You Want Unreal BBQ? Have A Smoque

Being from the embarrassing cousin to the south, Florida, I have a pretty strong appreciation for good barbecue. I grew up visiting my father in North Carolina, Mississippi, and Georgia while visiting other loved ones in Tennessee and Alabama. I also lived in Texas for two years. I feel similar with BBQ as I do with Mexican food and pizza; I can eat pretty shitty BBQ and still enjoy myself, but I prefer the amazing stuff, of course. I’ve written about a couple BBQ joints here in Chicago which I enjoyed thoroughly, but nothing compares to my recent experience at Smoque. I left uttering those famous last words, “best barbecue ever.” Smoque is located on north Pulaski and Grace avenue, just south of the Irving Park blue line stop. This northwest side neighborhood is unchartered territory for me. This city is too huge for me to ever explore it all. The amount of restaurants I’ll never eat in is a soul-crushing reminder every day of my life, but I’ll do what I can, I’ll bite off as much as I can chew and afford and regurgitate my experience here if it’s worth it. And Smoque is unbelievably worth it. Holy hell in a hand basket.

We went fairly late in the evening on a Friday night. They close at 10 p.m. There’s almost always a line out the door. If this flummoxes you, turns you off or makes you hesitant to visit, don’t listen to your brain. Listen to your belly and your heart and go challenge them both with the most flavorful, tender meat you’ll ever consume. While you wait in line you can gawk at the people who’re already eating, try to figure out what they ordered and feel out what excites you the most. I went with mostly new visitors and one person who’d dined there once. He insisted we order certain items and given my indecisiveness when ordering food, I let him lead the way. He ordered for us both, 1950’s style, and the little lady that I am was relegated to my seat to anxiously await my succulent food.

For the longest time, I have been dry rub resistant. I’m not allergic. I don’t hate it. I just don’t love it. At times the ribs I’ve ingested in the past that were dry rub were just that, dry. I like me some juicy meat, so tender it’ll quench your thirst. I was astounded by the incredible flavor of Smoque’s dry rub ribs. Not only was the combination of spices interesting and wildly delicious, but the meat fell right off the bone and into my mouth with ease. Not to be outdone was the brisket, that easily shredded with a light amount of pressure from my plastic fork. Their two sauce options were each perfect additions. My fork ventured over to the spicy side more, but the sweet rocked my world as well.

I loved their coleslaw, a side item I’ve loathed for most of my life, in particular mayo based coleslaw. I love mayonnaise, don’t get me wrong, but the snotty consistency in most coleslaws left me underwhelmed and unimpressed. I enjoy a good NC style vinegar slaw and this was almost a Midwestern twist. No mayo, vinegar base, refreshing and satisfying. Their mac n’ cheese was pretty stellar. It looked, smelled and tasted homemade, made extra special with a bread crumb topping. Yum. I enjoyed my taste of their baked beans very much, as well as the peach cobbler we ordered in droves.

This place is an indulgence. I care very much about how my body runs and how consciously I’m eating. I love animals and I am very concerned not only with how this country processes meat, with how the animals are treated and therefore how the food we are consuming makes its way to my plate, but also with the quality of food I choose to digest. Eating BBQ everyday is most likely a one way ticket to diabetes and other health related issues, but treating yourself to a place like Smoque is something every human being deserves. I shared a rack of ribs, side of brisket, coleslaw, mac n cheese and peach cobbler with my love and it was more than enough. Savor every bite. Lick your fingers. When something is above average good, it doesn’t take much to satisfy. And that rule applies to more than just food.

With food, friends, beverages and daily choices, quality is always important and moderation is key. I genuinely believe we can enjoy all the fruits of this amazing existence healthily, by providing our own balance. Eat those greens and the nutritious offerings from nature and then pepper it with some treats, some tender meat, a small but satisfying portion of cheesey goodness, and maybe a little sweetness to top it off. Wash it down with plenty of water in between good craft beers and share the meal only with those deserving of your time and energy. Life’s too short to waste your senses on mediocrity. Eat and love well.

