Don't you hate pants?
I hate my pants. I like jeans. And shorts. And kilts. But these pants I’m wearing, these ridiculous Dockers, these khaki beacons screaming to everyone I pass on the way to the latrine, “I’m a tool: A corporate whore who can’t dress himself!” I freakin’ hate them. For the most part, that is. I’ve found a reason to tolerate them: RJ’s Bob-Be-Que Shack in Mission.
See, I only wear these demon knickers when I have to meet with a client in Johnson County. The last two trips over there, we made the slight detour on the way back to our offices to stop at RJ’s. I suggest you do the same.
I should point out that not only is RJ’s good enough to make my turd-trousers tolerable, but it’s also good enough that I’ll ignore the fact that it’s on the wrong side of State Line. That’s right: it’s in Kansas. I’ve said it a million times: the only reasons to go to Kansas are for the races and to burn Lawrence. RJ’s pulled pork is worth venturing into the wastelands of the Beaker State.
As usual, I only had pulled pork. The first couple-few times I go to a barbecue joint, I get pulled pork, because if you can’t make good pulled pork, stay away from brisket, and don’t even look at that rack of ribs. Our cat can make good pulled pork. But then, the cat makes a mean jalapeno fudge, so that’s not a good analogy.
Bristol Motor Speedway: exceptional cook/race fan.
But when I say pulled pork is easy, I’m not talking about competition-grade pulled pork. I can’t seem to make that anymore. I’m talking about Kansas City style, joint/dive grade pulled pork. If a restaurant / dive / joint / roadhouse / shack / hovel / outhouse /guy-in-a-truck-parked-at-the-old-K-Mart can’t make decent pulled pork, they should get out of the business. It’s a butt: Rub it, smoke it, sauce it, pull it.
Now, you can add some stuff in there if you want. I’ve been having wonderfully bad dreams about El Camino Real (downtown KCK) pork pastor, so I’m thinking of adding crushed pineapple to my pulled pork. And Guinness. And bacon. And Charleston Chews. And equal parts love and hate. Actually, the love might make it bitter.
But unless you do something stupid in there, it’ll be good. RJ’s doesn’t do anything stupid. I was worried at first: there’s some cinnamon or something in their sauce. It might not be cinnamon, but it has that flavor. You know what I mean. If you don’t know what I mean, go try it, you’ll see. It works. It’s damned good sauce.
I made a tenderloin with cinnamon in the rub once. I used this recipe:
Cinnamon BBQ Rub
1/3-cup salt
1/4-cup paprika
3 T chili powder
3 T freshly ground black pepper
1 T ground cumin
2 t garlic powder
1 t ground cinnamon
1 t cayenne (optional)
Yellow table mustard
I have no idea where I got that recipe, but it’s not mine, and I think whomever it came from had a lot of success with it. But my tenderloin sucked. Why did my tenderloin suck? Because I was wearing slacks. Ok, not really. It might have sucked because I didn’t use this sauce recipe that came with the rub recipe:
Sauce for the Cinnamon rub recipe
1 stick of butter - not margarine
2 T molasses
3 T honey
1 t lime juice
I think I’ve put that sauce on waffles. God, I love waffles.
I digress.
RJ’s has exceptional pulled pork, unique sauce, and freakin’ good fries. Dudley reports that the pork butt burger special was pretty damned good, too. It looked like a discus, but thicker. Kids from nearby high schools could use them at track meets. The butt burger is damned close to the same weight as a discus, too. I also liked RJ’s beans, which were basic - oniony, not overly meated or smoked, but good.
And now that I think about it, the shack they’re in is damned close to perfect, too. A small bar right in the middle, minimal number of tables, but plenty of TVs and good music. The KU stuff brought a little chunk of beans or something up in my throat, but a cold PBR washed it back down.
So, what’s my point? RJ’s Bob-Be-Que Shack is good. Try it.