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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.
I suppose it’s Everett’s misfortune that I checked it out after I’d been to Sir Charles’. Like most of the Valley’s barbecue parlors, it’s pretty good, for the most part. But it’s not heart-stoppingly, I-must-drive-out-to-Mesa good.
Everett’s occupies a small, four-table, neat-as-a-pin storefront on the edge of a big shopping complex. Fresh flowers sit by the entrance. When I arrived late one afternoon, the help was busy washing windows.
The place did business in east Mesa in the late 1980s as Bar-B-Q by Tommy’s, where it won critical accolades. But Tommy’s death in 1989 forced it to close its doors.
About a year ago, the family decided to resurrect the business. Maybe the time off took its toll. More likely, the growing number of new topflight Valley rib houses–Hap’s, Thee Pitt’s “Again” and Buck-A-Rue, along with old standbys like Lovejoy’s, A.J.’s and Honey Bear’s–has made Everett’s barbecue seem less distinctive. I made my way through the entire menu here, but nothing seems to merit critical accolades in 1997.
The chicken comes the closest. The half-bird arrives sizzling, plump and juicy. You’ll want to gnaw right down to the bones.
Unfortunately, the ribs don’t offer the same temptation. They come on a meaty slab, but the meat isn’t nearly as fall-off-the-bone soft as it can optimally be. I certainly don’t mind working my incisors a little–in fact, that’s part of the rib-eating thrill–but too much of this meat was too tough for pleasure. Too bad, too, because the barbecue sauce is first-rate, tart, with some hot chile undertones that create a pleasing tingle.
The beef brisket is sorrowful. I got a plateful of tough, fatty beef, marked with those telltale curled edges that indicate it had been waiting for someone to order it far longer than it should have been. This stuff should never have left the kitchen.
The pork tasted a lot moister and fresher, although it lacks the deep, smoky intensity you find in Sir Charles’ version. The hot links come on a French roll, an improvement on the traditional white bread. But the links themselves don’t have much character, and are a bit too dry. Sliced ham on a bun is strictly routine.
There’s nothing very memorable about the sides. The beans, coleslaw and potato salad are serviceable, nothing more.
A decade ago, Everett’s might have been an oasis in the East Valley barbecue desert. These days, though, there’s really no reason to put it on your barbecue-caravan map.
Hemp’s BBQ, 2655 West Guadalupe, Mesa, 777-9759. Hours: Lunch and Dinner, Tuesday through Saturday, 10:30 a.m. to 9 p.m.
If you do find yourself in Mesa craving barbecue, Hemp’s is one of your better alternatives.
It’s a typical barbecue operation, set in a hard-to-find storefront in a soulless Mesa shopping center. The decor touches include tee shirts and caps inscribed with “Hemp’s” pinned to one wall, a clock on the other and a television in the corner.
At $10.50 for a full slab, Hemp’s ribs are priced at the low end of the spectrum, one-third less, for instance, than a slab at Sir Charles’. So it’s no surprise to discover that the ribs are not particularly meaty. But what meat there is on these bones is quite good and completely edible–no fat, no gristle. It’s boosted, too, by a marvelously pungent, smoky, tomato-based barbecue sauce.
Beef brisket is well-fashioned, beefy and flavorful, with just enough fat to furnish the right mouth feel. The hot links sport an unmistakable zing, and there’s certainly no stinting on portion size if you order the large sandwich. There’s enough sausage in the seeded bun to meet your cholesterol requirements until Labor Day.
I could tell after one bite that the poultry in the chicken sandwich had been carved off a whole bird. That’s because I chewed into several pieces of bone. Unfortunately, that was about the only sign of character the chicken displayed. It’s simply not in the same class as Hemp’s other meats.
The best side dish is the most important one–the beans. Hemp’s beans are done right: thick and pepped up with sausage. Coleslaw, in comparison, has little going for it. The corn on the cob, however, definitely has something going for it–butter. It comes drenched in enough butter to inspire the Wisconsin dairy industry to issue a certificate of appreciation.
I’m ready to bestow a certificate of appreciation on Hemp’s luscious desserts. Both the peach cobbler and rich banana pudding are dynamite. However, you may wish to skip them if you come here the night before your annual physical.
As I left with my order, Hemp’s proprietor told me, “If it ain’t good, honey, you come back and tell me.” It’s a message I’m happy not to deliver.
Sir Charles Bar-B-Q Pit:
Ribs (full slab)
15.85
Everett’s Bar-B-Que:
Ribs (full slab)
$13.29
Hemp’s BBQ:
Ribs (full slab)
$10.50
