Burned by the Burn in Tulsa

Burn Co Barbeque
1738 S. Boston Ave.
Tulsa, OK






I don't usually give negative reviews, but this is a warning to all the other suits out there -- ignore the hype you will find about Tulsa's Burn Barbeque.

I was really looking forward to visiting The Burn while I was in Tulsa this weekend.  The Yelp reviews were outstanding, great atmosphere, lines of people...everything looked promising.

But this was the most utterly tasteless, fat filled crap I have eaten.  I was about ready to puke on the walk out.

It was that bad.

Literally just no flavor in the pulled pork.  It was like flavorless lard.  There was little flavor in the sausage and none in coleslaw.

Avoid the Burn!  (Why I am repeating myself?  Because repetition is the key to learning).

This says it all...

I have no idea why Tulsa voted this the best BBQ place, but food wise, I saw nothing to redeem it.

One of my rules for great BBQ is "if you don't feel safe at the restaurant at night, then the BBQ is gong to be great." This place is on S Boston Ave, a gentrified part of town, with expensive coffee shops.

Strike one.

That should have been a dead give away there was something wrong.

Strike two was the bar menu...some solid beer choices, but too many craft beers for great BBQ and mixed drinks with Red Bulls were on the menu -- strike three.

Rating: Clean Grill with Shirt.

Buffalo Café: Montana’s Last Best Place for Breakfast

Buffalo Café
514 E. 3rd St.
Whitefish, MT





Stand on a mountaintop in nearby Glacier National Park and you begin to understand this state’s famous moniker. The blue Big Sky stretches from horizon to distant horizon seeming to crush the earth.

As the 4th largest state in America by land mass, Montana is a pretty diverse place.

From the oil field rough necks on the barren eastern plaines to the unemployed union workers in gritty Butte to the Blackfoot Indians across the flat north country to the celebrity Hollywood refugees in bucolic Bozeman and Helena, Montana means a lot of different things to a lot of different people.

But for those of us who don’t live here, when we close our eyes and think of Montana, an image of Whitefish is what comes to mind.

Whitefish is the quintessential small Rocky Mountain town.

Nestled in the shadow of Big Mountain carved up with high priced ski slopes, Whitefish’s Central Avenue is lined with quaint shops selling western gear and fun watering holes like the Great Northern Bar and Grill.

Sure, Whitefish is a bit touristy, but it still has the feel of a real place.

That sense of Rocky Mountain authenticity hasn’t yet been subjugated to the tourist shops selling t-shirts that proclaim Montana “The Last Best Place.”

But that is an apt slogan for Montana -- and Whitefish specifically.

As I strolled through town on a sunny Saturday morning searching for breakfast, I couldn’t help but sense how fleeting Montana’s greatness can seem.

“You call something paradise, kiss it goodbye,” Don Henley once sang.

Whether it is the proliferation of Montana’s cheesy roadside casinos or the influx of California leftists like Henley, you can’t help but simultaneously admire the beauty of this small town while fearing it can’t possibly stay this quaint.

All I can say is enjoy Montana’s “Last Best Place” while you can.

When you do come to Whitefish, you have to stop by for breakfast at the Buffalo Café.

You’ll be treated to a vacation highlight Montana meal well worth the wait for a table.

While the gourmet specials on the blackboard such as the local huckleberry French toast were mighty tempting, I have a Suit757 rule about dining.

If a place is “famous” for something, order that something.

In the case of Buffalo Café, that “something” is their famous “Buffalo Pie”.

Since 1979, the Buffalo Café has been piling plates high with eggs, hash browns and various breakfast meats in delicious combinations.

The decision making was agonizing. They all sounded so good.

Sausage? Bacon? Ham? Fancy Kansas City bacon? Smoked cheddar? Green Chili? Cream gravy? Spinach? Onions? Peppers?

I was as conflicted as Barack Obama facing a foreign policy crisis.

Eventually I settled upon the Morning Glory Pie.

Epic.

That’s all I have to say.

Of course the Buffalo Pie is nothing like a pie.

There is no crust. I thought maybe the hash browns would serve as the base with the mountain of other ingredients serving as the pie filling, but that’s not the case either.

