The World's Best Barbecue is in Taylor, Texas. Or is it Lockhart?
A Cityslicker's Guide to the Pits.
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Although the problem of borderline, bad-tasting meat has largely disappeared, the hot sauce itself persists in East Texas. And although many of the German meat markets have long since closed their doors as the sons and daughters of their loyal customers drifted off to the polyethylene wonderlands of Safeway and H.E.B., the "back of the market" has often endured on its own by gradually effecting a transition from Fleischwaren to restaurant. The search for these authentic survivors of the heyday of Texas barbecue (and for their few successful city imitators, which are few, but do exist) can be as rewarding to the eye as to the palate.
Judging barbecue on the basis of a typical city restaurant or a roadside café that lists it as merely one of several entrees on a Steaks-Chops-Chicken menu is foreordained to failure. It is like judging the aesthetics of a religion on the basis of its parish churches instead of its cathedrals. Go to the country and taste the real thing, then come back to the city and find the handful of places that measure up. Herewith some pointers for that enterprise:
1. Go only to a place that specializes in barbecue.
The only barbecue worth eating is cooked fresh, kept warm in the pit, and carved to order. Rapid turnover is the key. If a restaurant has a general menu, chances are that the barbecue was prepared in advance and perhaps even (God forbid) stored in the refrigerator and reheated. Your best rule of thumb is to look for a pile of wood outside and smoke coming from the pit. If everybody in the room isn't eating barbecue, you shouldn't be, either.
2. Pick the right time.
Go for lunch. Most good barbecue places close by 7, and some of the best shut down by 5:30. The choice cuts are gone well before then. Fridays and Saturdays draw the largest crowds, but the only day you should usually avoid (other than Sunday) is Monday. Since the cooking process is such a lengthy one, the meat must be in the pit before the suppliers commence their weekly rounds; in consequence, the Monday selection is often more limited — sometimes containing weekend leftovers.
3. Try to get acquainted with the carver.
Easier said than done in a city restaurant, but not very difficult in the rural places. Barbecue cuts vary widely — some are too dry, some too fatty, some not as good a grade of meat. The carvers rule their domain with as much discretion as federal judges have in their courtrooms, and preference regularly goes to the steady customer or the visitor who knows what he wants. The best-tasting barbecue always has some fat on it, so don't fall into the trap of demanding only lean. Ask the carver's advice; he'll usually give it.
4. Order by the pound whenever possible.
At most of the Central Texas places, you'll have no other choice. Don't be intimidated; even if they do make sandwiches you'll find it's better and cheaper to make your own. Policies on this will differ from town to town, however, so be prepared to play it by ear. In sandwich-oriented East Texas they may refuse to let you eat on the premises if you buy it by the pound; west of Austin, in places like Mason and Junction, they won't carve or cut a chunk in two for you, and you simply have to rummage around in their pit until you find the size piece you want — or do without. But then again, if you're tired of the standardized hamburger and the ten-piece Thrift Box, you may appreciate the fact that barbecuers represent a last stronghold of stubborn individuality in marketing.
Every barbecue buff has his own list of four-star places; the surprising thing is how often these lists overlap. My own preference is for the old-fashioned Central Texas type, with the emphasis on sliced beef rather than sausage or ribs. It's hard to find all the good barbecue in a state of 250,000 square miles, and the following recommendations make no pretense of being inclusive. But they certainly rank near the top offerings in their locality, and you could seldom go wrong at any of them.
Louie Mueller's in Taylor probably serves the best all-around barbecue dinner in Texas. Successor to a meat market which now stands on its own as a restaurant specializing only in barbecue, Louie Mueller's offers sausage, club steaks, and brisket in a big, high-ceilinged, aromatic barn of a room in downtown Taylor. Operator Fred Fountaine is one of the few outsiders in this business; he came to Texas from Rhode Island in 1946 and mastered the art as few others have done. His secret: keep the beef wrapped in paper after it's cooked; the result is an unusually moist, tender brisket that you can cut with a fork. The real glory of Fred's operation, however, is his sauce — one of the two best I've ever tasted. It's rather liquid, perfectly seasoned with an emphasis on onions, and spicier than normal for this part of the state. It complements rather than dominates the oak flavor of the meat; a perfect match.
