What’s with the full-force gushing, the spit-mottled glottal-stop-&-go over Big Hoss? The pulled pork was so dry I thought I might have accidentally asked for pulled taffy. That’s what I got, the pork-taffy platter.
Good thing my friend MO was there to drown out all the ballyhoo, spewing spot-on censure: “It’s not smoky, it’s not succulent, there aren’t any flecks of spice, there’s not that much sauce,” she said, wondering exactly what the pitmaster’s sense of the difference between barbecuing meat and just, you know, cooking it all the way through was.
The “grilled Western veggies” mixed into the diced “campfire potatoes” were pretty much just onions & mushrooms; funny, because there’s another side dish called “onions & mushrooms,” which are caramelized & sauteed, respectively. Actually, fine & dandy—it’s all hash to me—but a little truth in advertising would have gone a longer way.
Ditto the “unlimited soup & salad bar.” What they mean, of course, is “all-you-can-eat soup & salad bar.” Those are 2 different things. Your bowl may be bottomless, but if all you’ve got to fill it with is some lettuce &, in MO’s words, 14 kinds of ranch dressing, your stomach’s bound to hit its limit pretty quick. (OK, to be truthful myself, there were maybe 4 or 5 vegetables.)
I know, I know, you don’t go to a smokehouse for salad. But considering my jerky & MO’s middling andouille, I’m not so inclined to go for ‘cue either. They do make some mean baked beans, though, & some good greasy doodles. They should call it the Mean Bean & Greasy Doodle House. Then I’d go there lots.
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