The base of this “pie” is a savory and slightly spicy patty of country sausage which added just the right amount of kick to the pile of goodness on top.

The next layer is the Buffalo Café’s famous hash browns, topped with grilled onions and spinach, topped with a couple eggs over easy, topped with a hearty covering of peppery cream gravy.

Holy heart attack, Batman!

This just might be one of the greatest breakfasts to grace Suit757’s taste buds.

The spice from the sausage, the pepper from the gravy, the sweetness from the onions, the crunch from the fried potatoes and the runny goodness of the eggs produced a kaleidoscope of flavors, textures and colors in every bite.

I even savored every bite of the buttered local nine-grain toast served on the side.

Normally I toss aside bread as a distraction to the main attraction. But not at the Buffalo Café.

Of course I couldn’t help but suffer a bit of buyer’s remorse -- not from dissatisfaction with my purchase. But from regret from just thinking about what else on the menu I might be missing.

I relieved a bit of my angst by ordering a side of Buffalo’s famous “Kansas City bacon”.

A Suit can never have too much meat after all.

Good call.

More like a cross between Canadian bacon and country ham, Buffalo’s Kansas City bacon was thick and smoky, an ideal accompaniment to a hall of fame breakfast.

I left Buffalo Café and Montana feeling like I had discovered something special.

You should too.

But hurry. It indeed just might be the last best place.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

Shacking Up in the Big Easy

Rivershack Tavern
3449 River Rd.
Jefferson, LA





Everybody loves The Big Easy.

Whether it was a the Sugar Bowl, your buddy’s bachelor party or that all-important “business” conference that just happened to be held one block from Bourbon Street, you’ve been here, stumbled through the grimy streets of the French Quarter and bought the House of Blues t-shirt.

Everybody comes to New Orleans. Everybody has a good time. And everybody leaves with a Goody’s Headache Powder Super Value Pack hangover.

Lord only knows, Suit757 knows the back alleys of the Vieux Carre Better than my home town.

So I always get excited when New Orleans makes an appearance on the old Suit757 itinerary.

Even if I’m only on the ground for four hours -- like today.

That’s just long enough to hop in my rental car, conduct my meeting and go find something to eat before heading back to submit to the TSA crotch-gropers at MSY.

As you might imagine, in one of the world’s great eating cities, I’ve been to all the touristy places like Acme, Felix and Crescent City Brewhouse.

I’ve been to all the popular places like Mother’s, Tujague’s and Galatoire’s.

More times than I can count.

Been there. Done that. Bought the shirt.

What gets me excited now is finding those hidden joints in the seedy neighborhoods outside the French Quarter where the locals go to for good food and beer.

Think about that for a minute.

New Orleans is one of the great culinary destinations on earth. The folks who actually live in this city know good food when they taste it.

I’ll happily defer to their judgment on which local joints are serving up the best authentic Louisiana fare.

The Rivershack Tavern hard by the Mississippi River levy somewhere between downtown and the airport is just such a place.

This is the type of place where if you contribute an old fashioned tacky ashtray to the décor, the bar tender will give you a free drink.

The bar stool I was sitting on was supported by the legs of a golfer.

The bar stool next to me featured the legs of a hooker -- complete with her skirt down at her ankles.

The Rivershack gives real meaning to the slogan, “Tacky, yet unrefined.”

A 100 year old ramshackle dive patronized by bikers, blue collar guys stopping by after their shifts and old guys from the neighborhood hiding out from the misses, you won’t find too many tourists in here.

Or Suits for that matter.

It’s the type of place where everybody knows everybody. Except me, of course.

With such a loyal clientele of drinkers, Rivershack Tavern would probably do good business even if it didn’t have some high-falutin’ chef whipping up creative Louisiana cuisine in the kitchen.

But this is New Orleans, where top notch food is revered as much as Drew Brees -- even in a funky blue collar dive like this.

I kicked off my only meal of the day (so don’t judge my 3pm gluttony) with an appetizer of “Buffalo Shrimp”, a huge plate of generous sized gulf shrimp lightly fried and drenched in a spicy wing sauce.

My entrée of red beans and rice arrived simultaneously.

This classic New Orleans dish is a special reserved for Mondays only.

No Monday morning blues here. I felt damn lucky to snag this quintessential staple of Creole blue collar cooking.

