The Barbecue Belt — Part One

Memphis is the buckle, of course, but other cities can claim notches for the best ’cue.

by

Throughout the South, up hill and down holler, in just about every town — and at some centrally situated interstate exits — there exists at least one semi-respectable barbecue restaurant. Barbecue is one of America’s oldest culinary customs, meat cooked low and slow over indirect heat, an unpretentious, adaptable form. When compared to other traditions, it’s most like the blues — elemental in its simplicity, born of scarcity and strife, a comfort to the body and soul. And like the blues, barbecue boasts myriad regional riffs on one simple theme.

Every region has its hallmarks, of course, but deep in the barbecue belt, a hungry carnivore can find a half-dozen variations, sometimes all in the same neighborhood.

Take Memphis, for example. With Payne’s, Neely’s Interstate Barbecue, the Rendezvous, Cozy Corner, Tops, Central, and still more delicious restaurants, each with its own methods, a Memphian not overly concerned about their waistline could eat barbecue at every meal for a week without ordering the same thing twice.

Though some ’cue aficionados will argue at length about hickory or post oak, commercial cookers versus old-school pit-smoking, chopped or pulled pork, wet or dry ribs, and pork or brisket, barbecue lovers will agree to one simple statement: Any barbecue is better than no barbecue.

Over the phone and over plates of pork and brisket served every which way, I asked five pitmasters to tell me what barbecue means to them. Part One features Memphis vs. Texas; Part Two looks at barbecue joints in North Carolina. What emerged is a celebration both of differences and shared traditions. Buckle your belt.

The Bar-B-Q Shop

1782 Madison Avenue, Memphis, Tennessee 38104 • 901-272-1277

It’s fitting that Eric Vernon, owner-operator of The Bar-B-Q Shop, should begin our conversation by paying respect to his forebears. “He is the start of the core of what we do,” Vernon says, speaking of Brady Vincent, the owner of Brady and Lil’s and originator of barbecue spaghetti, who sold his restaurant to Frank Vernon, Eric’s father, in the 1980s. “You never forget where you come from,” Vernon says.

That turn of phrase sets up a theme that runs through each conversation I had while researching this piece — in five cities in three states, every pitmaster I interviewed is passionate about tradition. Vernon continues, “The core of what you see now is the evolution of Frank Vernon.”

The Vernon family had a good foundation on which to build. Brady and Lil’s success, Vernon says, is owed in part to Vincent’s ability to attract a broad clientele. He could count on the neighborhood’s business, the court crowd who ate lunch at his restaurant, and the patronage of a more famous set — the musicians of Stax Records and Royal Studios.

“Willie Mitchell was a big fan of Brady and Lil’s,” Vernon says, casually dropping the trumpeter and producer’s name. “When the Beatles came on their world tour,” he says, “well, they stopped by Stax to talk to Willie Mitchell because they loved his sound. Willie Mitchell is the one who told them to go to Brady’s. The Commercial Appeal reported that the Beatles came to Brady’s and bought every rib that they had.”

Why do you have a barbecue? It is a time you are going to gather, the majority of the time, with people you love and care about. It brings people together.” — Eric Vernon

Before long, the conversation turns to the welcoming atmosphere good barbecue shops have. I ask Vernon why, though restaurants usually top the list of high-turnover jobs, barbecue places seem able to keep people around longer.

“Rob, our head server, has been here over 20 years,” Vernon muses, saying he’s not sure who’s next in seniority. “I think it’s a toss-up between Carl and Laurie.”

“I hate to say it, man,” Vernon says, sounding like he almost thinks better of it. “This is like a healing place. You can come here and you can be safe.” That feeling is just an outgrowth of the function barbecue shops serve. They serve food, sure, but it’s comfort food; it’s meant to do more than fill the belly. And so many barbecue joints are — or at least began as — family affairs. “Look at the essence of what barbecue is. Why do you have a barbecue? It is a time you are going to gather, the majority of the time, with people you love and care about,” Vernon says. “It brings people together.”

I ask the restaurateur why he thinks barbecue, in some form or fashion, populated the culinary landscape of the South. He answers with a question: “You know ‘Rollin’ on the River,’ and Tina Turner says,

‘I left a good job in the city’?” Vernon asks. “You know the city was Memphis, right? And I do think people came to cities like this from rural areas to try to have hope.” And of course, as people move, they take with them what brings them comfort.

“For whatever reason, strife — music and food go hand-in-hand with it. All the Southern dishes that we love were scraps that were thrown out or leftover or cheap meat, and we found a way to cook and make a delicacy. ‘We’ll just give this to them, give it to the poor people.’ Well, the poor people found a way to season it, cook it, bake it, casserole it, or turn it into a stew,” Vernon says. “You have to have a little strife in your life to get that soul.”

He continues, “When you’re struggling, you’re struggling eating. And the music is still about your struggle. That’s your venting. That’s releasing from the soul. And then you got to feed the soul as well, and the food was that.”

Reminiscing about time he’s spent at the Mississippi River in Minneapolis, Baton Rouge, New Orleans, St. Louis, and now Memphis, Venson says, “Every time I am at the river is a spiritual thing for me. All those cultures just kept blending. And that river is an important part of the culture in the United States of America. It’s where cultures collide. Barbecue is a child of all that.”

