutely delicious!

Like all traditional Lone Star State BBQ joints, dining at Goode’s is on long communal picnic tables outside in the Texas heat.

You sit shoulder to shoulder with your fellow diners and make small talk about how good the food is.

When I finally sat down to eat at 1:41pm I thought about how I didn’t have much time for conversation today.

At 1:45 a couple blue collar black guys joined me across the picnic table.

Fearing that my frantic chewing and gastrological grunts might be taken for rudeness, I explained that I had a 2pm meeting I had to get to.

“I don’t think you’re going to make it,” the older gentleman said.

“Well, being late isn’t an option. But leaving any of this great food behind isn’t an option either,” I said as I further accelerated my food shoveling.

I think they were impressed with the eating capacity of this white boy in a suit as we made conversion about baseball and the hapless Astros between chews and swallows.

Sure enough, at 1:50 on the button, I stuffed the last bite of sausage in my mouth, garbled my fellow BBQ eaters a good day and headed off to the rental car in the parking lot to race back into Houston traffic.

As I miraculously arrived at my meeting at exactly 2:00, popped a breath mint in my mouth and checked my teeth in the rear view mirror for jalapeño remnants, I thought to myself, “Suit757, you need to slow down and relax.”

Some day.

Some day I’ll be able to leisurely mingle under the Texas live oaks out in some wildflower-lined Lone Star countryside, food slowly digesting -- and even go back for seconds of that legendary pecan pie.

But not now. Not in Houston. Not with my Suit757 schedule.

As long as I’m still working to pay “the man”, Big City Barbeque will have to do.

Rating: Bought the Shirt! (Or at least I would have, if I had time)

Turning A Blind Eye To Felicitous Fun

The Blind Tiger
120 Texas Street
Shreveport, LA

Shreveport has a split personality.

Sure, it is in Louisiana. But it has more in common with its big brother Texas, just a stone’s throw away.

Cowboy hats and crawfish. That’s Shreveport.

Of course a big reason for the Texas flavor is the flood of fun-lovin’ Texans who crowd into the casinos that line the Red River every weekend.

But as I like to say, fun is in the eye of the beer holder.

For some reason I’ll never understand, these otherwise sensible Texans will drive hundreds of miles to take pleasure in throwing away their hard-earned money.

Look, I’ll be the first to state that if you earned it, you should be able to blow it however you want. But Suit757 being a cheap bastard, losing money has never been on my top ten list.

A few of ‘em may even save enough pennies to sample some “authentic” Louisiana cooking. Never mind that most authentic Louisiana cooking comes from the Cajun prairies and bayous hundreds of miles south of here.

But for many of these weekend warrior Texans, Shreveport is the only taste of Louisiana they are ever going to get.

And the Blind Tiger – situated appropriately enough on Texas Street -- is the place to go to get it. Much preferable to the casino buffets of warmed over crawfish.

The Blind Tiger does Louisiana proud, from meat pies to gumbo to catfish to crawfish etouffee to Abita Beer selection. You can’t go wrong.

Why is it that the most ubiquitous beers are the most bland and boring?

See my Suit757 theory on America’s love affair with mediocrity!

In almost every bar and restaurant in Louisiana, you can order yourself an Abita Amber, a notch above Bud, but well within the bland and boring category.

Fortunately, The Blind Tiger has ALL the offerings from Louisiana’s most famous brewery including black-as-used-motor-oil Turbodog and the relatively recently introduced Jockamo, a hoppy India Pale Ale.

Jockamo was something of a departure for the brewery in Abita Springs. Unlike most brewers, Abita has traditionally shied away from boxing themselves into conventional beer styles.

Turbodog isn’t a bock. Or a porter. Or a stout.

It’s just…Turbodog.

But apparently yielding to demands of beer snobs and hopheads, the boys down in Abita Springs decided they needed a traditional IPA. I’m happy to report Jockamo is a very tasty version of the highly hopped brew – and an ideal compliment to good food.

Like my appetizer of traditional Louisiana meat pies. A mixture of finely mashed beef, pork and crawfish tucked into a two-bite-sized pastry, The Blind Tiger’s version of this North Louisiana snack was spot on.

But the meat pies were just a warm up for my “Catfish Grand Bayou”, two perfectly fried and seasoned fillets smothered in crawfish etouffee.

The texture was amazing. Despite being buried under all that messy goodness of crawfish, butter and cream, the fried catfish never lost its crunch.

Each forkful offered up flaky fish, crunchy spiced batter and decadent crawfish etouffee.

It was like Mardi Gras in my mouth!

The side dishes of fried corn and jambalaya didn’t stand a chance of competing with the center of the plate, but they put up a valiant effort.

Did he say FRIED corn?

Oh, yeah.

Picture this. A half ear of corn, battered, deep fried and sprinkled with Cajun seasoning.