The beans were rich with flavor and creole seasoning and mixed with fall apart braised meat from some sort of tender, tasty animal. I’m guessing pig or rabbit.

Best of all, the dish was topped with a giant link of smoky sausage charred just right with tell-tale grill marks.

At $8.95 this meal was a bargain!

Maybe the food here is just a loss leader to tempt folks into the place for drinking.

Because at $5-$7 per beer, the Rivershack wasn’t exactly giving the alcohol away.

Ever since my visit early this year to the Czech Republic, I’ve been a fanatical advocate for fresh-from-the-tap, unpasteurized Pilsner Urquel, from the Czech city of Pilsen -- the very first pilsner ever invented.

The difference between the skunky, pasteurized Pilsner Urquel crap in the green bottle and Pilsner Urquel on tap is like the difference between Hilary Clinton and Kate Upton in bikinis.

They wear the same label, but the impact on the senses couldn’t be more different.

Following my obligatory unpasteurized draft of Pilsner, I moved on to the local brews.

Nola’s Hopitoulas offered a rare taste of hops here in the bayou where beers tend to be more subdued.

I capped off the afternoon with a bottle of Abita Turbodog, a thick, rich, dark, manly brew that would scare the hell out of your “Bud Light Lime Only” girlfriend.

As I knocked back the last few drops from my Turbodog and paid my tab, I felt proud of myself for venturing out of the tourist comfort zone.

Sure, you can get yourself a hell of a New Orleans po-boy at Mother’s or Acme downtown, but the Rivershack proves sometimes the best food is served to those who know good food best -- the folks who actually live here.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

Blowing My Cover for a Half Smoke

Ben’s Chili Bowl
1213 U St., NW
Washington DC




No one knows who Suit757 is.

I think my mom has some suspicions, but even she doesn’t know for sure.

Why all the cloak-and-dagger mystery?

Dude, have you been watching the news lately?

NSA spying. FBI drones. CIA waterboarding. Gestapo IRS agents targeting conservatives.

You’ve heard about the Homeland Security “No Fly List”? How do you think that would work with Suit757’s travel schedule?

Yeah. I’m not taking any chances.

So I was a little nervous about eating at Ben’s Chili Bowl.

No, not because Suit757 is a white guy looking for chili dogs along Washington DC’s “black Broadway.”

Heck, thanks to the combination of urban gentrification, the gluttonous bloat of the federal government, Ben Bernanke’s money printing and skyrocketing real estate costs, there are as many white yuppie bureaucrats and Hill staffers populating U Street these days as native black folks.

Nope. I was nervous about blowing my cover.

What if I bumped into Barack Obama and he found out about my subversive clandestine activities while cruising the country for spicy junk food?

Could an IRS audit or TSA enhanced body cavity search be far behind for Suit757?

Nahhhh.

Our President would never use the federal bureaucracy to attack his political opponents like some Third World banana republic dictator.

Right?

Ummm. Yeah, right.

See? Just because Suit757 is paranoid doesn’t mean Obama isn’t really out to get me.

So while I was really excited to check out Ben’s Chili Bowl’s famous hot dogs and half smokes, I was on the lookout for Ben’s most famous patron, President Obama.

Obama famously stopped by Ben’s in 2009 just before his first inauguration.

Ever since, this black culinary institution in our nation’s capital has been inextricably linked to America’s first black president.

A sign by the cash register states in no uncertain terms: “Bill Cosby and President Obama and family eat free. Everyone else pays.”

Hilariously, a bumpkin tourist on a visit to the White House used his once-in-a-lifetime 5 seconds of conversation with Michelle Obama to ask this profoundly important question:

“Um. Hi.  Where can I find Ben’s Chili Bowl?”

Obviously not a follower of Suits in Strange Places.

While Michelle seemed a little thrown off by the directions request, I could have pointed him to Ben’s by telling him to follow the savory smell of simmering chili and spicy sausages browning on the grill by the front door.

Famous for its “half smoke” sausage, Ben’s ladles a delicious thick chili packed with peppery seasoning over the browned meat tube.

As its name implies, the sausage has a faint smoky flavor perfectly complimented by the punch of the chili.

