‘BBQ’
Pittsburgh is quite a unique place. So unique, in fact, that when I arrived I was given a crash course in how to speak Pittsburghese. I’ll spare the details, aside from the fact that Pittsburgh has its own version of “y’all.” That word is “yinz” and people who speak in Pittsburghese are referred to as “Yinzers.” With that in mind, you can now rest easy knowing that the BBQ you are about to read about is a play on “yinz” and not some obscure Civil War battle. And now, onto the BBQ.
Down in East Liberty is a barbecue joint that has been infused with a fair amount of hipster twist. It’s called Union Pig & Chicken, and its minimalist tables and whiskey/bourbon oriented bar do a good job of selling that intersection of barbecue and hipsterness. The menu is full of meaty offerings that go beyond the animals known as pig and chicken, but I suppose Union Pig, Chicken and Cow simply didn’t have the same ring to it.
Growing up in West Bloomfield, Michigan was kind of like growing up in a bubble. When we did eat out, it was rarely beyond a two mile radius from home. Often, it feels like I missed out on a lot of food, but then I remember that I would have eaten a grilled cheese no matter where we went, so there was no real point in venturing out. When I go back home, though, I try to venture out just as much as I like to eat away at nostalgia. That’s how I ended up at Local Kitchen for Brunch in Ferndale, far outside the bubble.
After a few days in Cape Town, we had eaten dinner every night on the Waterfront and were eager to try somewhere and something new. Fortunately, before leaving home I had looked up places to eat crazy meats in Cape Town and came upon Arnold’s. Since we still had a car for the day, we sought the place out and found it pretty easily.
You know that feeling when a musician you “discovered” finally gets some radio playing time? In the food world, the equivalent is finding out that one of your favorite restaurants was featured on an awesome Travel Channel or Food Network show. I’d like to say this has happened to me before, but certainly it happened to my brother-in-law in New York. While I was visiting in Brooklyn, he took me to his favorite local BBQ place, which had just been featured on Drivers, Drive-Ins and Dives. It’s called The Smoke Joint, and as soon as I entered I felt at home.
Once upon a time I was a student at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. Sure, Ann Arbor may be famous for having the school, but it is almost as famous for having a little deli called Zingerman’s. Well, back in 2003 they opened a non-deli restaurant called Zingerman’s Roadhouse far off campus and I paid them a visit. At the time, all I needed to be happy was a $1 slice of pizza (okay very little has changed) and I wasn’t much for the fancy stuff. So, at the time Zingerman’s Roadhouse did very little for me and simply didn’t feel special.
The decline of the city of Detroit from one of the greatest cities in the world to a land of ruins can hardly be better personified than by looking at Michigan Central Station in the Corktown district. Once the tallest train station in the world with architecture on par with New York’s Grand Central Station and Chicago’s Union Station, it is now a hollow ruin. Approaching the station is like looking at the skeleton of a hero, of something that was once great and never will be again. When gazing at the Colosseum in Rome, you feel surrounded by the ghosts who were both the entertained and the entertainers of the arena. In contrast, Michigan Central Station is the ghost.
I have a confession and this may come as a surprise to all of you: I love Brazilian BBQ. Yes, I know it’s shocking that a menagerie of meat such as Brazilian BBQ could be one of my loves, but it’s true. Unfortunately, this isn’t an easy love. Firstly, it ain’t cheap like Korean BBQ, which is equally meaty. Secondly, I can’t go without eating an insane amount of food. Sorry, it’s just how I work at such things, which means my body usually needs a fair amount of recovery time before going back. But, when I saw a sweet Travelzoo deal for Libra in Culver City, at least my first problem with Brazilian BBQ was taken care of.
The Eagles once wrote “If you call some place paradise, kiss it goodbye,” so it is with great trepidation that I roll out my review here. The meaning I have always taken from that line is that if you tell people about a great place, that place will cease to be great because more people will go there and ruin the experience. On the other hand, I feel the need to tell the world about J “N” J Burger and Bar-B-Q and hope that this review will not kill paradise, but simply give it more customers.
Here we have a long-awaited new guest blog from none other than @RGspiegel. Catch more of his writing here.
Disclosure I: David Marcus, one of the owners of Smoke Shack, is my second cousin.
Disclosure II: I’m starting a movement such that cousins are classified only as first or second cousins. How much better is that than trying to figure out your exact relationship to your dad’s first cousin’s son with somethingth-cousin-somethingths-removed? A lot.
Disclosure III: Smoke Shack was legitimately awesome.
Now that my and Unvegan’s journalistic integrity are squarely intact, I can begin the review of my glorious Saturday lunch at Smoke Shack, a BBQ restaurant that opened up about a month ago in Milwaukee’s third ward.