Tickle My Ribs, 13610 North Scottsdale Road, Scottsdale, 869-7427. Hours: Lunch and Dinner, Monday through Saturday, 11 a.m. to 9 p.m.
Life in an affluent section of town has its appealing certainties. Residents can generally expect the parks to be well-tended; the school district to be adequately funded; the trash to be picked up on schedule; car insurance rates to be competitive; and crime to be under control.
On the other hand, despite these obvious advantages, high-income folks who never leave their comfortable neighborhoods miss out on life's infinite variety of charms. They'll never hear anyone mournfully sing the blues. They'll never meet a Democrat. And they'll never inhale the smoky fumes from a barbecued-rib joint (for recommended rib joints, see Second Helpings).
That's because barbecue storefronts traditionally operate in the less swanky parts of town. Why? For the same reason that Neiman Marcus and Lexus dealers set up shop in upscale locations: They want to be near their savviest customers.
Some bold barbecue entrepreneurs, however, are aiming to turn conventional wisdom on its head. During the past few months, several have targeted the tony northeast Valley.
I'm surprised. Capitalist economics teaches us to identify a market opportunity and take advantage of it. But is there a rib market here? A year ago, I don't think you could have found a single rib house in the entire northeast quadrant of the Valley. After all, nobody is likely to confuse Via Linda with Tobacco Road, or suburban Scottsdale with the south side of Chicago.
Now, suddenly, three new pork parlors have popped up, sporting ritzy Scottsdale zip codes. The Bible teaches us that it's futile to cast pearls before swine. I wonder about the advisability of casting swine before clientele outfitted with pearls. Can you eat high on the hog while living high on the hog? Can rib houses and three-car garages mutually flourish?
These frontier outposts of barbecue civilization don't furnish a definitive answer. At the moment, though, I'd say the prospects aren't too encouraging.
The best of the new trio is Tickle My Ribs, operated by a former bagel baker who's opted for a career change. Outside, he's jazzed up his minimall storefront with a misted patio. Inside, he's jazzed up his wooden, picnic-style tables with jars of artificial flowers. The television in the corner is tuned to sports, while the music system is hooked up to Motown. He's into merchandising, too--you can buy hats, tee shirts and boutique barbecue sauces.
Tickle My Ribs features two kinds of pork bones: baby backs, and slightly larger spare ribs. Both are very meaty, smoky and crisp, though they come up just a bit short when it comes to fall-off-the-bone tenderness. You can coat them with your choice of barbecue sauces: an inoffensive mild sauce and an inoffensive hot sauce that lacks heat but which does carry a pleasant, vinegary sting.
As is almost always the case, rib tips are a less effective gnawing alternative. That's because they've got less meat and more fat than the ribs. Go ahead and spend the extra couple of bucks on the baby backs.
Other rib-house staples demonstrate barbecue competency. The deeply smoked chicken may be a tad dry, but it's exceptionally plump. Sandwiches have a Scottsdale twist. Instead of the traditional mushy white bread, all of them (except the hot links) come on lightly toasted French rolls. I usually don't like to mess with tradition, but I consider this a progressive step.
The sandwiches are well-fashioned, too. Best is the barbecued beef, smoky, meaty and filling. Pulled pork isn't quite in the same league--it's a little too mild for me. And while the hot links aren't hot, they are smokin' good, full of the wonderful, high-fat juices that signal your brain that it's having a good time.
The proprietor evidently puts time and effort into his side dishes. Beans are first-rate, seasoned with onions and smoked meat and zipped up with an addictive sweet-and-sour tang. The French fries may not be fresh-peeled spuds, but they're right-out-of-the-fryer crispy. Coleslaw is fresh and crunchy, not soggy and mayo-drenched.
And, believe it or not, the potato salad is trumpeted as "fat-free." It seems to me that virtuously eating fat-free potato salad at a rib house is like virtuously obeying only the even-numbered Ten Commandments in Sodom and Gomorrah: What's the point? And for the record, I have to report that the potato salad is only moderately successful.
Desserts, however, are completely successful. The righteous pecan pie, heavy, sweet and nutty, ends the meal on a high note. So does the lighter sweet potato pie, packed into a flaky crust.
Jed's BBQ, Ancala Village Shopping Center, 11219 East Via Linda, Scottsdale, 661-8866. Hours: Lunch and Dinner, 11 a.m. to 9 p.m., seven days a week.
"Franchises available. Call today for information." So reads a notice on the back of Jed's BBQ menu. News like this isn't going to set the hearts of barbecue aficionados racing with anticipation.