Danielle Robinson Yoga teacher/ Writer You, Me and Yoga Makes 3 on Facebook Follow: @mastic8onthis on Twitter

A reason to hit up the DMV: Smokey Bear BBQ

I struggle to think of any positive outcome from going to the DMV, other than I’ve successfully allowed the government to track me, I can vote for the next shitty politician, I can drive legally (operative word being LEGALLY), and I can proudly proclaim my residency in the wide-assed, corn-filled stretch of land that is the Midwest. Go me. I’m so thankful and excited to write about a little piece of magic the DMV indirectly bestowed upon me the other day. Naturally, it’s food. Even more obvious is the type of food it was. In the grand tradition of being American, we trekked west, thankfully in a car, to Northwest Chicago, past the safe neighborhoods, the dangerous ones, back into safety, finally to cozy up to the brink of hostile where the ugly bureaucracy sits, dormant and inefficient, like most government institutions. Similar to previous ventures into federally run establishments, this was largely unsuccessful, as soon as we stepped in the door. Depression set in immediately as we saw the no less than 131 people waiting their turn. Eff this noise. How can we get out of this? We waited in a long line to get to the longer line only to be told we forgot a 2nd form of ID. Well, truthfully, I didn’t, but the half-wit man-children I choose to share my life with did, so, much to our dismay we were forced to leave that cramped warehouse where dreams go to die and moved on to our own fantasies, for full bellies and satisfied taste-buds. We left, quickly, happily, back to the car, back on the road through the roller-coaster of security that is Chicago streets, to find our next meal. We set our minds on a specific neighborhood, searching the interweb for suggestions. And then, like the parting of the Red Sea, we saw just where we needed to go. The place was Smokey Bear BBQ.

Located on West Foster, near the Kimball brown-line stop (always makes me think of the Fugitive), Smokey Bear is wedged between a slew of other store-fronts, unassuming yet inviting, doors and windows open, you had us at BBQ. We parked, for free (bonus to being off the beaten path), followed the smell of butter and pork to what is sure to be heaven on Earth. Walking in I was immediately transported back to my childhood, back to Little Italy pizza and other lunch favorites, with the menu written on the wall, the cook calling out orders, and a nice older woman running the register. The selection was small, including just a few classics and some of their own specialties, the perfect amount to execute effectively and efficiently. We parked our sure to be expanding gluts in front of their big screen and anxiously awaited our feast.

Some meals require a clearing of the schedule. This was a Monday, my day off, so I was able to put down some major chow without suffering too many consequences (see: Kuma’s Corner). I was fully prepared to hibernate this away later, sleeping through digestion and any other process this food would take in my body. I knew it’d be worth it. And it was.

We each went for their half and half sandwiches. I’d never seen this before. Half pulled pork, half brisket sandwich. Their counter proudly boasts a variety of BBQ sauces, sweet, savory, smokey, spicy. I elected none of those options. The meat in my sandwich was so flavorful, so tender and juicy, a sauce would have simply masked it’s natural beauty and wonder, like putting a loin cloth over the sculpture of David, pointless, disrespectful even. Accompanying our barbarian sandwich was a side of slaw, North Carolina style, thank you St. Lorenzo, patron saint of chefs! Nothing better than vinegar slaw in my mind, my heart will always belong to NC BBQ, even though I have much love for Memphis and Texas as well. In addition to the 2 lb sandwich and slaw, we each received an additional side, two of us going for sweet potato fries, hand-cut, thick, crunchy, salty and sweet, and I, being a champion of mastication, went for mac ‘n’ cheese. The mac was made with small shell pasta and was so damn creamy and cheesy, I almost died. Not to be outdone was our “appetizer,” the Bear Paw. A coaster shaped disk of fried southern goodness. Mashed potatoes, meat, cheese, sour cream and something else I can’t recall. It doesn’t matter, just put it in your mouth, chew, swallow, repeat.

Food is absolutely a drug for me. If I had an allergy to vegetables or whole grains, a sedentary lifestyle, or a genetic predisposition for weight gain, I may not be able to enjoy the kaleidoscope of eats I currently do. I’m grateful I enjoy every single type of food there is and relish the opportunities to stuff myself in a memorable way. Normally, I eat like a standard human being, never like a lady, but like something resembling a homo-sapien at 27. On occasion, when I deserve it, I eat big and I go home, to reminisce and sleep it off. Then I write about it. There’s nothing more I appreciate in this experience we call life than happening upon truly incredible food, by surprise. That was exactly the case with Smokey Bear. We spent very little and in turn received so much. I will be back.

Walk. Stretch. Move. Then eat. Sleep while you digest. Enjoy.