To be fair, Brits have come a long way on the BBQ front since I moved to a country that only fired up the grill for a few summer parties and proceeded to incinerate sausages. There are now top chefs who take outdoor grilling seriously. Trendy food trucks. BBQ classes at cooking schools. You can buy Webers and Green Eggs and their full range of accessories, including several varieties of wood chips for smoking. But for some reason I still can’t explain, no British attempt I’ve ever tasted can compare to the succulent perfection of your average BBQ joint in my home state. And certainly not to the price.
As a proof point I give you Sweet Smoke BBQ in Jefferson City, Missouri. Succulent rib meat collapsing off the bone; you wouldn’t need teeth if it weren’t for the chewy, smoky bark. Exactly the right balance of spices to bring depth of flavour while still letting the pork shine through. Bottles of four kinds of sauces on the table to allow you to drench your meat with the additional flavours of your choice. Enough meat on each single rib to probably qualify as a full portion of meat in a Weight Watchers’ allocation. Bowls of pickles to help yourself to; balancing sweet and vinegar in a way that European varieties rarely do since they tip more to the latter. A beguiling number of sides ticking comfort food boxes, including jalapeno grits that walk a perfect line between spicy and soothing and beans that have baked for hours with a range of additional ingredients. (It’s hard to fully express my shock the first time I watched a Brit eat so called “baked beans” directly out of a tin. More than 30 years later, I still can’t accept this culinary sin.) And then, naturally, there’s the mac and cheese. if you’re looking for something green, go somewhere else.
I have had ribs that come close to this in the UK, but only at higher-end restaurants charging a fortune. We simply don’t have informal, reasonably priced places in the UK. Nor does any place in my experience have the range of options. Sweet Smoke offers pork (ribs and pulled), beef brisket and chicken. You can have the meats as they come off the grill, or you can indulge in one of a variety of sandwiches that pile them with additional elements for sloppy indulgence. Even though it appears to be a simple place with menus on chalk boards, there’s a full bar dishing up cocktails and an impressive range of beers.
Given the absence of this level of smoky perfection in my English life, I insisted on dining here twice during my Jefferson City visit, trying both outlets. The one closer to the capitol building is in a shop front in the charming, early-20th century town high street. It’s a bit more basic, with almost a warehouse feel, yet packed with suit-wearing legislators and lobbyists at lunch time. The branch in the western suburbs is a free standing restaurant bringing in more of a family crowd. Both made me very happy.
Why is there still this difference in quality between the UK and the American Midwest? It’s certainly not the quality of the meat; our local Hampshire hogs are justifiably famous as some of the best pork available in Europe. I suspect a combination of tradition and cut. On the tradition front, while BBQ has been establishing itself as a serious culinary option for only a couple of decades in the UK, it’s been a part of American life for generations. My people take it as seriously as Brits do their curries, pies or fish and chips. There’s also an almost sacred social ritual that comes with its preparation that makes it something more than just food; it’s part of the regional identity. But I suspect, at least on the ribs front, it’s more about cut. Traditionally, British butchers have cut meat off one side of the bone for bacon and off the other for pork belly, leaving as little meat behind as possible and considering the rib cage waste. Though that’s changing, and I have a great local butcher who will cut meat to my request, the “St. Louis style” rib cut that produces the meat-heavy ribs of Midwestern BBQ is unknown in England, where options all seem slimmed down.
This English style of butchery also produces very different cuts of bacon from the American. What most people in my adopted homeland put on their breakfast plate is what Americans consider “Canadian bacon” but with even more meat; not just the medallion but additional streaks of pork and fat to one side. From the other side of the rib comes what Americans would consider their standard meat but what the Brits categorise as “streaky” and tend only to use for cooking. Brits, in general, don’t think Americans can produce decent bacon.
To win that argument for the USA I’d direct people to a restaurant called The Barred Owl in Columbia, Missouri, which dishes up the best bacon I’ve had in either country. In cut it’s classically American or “streaky”, but each slice is a quarter inch thick, shining with a maple cure that adds sweetness while enhancing the essential piggy-ness of the taste.
This was a side to my Sunday brunch dish of shrimp and grits, accompanied by a Bloody Mary made with Parmesan vodka. Yes, Parmesan. Made by infusing vodka over Parmesan rinds. I’d adds a distinctive and highly pleasing cheesiness to the classic cocktail recipe.
The Barred Owl offers a proof point that even flyover country can offer up serious foodie destinations if you know where to look. It’s an unabashedly upscale, trendy concept restaurant in this university town. The decor is industrial warehouse with modern art, a massive bar dominating one end of the room. The Owl’s differentiator, however, is that it shares its space and name with an artisan butcher. While still fairly common in the UK, old-fashioned butchers have almost disappeared in the U.S., where almost all meat is sold in shrink wrapped packages in massive grocery store chains. The Owl bucks that trend, and its sister restaurant celebrates the meat that comes from its butcher’s counter.
