The Problem with BBQ

Jamie and I have made it a practice to eat out about once a week for the last couple of years.  Sometimes we try a new place; sometimes we find a place we like enough to make a return trip.  Some places are really uncomfortable to walk into for the first time (for us, pubs have this quality), and some places we fit right in.  We've made some amazing discoveries - Hot Kabob's Middle Eastern/Persian in West Nashville was a spontaneous, serendipitous experience.  Oh, and what I wouldn't give to be able to take Bobbie's Dairy Dip with me wherever I live for the rest of my life.  If I weren't a pacifist, I'd kill for those shakes and sweet potato fries. 

And on to the present Seattle, oh place of dining delights - Burrito Loco right by the Valero station on Crown Hill at the top of Holman Road is the best random, unassuming Mexican I've ever had.  The Four Spoons Cafe on 85th is good enough that we're contemplating becoming regulars.  LC's Kitchen over toward Lake City is a charming place to take visitors, and the cook has Anabaptist ties to boot.  Then of course, we've found good Thai food, decent and cheap Chinese, and surprisingly enough, some seafood we actually enjoy.  However, there is one major problem.

Tuesday was our day to dine out this week, and we decided to try for BAR-B-Q.  I'd heard good things about a little place down in Ballard, Smokin' Pete's down on 65th.  I'd been wanting to try it for a while and Tuesday was the day.  We walked in with high, high hopes.  There's nothing like a craving for good BBQ, even for vegetarian Jamie who just wants to eat baked beans and dip french fries in barbeque sauce.  After some confusion about where and how to order/be seated (FYI, order first, sit later, whoops), we purchased pulled pork and vegetarian plates respectively. 

Now pulled pork is kind of like chai tea for me.  It's what I get to measure a place, and I've had some amazing pulled pork in my day, not the least of which is my family's special pit barbeque recipe: burn down some hedge poles, slap on the wet rub, bury it overnight in burlap bags... oh my!  Then there's my most recent amazing pulled pork from a Florida-based Southern chain called Sonny's.  Oh my!  I expect a lot out of my pulled pork, and I should have known that Pete's wouldn't measure up.  It was a bit dry, the flavor was weak, and the barbeque sauce options were lackluster - either too runny or the wrong kind of kick.

Then, there was the grunge-y music that was turned up a little loud.  And, the lights were painted in yellow and black colors.  Why?  Also, they didn't have fries.  Hush puppies, yes, but no fries.  For another thing, the official name of the restaurant out on their canopy was Smokin' Pete's International something-or-other.  Hmmm.  And I just checked out their web site - advertising "traditional Southern BBQ."  I think not.  How can traditional Southern BBQ happen two thousand miles from the South?  Turns out the owners have ties to Alabama, but they are Northwest natives.  Maybe it's the air out here - not humid enough or not enough mosquitoes to turn out good BBQ.  I don't know. 

This all leads me to remember a conversation we had when we first got here.  A woman we know who grew up in Oklahoma but had lived for years in Tennessee and Georgia told the story of how she and her husband kept looking for good BBQ in Seattle.  They tried place after place and finally gave up.  Good fish?  Yes.  Good ethnic food of all kinds?  Absolutely.  But leave the BBQ to the South.  I mean, I don't go to Tennessee and expect good Dungeness crab, do I?  No. 

Out of this experience, Jamie and I have developed a few BBQ guidelines:
1. Never eat BBQ at a place that's not playing country, folk, or bluegrass music
2. Don't bother to try BBQ at a restaurant that includes "international" in its name
3. Don't eat Seattle BBQ... though we'd welcome your recommendations, because we are a long way from the South and every now and then, you just need good barbeque.