To lift your meal into the realm of the sublime, stop beforehand and pick up a loaf or two of fresh brown Swedish rye bread at the Lone Star Bakery in Round Rock, 17 miles east of Taylor on Interstate 35. They're open Tuesday through Saturday at 106 West Liberty.
If Louie Mueller's is closed (an unlikely predicament, since Fred tends to his carving seven days a week), Zak's Place a mile or so down the Austin highway is an acceptable second choice.
For the most succulent, perfectly-seasoned beef, you can do no better than Kreuz Market in Lockhart. At the same location since 1900, Kruez's comes closest to matching one's mental image of what an old-time barbecue place should be. If the interior has changed since the twenties, you would be hard pressed to notice it. A meat market still functions in the front, and butcher knives were chained to the dining room tables until last year. At Kruez's forget about sauce or sandwiches — they don't have either one — and concentrate on the bewildering array of meat cuts; short ribs, prime rib, chuck, brisket, sausage, and occasionally pork. (Ask carver Johnny Frizzell for suggestions.) Your plate is an extra sheet of butcher paper; your napkin, a paper towel from beside the sink; your trimmings a pickle, an onion, some bread or crackers, and a winey Shiner beer. Not for the fastidious, but once you have tasted it you are hooked.
Almost alone among barbecue places, Kruez's cooks its meat quickly—about four hours—and does not baste it. Instead, the meat is rubbed twenty-four hours beforehand with a mixture of salt, pepper, and spices that seal in the flavor and make the outside slices a transcendent culinary experience. Tour d'Argent could do no better. The salt mixture, incidentally, can be purchased cheaply at the meat market for home use.
The principal competitor to Kruez's is Black's, on the opposite side of downtown Lockhart. If you insist on middle-class surroundings — formica tops instead of rough-hewn tables and benches — Black's may be your choice. Their food is good, certainly; but it nowhere approaches the glories of their crosstown neighbor.
Pity the Luling City Market, situated in the shadow of Kruez's. Anywhere else it would be recognized for what it is: one of a handful of top-quality Texas barbecue places. For travelers on Interstate 10, however, the couple of miles' detour is mandatory. If there is a better place between Houston and San Antonio, I have not found it. The city Market is in the center of Luling, facing the railroad tracks; a grocery store occupies the front, and good solid chunks of barbecue are available in the back. Tables are few, so it is best to avoid the noontime rush.
Houstonians wishing to make only a brief jaunt to find top-notch country barbecue should head straight out Westheimer, to the little town of Fulshear. Here, in the midst of absolutely nothing, is a thriving general store and barbecue place. The building is severely modern, alas, but the barbecue (especially the beef ribs) is a missionary outpost of the Central Texas orthodoxy. Dozier's Market is no longer a secret, and neither is that potent flavor in their meat: they use pecan wood. To my taste pecan, like mesquite, is almost too heavy, too strong; but there is no denying that it gives a rich, delicious flavor.
For contrast, the Houston connoisseur might swing up to Hempstead, where Swan's Country House offers an interesting blend of the black and Central Texas traditions. The food is good, and the decor, including poster-board quotations from the Bible and portraits of all the presidents except John Tyler on multicolored construction paper, must be seen to be believed. But that's another story...
In the Hill Country, the standout restaurant is Inman's in Llano. Despite the spartan interior, it offers excellent beef which you can enjoy with homemade bread and a superior sauce. One unusual feature is the barbecued turkey sausage, which regrettably sounds better than it is. Stick to the beef and you can't go wrong.
Finding good barbecue on a day trip out of Dallas may be more difficult than it is from Houston, San Antonio, and Austin. I have never found a really good place. One area I have never visited, however, is the group of towns near Gainesville which by reputation have barbecue comparable to the best anywhere. Metzler Brothers in Lindsay has the recommendation of Russell Guffey, Mayor of Gainesville, and several other residents of nearby towns.
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