The hot dog is top notch too with a slight spicy kick.

Chili dogs are among life’s greatest pleasures. But when you upgrade the components the way Ben’s does, you can see why it attracts the attention of the world’s most powerful man.

So by all means, if you are in our Capital city, I encourage you to stop by Ben’s Chili Bowl and enjoy one of the greatest sausage/chili combos of your lifetime.

But if you find yourself at the lunch counter rubbing shoulders with Barack, please do me a favor.

Don’t tell him Suit757 sent you.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

 

BBQ Corruption in Texas?

 

Bartley's BBQ
413 E. Northwest Hwy.
Grapevine, TX



Texas is no stranger to scandal, corruption and bribery.

Lyndon Johnson’s national political career was launched thanks to the infamous “Box 13 Scandal” in 1948.

Six days after seemingly losing his bid for the U.S. Senate by just a handful of votes, a ballot box from the 13th precinct in what is now Jim Wells County was “discovered.”

Miraculously, all the newly discovered ballots were written in the same ink and all the voters somehow managed to cast their ballots in alphabetical order.

How’s that for Texas creativity?

The vote total from Box 13?

200 for LBJ. 2 for his opponent.

LBJ was declared the new United States Senator from Texas by 87 votes.

Thus began LBJ’s path to the White House where he created the modern American welfare state that has set America on a steady glide-path to economic and social ruin.

Rigged elections have consequences.

But it’s one thing to rig a political election in Texas.

Apparently, that, Texans will tolerate.

Just don’t go messing with their barbeque.

So what I am about to allege will rock the Lone Star State to its core.

Texas Monthly’s revered “The List” of “Top 50 BBQ Joints” is rigged.

How else to explain the inclusion of Bartley’s BBQ in Grapevine?

The twice per decade list just came out to much fanfare a few months ago. And I’ve already been to eight of them.

That’s a pretty good sample size considering I live 1000 miles away from here and Texas is only one out of 50 states Suit757 travels to.

So far, the barbeque I’ve sampled at these now world-renowned smoke shacks has ranged from exquisite to mediocre.

But the inclusion of Bartley’s, a small joint in a run-down strip mall just north of DFW Airport, throws the integrity of the entire “List” into question.

Now, I know what you are thinking.

You’re thinking, “Suit757, isn’t judging Texas barbeque somewhat subjective?”

Somewhat, yes.

But no barbeque eater worth his rub would conclude that the food served by Bartley’s is good barbeque. Certainly not a blue ribbon panel of supposed barbeque experts assembled by Texas Monthly.

Corruption is the only explanation.

That was my conclusion as soon as I picked up my first piece of brisket.

It was so hard and stiff, I thought this cow might be suffering from rigamortis.

I took a picture and planned to submit it to one of those on-line “planking” contests.

Folks, Texas barbeque brisket is supposed to be slow smoked for hours, yielding a fall-apart tender texture that you can just pick up piece by piece with your fingers.

It’s not supposed to be hard like a piece of cold salami.

Like a tough slice of cold roast beef, Bartley’s brisket was a room temperature mouthful of chewy, bland tastelessness.

A thin red smoke ring and a pile of hickory logs out back by the chimney prove that this cow has seen at least a bit of smoke, but I couldn’t taste any of it.

Even the dark bark on the edges had no flavor.

The only way I could even choke it down was to douse the brisket in Bartley’s sweet tomatoey sauce.

The sausage was better, but far from inspiring.

It was basically the same processed pre-cooked smoked link sausage you can buy at your grocery store.

The sides were even less inspiring.

The options in the do-it-yourself cafeteria line were so unappetizing, I opted for some boring baked beans and macaroni salad.

Macaroni salad?

At a Texas BBQ joint?

Yeah. Like I said, uninspiring and unappetizing.

So who did Bartley’s bribe to get included on a list of the best BBQ joints on earth?

Is there a “Box 13” of paper ballots with “Bartley’s” written in the same hand writing stashed somewhere in the bowels of Texas Monthly’s headquarters?

I want to know.

When I fly into a state, I usually have time for exactly one meal. That’s it.

It better be good.

I trusted this “List” to make my decision today.

So I wasn’t just disappointed. I was ticked off.