The Texas/Tennessee Connection: Blake’s BBQ

312 N. Lindell Street, Martin, Tennessee 38237 • 731-819-4364

Blake Stoker of Blake’s BBQ first began serving Austin-style brisket out of his food trailer during a summer break from college. The young entrepreneur has turned his passion into a growing business in the years since.

“I grew up on pulled pork, Memphis-style pulled pork,” he says, but he wanted to give brisket a shot. His father got him a copy of Aaron Franklin and Jordan Mackay’s Franklin Barbecue: A Meat-Smoking Manifesto, and Stoker’s passion for brisket was born.

“So we went to Texas on a barbecue road trip, I guess you’d call it,” Stoker remembers. “On this road trip I realized, ‘Yeah, this is something I’m interested in.’ I’d always cooked.” While finishing college, he decided to make a career of it. That pivotal summer, he opened a Texas/Tennessee fusion place out of his trailer. He remembers thinking, “Wow, this is more work than I ever could have imagined, but also, wow, I really do enjoy this.

“I’ve been full-time barbecue ever since.”

“It’s just different. Simple. Salt, pepper, and oak smoke. It’s a little bit different than what you’re gonna get most places.” — Blake Stoker

Stoker has since purchased the location for a brick-and-mortar restaurant, and he’s been working on transitioning there from his trailer. I asked him about a timeline, and he said, “Timeline? Covid-19 has put all that on hold.” Still, he hopes to be serving brisket in his brick-and-mortar by sometime in 2021. “It works out how it’s supposed to,” he says.

When it comes to coping with the pandemic, Stoker says his setup was already geared toward patrons picking up food to-go, which has helped, but “I have friends who have really struggled or even had to close shop.”

His most popular dish is a sandwich of his own devising he’s calling the Bubba Cole. “It’s named after two guys I started talking about the sandwich with,” Stoker says. Bubba is the contractor for his brick-and-mortar, and Cole is a Texas barbecue aficionado. The sandwich is a quarter-pound of brisket, a quarter-pound of sliced turkey, and house-made pimento cheese on a buttered brioche bun. “We don’t put sauce on it,” Stoker adds. “We like to let the pimento cheese act as the sauce.”

That simplicity is in keeping with his general barbecue ethos. “It’s just different,” Stoker says, explaining what draws Martin’s hungry crowds to his little trailer. “Simple. Salt, pepper, and oak smoke. It’s a little bit different than what you’re gonna get most places. That’s not to say it’s better, just different.

“It’s all good. I’m not saying there aren’t bad bites to be had,” Stoker says, “but there’s a lot of work to it, and I appreciate any and all of it.”

Way Out West: Gatlin’s BBQ

3510 Ella Boulevard, Houston, Texas 77018 • 713-869-4227

Unfortunately, the coronavirus pandemic put the kibosh on the Texas portion of my barbecue road trip. In true barbecue fashion, though, I endeavored to make something sweet out of strife, and called Mai Pham, a food writer I know in Houston, who put me in touch with Greg Gatlin of Gatlin’s BBQ.

“I got into the business back in 2007, 2008, just had a little side gig catering deal that I had with a bunch of buddies that I played football with,” Gatlin tells me over the phone. “One thing led to another, and between 2007, 2008, and 2010, that’s when we actually opened a brick-and-mortar place over in the Heights, and then things just kind of took off from there.

“We grew up barbecuing and all that kind of stuff. Dads and uncles. I had a great-uncle who actually had a little place in Louisiana over near Shreveport, a little barbecue joint,” Gatlin remembers. He says he remembers watching his uncle cook up pork shoulders and shanks.

“In 2015 we moved into a larger location just on the other side of the freeway from where the original was,” Gatlin says, though larger is something of an understatement — Gatlin’s went from 750 square feet up to 4,200. “It’s been an amazing ride. A lot of trials and tribulations as far as how to open up a business.”

“People ask all the time. They’re like, ‘Hey, so when did your dad actually open the business?’ I was like, ‘Nah, man, he jumped on with me.’ My dad was getting ready to retire! He got pulled into this thing,” he says and laughs. “When we started the place, it was myself, my mom, and my dad.”

Gatlin was doing commercial real estate appraising and was signed up for culinary school when he got thrown a curveball: “My wife and I got pregnant, and I was like, ‘You know what? This probably isn’t the time to get into this.’”

He remembers thinking that he still wanted to stay in the food industry, so he went to work for the Pappas family, owners of Pappadeaux Seafood Kitchen, Pappas Bar-B-Q, and other Texas mainstays.

“One of the other employees, she came over with me. It was literally four of us in that small place,” Gatlin says, laughing. “There were some long nights and crazy mornings and all these long lines.” But, he says, “I have zero regrets.”

Then the conversation turns to barbecue styles and regional differences. I’ve eaten brisket, but since I wasn’t able to soak up the Texas ’cue culture on the road, I’m eager to learn. “Being in Texas, it’s a brisket state. If you don’t have brisket, people might wonder what the hell you’re doing and try to run you out of town,” Gatlin says, sounding serious. He does serve other styles, though, including pulled pork. “Houston’s gotten to be extremely diverse, and there’s a lot of transplants. You get people coming from different states, and they’re like, ‘Thank god you have pulled pork!’”

Look for Part Two: "The Beast from the East: North Carolina Barbecue"