I bet even Donald Trump’s toupee would taste good given that kind of treatment.

Located on the most prominent corner of downtown Shreveport in a building dating back to 1855, The Blind Tiger is just a fun, atmospheric place to hang out. Infinitely cooler than the cheesy casinos a block or two away.

Coolest of all is The Blind Tiger logo on the sign out front and plastered on T-shirts in 15 different colors, featuring a cool cat wearing Ray Charles style glasses and belting out tunes on an old piano, frosty beer within arm’s reach.

Turns out, during prohibition, joints like this would put a stuffed tiger in the window signaling to the -- shall we say -- more “fun-loving” of the local populous that there was an upstairs room with drinking, gambling and felicitous companionship to be had.

Seems like liberals and nanny-state do-gooders have been trying to spoil our fun for centuries. But you could always count on the tiger in the window to “turn a blind eye” to the activities upstairs.

Oh, yeah. I just HAD to add one of those cool Blind Tiger T-shirts (navy blue XL, please) to my vast Suit757 collection.

My fried corn and Catfish Grand Bayou may only be figments of my dreams, but my shirt will serve as a reminder that there are still parts of this great country where fun is still legal.

Just look for the blind tiger.

Rating: Like I Said…Bought the Shirt!

Searching Hard in the Big Easy

The Gumbo Shop
630 St. Peter St.
New Orleans, LA
Visited August 22, 2010

Beer selection: Turbodog, baby!

Food: Bland, touristy Creole food.

For a city and state so famous for good food, it is surprisingly hard to find a great meal in New Orleans’ French Quarter.

Nope. The fact is, the French Quarter is all about drinking, not eating.

I’ve been coming to New Orleans since my first Mardi Gras trip in high school (that was a long time ago). Business trips, basketball tournaments and bachelor parties.

The Big Easy is always good for a good time. And no trip to the Crescent City is complete without a stroll through the Quarter. Just don’t do it hungry.

I mean, if Suit757 can’t find a good place to eat, you know the pickins are slim.

Oh sure, Felix and Acme are always good for sliding down a few Louisiana raw oysters. And the Central Grocery is fine if you want a muffuletta to go. And of course the Café du Monde is justifiably famous for their powdered sugar beignets. And who hasn’t stood in line at 3am at that infamous Bourbon Street Krystal on the stumble back to the hotel?

But a mouth tingling, destination dining spot to indulge in everything that makes Louisiana food famous?

New Orleans has plenty of those. They just aren’t in the touristy Vieux Carre.

Trust me, I’ve looked.

Unfortunately, after checking out The Gumbo Shop on Sunday night, I’m still looking.

The best thing about this little tourist spot around the corner from Jackson Square is they have Abita Turbodog on draft, one of my favorite beers in America.

Almost every restaurant in the state serves Abita Amber, a rather bland easy drinking offering by the Louisiana microbrewery up in Abita Springs.

But real men drink Turbodog.

I mean, it just sounds manly.

And looks it too. Black as Louisiana swamp water, Turbodog tastes as heavy as it looks. A dark, powerful, full-flavored beer that leaves a sweet aftertaste.

What I like about Abita beers is they don’t categorize their brews. They don’t call Abita Turbodog a stout or a porter or a triple bock.

It’s just…

…Turbodog.

One of a kind.

Unfortunately, the Gumbo Shop serves it in tiny 12 oz. glasses for way too much money.

But then again, I was here to eat. The “Huge Ass” 32oz traveler could wait for Bourbon Street. Now that’s what I call desert!

There wasn’t much indecision about what to order. When the joint is called “The Gumbo Shop”, well, you order gumbo.

Imagine my disappointment when the namesake trademark dish came out of the kitchen barely above room temperature. And the only thing scarcer than the crab and shrimp was the spice.

Bland, lukewarm tourist gumbo. That’s the gumbo served at The Gumbo Shop.

The jambalaya I ordered on the side was a little better. At least it had been heated at some point in its existence. And the sausage and chicken were more generously applied than the gumbo’s crab and shrimp.

I also sampled the red beans and rice with sausage, which was okay, but again, a little bland.

Of course I knew what my problem was.

I had just spent the prior 48 hours eating my way across the bayous and prairies of Louisiana Cajun country, where real Cajun food comes from, enjoying some of the most spectacular meals of my life.

I was spoiled. Spoiled rotten.

It would have been like seeing Hank Williams, III open for Brittney Spears. Even if she got naked, I’d be disappointed.

A touristy joint in the French Quarter is just going to be a let down after Café Des Amis, D.I.’s and Prejean’s.

So, 32 oz. Turbodog in hand, my search for an exciting French Quarter meal continues. Bummer. Guess I’ll just have to keep coming back.

Rating: Would Wear The Shirt If They Paid Me.