Gremlin Grill

BB’s was first. We were actually looking for a Mexican joint that was not to be found. I suspect the klansmen who were in town for the Minuteman convention had something to do with its disappearance, but who knows? Anyway, we went to BB’s instead. It was good. It was smoky. I had a PBR. I had Big Walter’s Mixed Meat Sandwich. The menu promised a big ass sandwich with chopped beef, ham, turkey, pork, Italian sausage, burnt ends and their sweet bbq sauce. A mix like that on one sandwich? Oh, hell yeah.

Ok, I had a feeling about what this was before I ordered it: leftovers. But it’s leftover barbecue, so who cares? It was good. Plus their fries are battered and about as big as your arm. It was good. I think I was a little hung-over, too, and it was still a good sandwich.

Oklahoma Joe’s was next, for lunch during a meeting here at work. The best part about meetings at work is…there’s nothing good about meetings. It doesn’t matter what it’s for. Even if it’s a good meeting where the fate of the universe is decided and it turns out everyone in existence gets a fast car and ice cream presented in person by Keira Knightly, it wouldn’t matter. All meetings suck all the time. But we got barbecue for lunch at this one.

It was a buffet with smoked turkey and spare ribs, beans, slaw and tater salad. And bread, I think. The turkey was good, not great. But the ribs were very good. You can tell a bbq joint that’s serious, because they don’t screw up the ribs. They season the damn things through (don’t give me that crap about “taste the meat.” I’ve tasted pork. I want to taste barbecued pork), and they cook the damn things through (don’t give me that “hold to the bone” crap, either. Most ribs are done half-assed and that means they’re not done enough). Oklahoma Joe’s has good spare ribs. The slaw and tater salad must have been forgettable, because I don’t remember them. The beans were good. Meaty, and they throw some black beans in there. I’m sure they stole that from me.

Finally, Sara and I had dinner with Ben, the cuddly yet evil lawyer, at the Kansas Jack Stack. Over-flowing on a Tuesday night, it was predictably worth the weight. It might be in Johnson County - a homogenized world completely devoid of anything resembling personality, let alone culture - but it’s still Jack Stack. Yum.

Ben, a man known for his taste for Cisco in a past life, had beef ribs. Big ass Flintstone ribs. I had sliced pork and spare ribs. The pork wasn’t great, but not bad. I mean, it’s pork. Smoke it, pull it, put it in a pile. Don’t slice it. But it wasn’t bad. The ribs were very good. I knew they would be. I’ve had them before. They were good. As were the onion rings and slaw, and the cheesy potato bake is always freakin’ awesome and the beans. Oh, the beans. God eats the beans from Jack Stack.

Sara had some kind girl dish.

So there ya go. Three bbq joints in a week, all good. So good that I put on three pounds. And that’s OK, because it’s winter and I need fat to keep me warm. Pork fat.