Like I said, corruption has dire consequences.

A stuffed ballot box in Jim Wells County 65 years ago eventually led to the swearing in of the worst President in the second half of the Twentieth Century.

And a stuffed ballot box at Texas Monthly ruined my trip to North Texas.

I’ll let you decide which is worse.

Rating: Clean Grill with Shirt.

Go Ahead and Take the Plunge with these Two Bros

Two Bros. BBQ Market
12656 West Ave.
San Antonio, TX




Smoking brisket is like taking the plunge into marriage.

The choices you make upfront can lead to results that are very good.

Or…

…Very, very bad.

Without the right commitment to quality meat, good rub, ideal hard wood, a top notch smoker and lots and lots of patience and time, you are in for a final product devoid of spice, flavor or tenderness.

It will be nothing but an expensive exercise in wasted effort.

You’ll be looking to sign divorce papers as soon as you bite into a bad brisket that tastes like a dry, tasteless hunk of unchewable roast beef.
Don’t even think about walking down that aisle unless you commit to doing it right.

I’m happy to report that the bros at Two Bros BBQ Market on the north side of San Antonio know exactly how to do brisket right.

Any doubt is dispelled the moment you pull up into the parking lot and notice the smoke billowing up from the smoker out back.

You’ll know you made the right choice as soon as you open the front door and are greeted by the sweet aroma of cow fat being slowly melted by the embers of Texas post oak.

Two Bros is nothing like the scary dilapidated old brisket smoke shacks down around Lockhart like Smitty’s and Black’s.

This place has been around for only four years, an infantile newcomer to the century’s old art of smoking briskets in the Lone Star State.

Rustically located under some old live oak trees -- a few of which grow right up through the middle of the restaurant -- it’s still hard to camouflage the new construction feel of Two Bros BBQ Market.

But what it lacks in old school credentials, Two Bros more than makes up for with its real deal authentic Texas barbeque.

The pit master sliced off a couple thick swaths of brisket and a smoked sausage onto my butcher paper.

Unlike in Lockhart, plastic utensils are available at Two Bros -- but you won’t need them.

The hunks of beef fall apart at the mere touch of your fingers.

The thick dark crunchy bark on the edge of each slice ignites a combustion of salty flavor in every bite.

The soft tender inside of the slice offers a smoky succulent counterbalance to the bark.

Each bite of decadent fatty beef almost melts in your mouth like bovine butter.

Absolutely extraordinary!

It’s like giving a make-over to Kate Upton, but I couldn’t resist the urge to dip a few hunks of brisket into Two Bros warm homemade sauce.

The sauce is completely unnecessary -- yet completely delicious with a nice balance between spicy tang and tomatoey sweetness.

The sausage approached heights of perfection as well.

Taught and smoky, each bite offered a nice snap of greasy meaty flavor.

Well done, bros, well done.

Even the sides were top notch.

The mac and cheese was thick and goopy the way your grandma made it.

The beans were a kaleidoscope of flavor, balancing the savory goodness of bacon with the sweetness of Texas peaches. You won’t find anything like this in the canned goods aisle of your local grocery.

That’s for sure.

Since it was the middle of a Suit757 workday, a Shiner Bock to wash all this Texas barbeque down just wasn’t an option.

So I went with the Texas BBQ Plan B Beverage -- a can of Big Red -- the syrupy sweet red soda that leaves your tongue stained with artificial coloring for 24 hours.

Big Red is so bad it has never managed to spread much beyond the borders of the Lone Star State.

But as Texas songwriter Robert Earl Keen explained in his song “Barbeque”, “a cold Big Red” is considered obligatory when dining on Texas brisket and sausage.

Like marriage, picking a place in Texas to eat brisket takes something of a leap of faith.

Sure, I did my homework and read about Two Bros awards as one of the top BBQ shacks in Texas, but until you commit to lifting that first bite of beef off your butcher paper you can never really be totally sure what you are going to get.

That’s where Suit757 comes in.

Consider me to be your brisket marriage counselor.

If you in San Antonio -- heck, if you are ever within 100 miles of San Antonio -- do yourself a favor.

Make the commitment. Tie the knot. Take the plunge at Two Bros BBQ Market.

You’ll live happily ever after.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!