Sir Charles Bar-B-Q Pit, 1231 East Northern, Phoenix, 997-6663. Hours: Lunch and Dinner, Monday through Thursday, 11 a.m. to 9 p.m.; Friday and Saturday, 11 a.m. to 10 p.m.
Civilization has done a good job suppressing most of our basic, primitive urges. We modern men and women don't satisfy our amatory lusts the moment the mood strikes. We don't pick up a rock and blithely crack the skull of anyone who arouses our displeasure. We don't take something that belongs to someone else just because we want it, either.
But as Freud pointed out, civilization comes at a price. Our pent-up, aggressive energies can never be completely obliterated. They're always smoldering beneath the civilized surface, lurking, waiting to erupt. For society to run smoothly, they must be creatively redirected, channeled into worthy outlets.
Some people throw themselves into work. Some people throw themselves into art. Some throw themselves into sports. I, on the other hand, throw myself into barbecue.
I find barbecue launches me into a state of primitive excitement. Just smelling wood-smoked meat gets me pumped. When I actually gnaw on a slab of rib bones or splash my face with the sauce from a pulled pork or beef brisket sandwich, I know I'm getting the same kind of libidinal thrill our ancestors got when they clubbed a rival, raided an enemy camp or continued dating after marriage. Let's face it: Barbecue is instinctively satisfying.
Looking to strip off civilization's thin veneer and get in touch with my deepest nature, I recently toured three new rib houses. One of them, Sir Charles Bar-B-Q Pit, moved me to thump my chest with primal delight.
The first thing that catches your eye at Sir Charles is a fading framed article from a May 1969 Arizona Republic. The headline reports, "Negro Cafe Opens." The story said Charles Taylor--the current proprietor of Sir Charles--had opened a restaurant on Indian School Road. Why was this news? It seems this establishment was the first black-owned business to operate north of Van Buren Street, Phoenix's unofficial "Mason-Dixon Line." An accompanying photo shows Barry Goldwater joining the festivities, underscoring the importance of the occasion.
Thank goodness there's no longer anything newsworthy about a black-owned business opening anywhere in the Valley. But that doesn't mean Sir Charles isn't newsworthy for other reasons. It is, and for all the right reasons: This place cooks up some of the best barbecue in town. A sign behind the counter more or less sums up Sir Charles' barbecue philosophy. It informs patrons that "Good food ain't cheap. Cheap food ain't good. Our food ain't cheap."
The menu boasts that the barbecue here is "Texas-style." "What's that?" I asked Sir Charles innocently. He waved for me to come into the back room, where he showed me the massive barbecue equipment. First, he opened one compartment, revealing a smoking pile of pecan wood turning to fiery ash.
"In Texas," he said, "we don't cook meat directly over fire. We just cook by it." Then he opened a second compartment. The fumes and heat from the burning pecan wood were being funneled into this chamber, smoking and slow-cooking huge hunks of beef and pork twirling on a rotisserie. The result: meat that's very tender, very smoky and very, very flavorful.
Trying to decide which meat is my favorite--beef brisket, pulled pork, smoked turkey or Texas sausage--is like trying to decide which of my children is my favorite. It depends on my mood. But unlike my kids, the meats here are all darn near perfect.
Beef brisket is a revelation, juicy and rich-tasting. Initially, the pulled pork may seem somewhat less hard-hitting. But there's an unmistakable sublimity to it that can launch you into hog heaven. You won't have any complaints about someone flipping you the bird, either, as long as it comes in the form of smoked turkey. And the Texas sausage is absolutely outstanding, moist with a bit of bite. All the meats have one thing in common--freshness. Nothing I sampled tasted as if it had been sitting around since the Coolidge administration, a common barbecue-house failing.
One tip: It's more cost-effective to order the meats by the pound, rather than as sandwiches. If you need bread, four bits will get you a side of Texas toast.
Of course, a rib house also has to be judged by its ribs. The bones here have no shortcomings. They're exceptionally tender and meaty--no gristle at all--while the barbecue sauce, made from a generations-old recipe, provides lively embellishment.
Side dishes exhibit the same attention to quality. The beans are meaty; the black-eyed peas are hearty; and the coleslaw doesn't taste like what comes out of a 25-gallon warehouse tub. And if you're looking to finish up on a sweet note, you'll find both the sweet potato pie and peach cobbler are playing your song.
To the best of my knowledge, the proprietor has never actually been knighted. But I have no problem calling him Sir Charles. When it comes to barbecue, he's an aristocrat.
Everett's Bar-B-Que, 1907 West Main, Mesa, 827-2108. Hours: Lunch and Dinner, Monday through Thursday, 10:30 a.m. to 8 p.m.; Friday and Saturday, 10:30 a.m. to 10 p.m.