Jed's also makes an astonishing health claim. I'd always thought that barbecue fare--slabs of ribs, smoked sausage, shredded pork, barbecued chicken and beef brisket--didn't form any of the building blocks on the government's nutritional pyramid. But apparently I've been misinformed. "Jed's: Big on taste--not on fat!" the menu boasts. Oh, well, I guess you have to expect some nonsense like this from a barbecue parlor in Scottsdale.
According to the menu story, Jed's started up almost 30 years ago in Missouri, then branched out through the Midwest. I imagine the decor of this Arizona operation has been adjusted to Western tastes. It's the ranch-house look: farm tools, lanterns and wooden tables.
The fare is serviceable, if not memorable. The ribs are the best thing here, meaty, tender, with a nicely charred edge. Too bad the two snoozy barbecue sauces don't do them justice. One model is sweet, the other a bit tangy, but both are one-dimensional.
Poultry is effectively done. The chicken isn't too dry and it's burnished with a real smoky edge. The smoked turkey leg, meanwhile, looks like it came from a mastodon. For $2.49, you can gnaw on this meaty limb for about a week.
Sandwiches, served on a kaiser roll, are a mixed lot. The shredded pork is the clear winner, moist and flavorful. However, most of the juices seem to have gotten sucked out of the smoked sausage. And avoid the beef brisket--it's tough and gristly.
Jed's offers quite an array of side dishes, laid out in metal chafing trays. But variety is no substitute for quality. Smoked beans are very sweet and very thick, but could use some smoked-meat punch. Roasted potatoes, seasoned with garlic, make a better choice. Dry country stuffing is improved once you've poured on the peppery country gravy. Coleslaw and potato salad are routine. But steer away from the macaroni and cheese, which barely meets school-cafeteria standards, and the rice pilaf, whose principal ingredient appears to be sodium.
Instead of plunging into the sides, consider filling any appetite cracks with the lone dessert, a sweet, hot, gloppy apple crisp.
If you live in the neighborhood, Jed's BBQ has the virtue of proximity. If you don't, its virtues are somewhat less striking.
JQ's Bar-B-Q, 6929 North Hayden, Scottsdale, 991-2110. Hours: Lunch and Dinner, Monday through Saturday, 11 a.m. to 9 p.m.; Sunday, 11 a.m. to 6 p.m.
JQ's was the first of this Scottsdale barbecue trio to set up shop, about ten months ago. Obviously, it didn't scare away the competition. After eating here, I can see why.
The place takes its decorating cues from Field & Stream. The walls are adorned with a lacquered fish plaque, steer horns and a sheep's head accessorized with a kerchief. Wood paneling and ranch-house paraphernalia complete the rugged effect.
(Interestingly, like both Tickle My Ribs and Jed's BBQ, JQ's is almost jarringly clean and spiffy, especially for a barbecue joint. The Valley's funkier barbecue shacks don't even approach this trio's level of tidiness. I'd call it the Scottsdale effect.)
I don't know from where JQ's takes its culinary cues. But whatever the source, it should be reconsidered. Ribs, of course, should be the highlight of any barbecue visit. The bones here, however, simply don't pass muster. They're tough, dry and gristly, without any redeeming features. My family of pork fanciers wouldn't go near them. If it weren't for my professional obligation, I wouldn't have, either. The regular sauces also don't have much distinction. Only a behind-the-counter, Carolina-style sauce offers a bit of a kick.
Sandwiches are an improvement, relatively speaking. The pulled pork had the most going for it, a huge mound of tender meat spilling out over the sides of a hamburger bun. Smoked turkey also had its moments, reasonably moist with a lingering smoky effect. The menu claims that the beef brisket is smoked for 14 hours. Maybe it is, but the meat was dry and curiously lacking in beefy flavor. The thin-sliced hot links did an adequate job filling me up, but didn't create any lasting memories.
Side dishes are disappointing. The beans were well-seasoned with beef and pork, but they came significantly undercooked, too crunchy to enjoy. Potato salad could have been scooped out of a ten-gallon warehouse-club tub. Vinegary coleslaw was marginally better, but only in comparison.
Is there pent-up demand for barbecue in the northeast Valley? The proprietors of Tickle My Ribs, Jed's BBQ and JQ's Bar-B-Q certainly think so. But if you live in the area, these still aren't the days of swine and roses.
Tickle My Ribs:
Shredded pork sandwich
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