My companions were delighted with the butcher’s breakfast (adding home-made sausage to those slabs of bacon, accompanied by eggs and sourdough) and the home fry poutine (elevated with locally made cheese curds and wagyu beef bacon). The quality and innovation here will convince even the most resistant European that Americans can do more than quantity-over-quality fast food.
While Sweet Smoke was fantastic, you can find similar quality at BBQ places throughout the Midwest. The Barred Owl is a destination restaurant worth making a special trip to try.
Three other destinations in Jefferson City deserve a mention:
El Espolon: Cheerful Mexican place in an industrial park not far from the Missouri state capitol. The food is good (if not great). The star for me was the chile relleno, and the quantities are obscenely enormous. My “little bit of everything” combo plate, priced around $17, not only provided me dinner, but lunch for the next two days. Excellent value for money, even before you opt in to the 88 ounce (roughly 2.5 litres) on-table margarita dispenser. Someone needs to import this gizmo to the UK.
This English style of butchery also produces very different cuts of bacon from the American. What most people in my adopted homeland put on their breakfast plate is what Americans consider “Canadian bacon” but with even more meat; not just the medallion but additional streaks of pork and fat to one side. From the other side of the rib comes what Americans would consider their standard meat but what the Brits categorise as “streaky” and tend only to use for cooking. Brits, in general, don’t think Americans can produce decent bacon.
To win that argument for the USA I’d direct people to a restaurant called The Barred Owl in Columbia, Missouri, which dishes up the best bacon I’ve had in either country. In cut it’s classically American or “streaky”, but each slice is a quarter inch thick, shining with a maple cure that adds sweetness while enhancing the essential piggy-ness of the taste.
This was a side to my Sunday brunch dish of shrimp and grits, accompanied by a Bloody Mary made with Parmesan vodka. Yes, Parmesan. Made by infusing vodka over Parmesan rinds. I’d adds a distinctive and highly pleasing cheesiness to the classic cocktail recipe.
My companions were delighted with the butcher’s breakfast (adding home-made sausage to those slabs of bacon, accompanied by eggs and sourdough) and the home fry poutine (elevated with locally made cheese curds and wagyu beef bacon). The quality and innovation here will convince even the most resistant European that Americans can do more than quantity-over-quality fast food.
While Sweet Smoke was fantastic, you can find similar quality at BBQ places throughout the Midwest. The Barred Owl is a destination restaurant worth making a special trip to try.
Three other destinations in Jefferson City deserve a mention:
El Espolon: Cheerful Mexican place in an industrial park not far from the Missouri state capitol. The food is good (if not great). The star for me was the chile relleno, and the quantities are obscenely enormous. My “little bit of everything” combo plate, priced around $17, not only provided me dinner, but lunch for the next two days. Excellent value for money, even before you opt in to the 88 ounce (roughly 2.5 litres) on-table margarita dispenser. Someone needs to import this gizmo to the UK.
Prison Brews: One of Jefferson City’s main tourist attractions is the now defunct Victorian era state penitentiary. While I skipped that highlight, I was delighted when my dad introduced me to this jail-themed pub a stone’s throw from the site. (Fittingly, it’s a hang out for lawyers and cops. I bet there are some disreputable beat reporters, too.) Fabulous burgers, a wood-fired pizza oven and a tempting variety of loaded sandwiches served in a building decorated with bars, prison stripes and photos of the old penitentiary at work. The booths are placed inside prison cells. Best of all, this is also a microbrewery with a range of excellent seasonal brews. I enjoyed a peach-flavoured lager with a delicate and sophisticated flavour profile, though I almost ordered the “Misdemeanor Mailbock” just to honour the marketing brilliance of its name.
Das Stein Haus: An alpine chalet tucked incongruously behind the modern gas stations and suburban retail sprawl along the highway heading west from town, Helmut’s place aims to bring some old world charm while connecting the region to its German immigrant roots. The interior is dark and candlelit, with long communal tables in the centre and old-fashioned leather-covered booths to one side. The menu features “fancy restaurant” classics of my youth: steaks, lobster, oysters, chicken cordon bleu. There’s even bananas foster and cherries jubilee. It’s like time travel to my 10th birthday. Though the atmosphere is still more casual roadhouse than fine dining, the food is amongst the most upscale in this town. As you’d expect, there’s a core of German classics including schnitzel, pork roast and Bratwurst. (My jaeger schnitzel special, with red cabbage and fried potatoes, was indistinguishable from the classics hitting tables in front of me in Munich last month.) The German beer menu doesn’t feature any of the usuals we’d expect to see in Europe, but there are a range of lesser-known imports including the tough-to-find smoked beer of Bamberg. There’s no wine list but the waitress produces German-produced bottles from behind the bar. There’s live music and dancing on the weekends which probably deserves a return visit when next I go to my dad’s place. Sadly, no dirndls or lederhosen in sight. Maybe I should wear mine to shake up the place a bit.
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