A Band"Wagon" Fan at Chuck's BBQ

A few weeks ago, Elyse asked me on a random Saturday if I wanted to go out to a new place on H Street. "Not today," I told her. "I kind of just want to stay at home." The next day, though, I was getting hungry and feeling adventurous. So I asked her if she wanted to go out to the new place then. "We can't. It's only open on Fridays and Saturdays." That got my attention.

The place in question was Chuck's Wagon, a new barbecue outfit that opened on H Street about a month ago. It's a minimal outfit, only a walk up counter with no seating provided. And though the Wagon hasn't fully settled in to its new surroundings (the former tenant's decor still lines the walls), it's already producing food well worth attention.

When Elyse and I visited this weekend, we decided to eschew sides in the hopes of eating more barbecue itself. I ordered the chopped brisket sandwich while Elyse opted for the rib sandwich; each costs $7. Our orders arrived in white foam to-go boxes (a good sign) and we headed off. When we got home, we opened our boxes to discover that while our sandwiches were on the smaller side, they looked delicious and, importantly, came on plain white bread! I was elated.

Biting into our sandwiches provided another good perspective. The meat was mildly sweet with a good balance of smoke. The ribs were coated in a sweet crust and cooked incredibly well, proven by the fact that the meat fell off the bone. The sauce wasn't necessarily my cup of tea, but I still appreciated the fact that it was barbecue sauce. (An explanatory parallel: Sierra Nevada may not be among my favorite beers, but I still acknowledge that it is beer.) The meat was a bit cooler than is customary, but we'd walked home from the restaurant before eating it, so that was to be expected. In the future, ordering a full slab of ribs or order of brisket ahead of time might be a good idea.

So while having the ability to dine in would be nice (how great would it be to have a picnic table or two on H Street during service?), I am still quite content to have located an actual barbecue place so close to the heart of the city!

ADDENDUM: As of this weekend, Chuck's Wagon appears to be extending its operating hours into the week. So if you're on or near H Street during your lunch hour, stop by!

Red Hot Heartbreak (Elliot's Adventures in Mid-Atlantic Barbecue: Vol. I)

Ladies and gentlemen, I am a Kansan. Aside from a mild inferiority complex and an adoration of everything midwestern, this distinction usually only lends itself to one thing: I know my barbecue. I know all the rules: I know how smoked brisket ought to look; I know how ribs should fall off the bone; I know the merits of dry versus wet-age preparation; I know sauce; I know that serving barbecue with any bread other than plain old white is blasphemous.

Why point this out? Because knowing what I do also means that I know what is not barbecue. The charlatans and impostors are all visible to me from well over a mile away. So when a friend suggested recently that we dine at Red Hot & Blue for dinner one night, I was immediately dubious. And over the course of our evening, it broke almost every rule. The first was simply part of the restaurant's nature. Rule one: no chains. Multiple locations within the same city are fine; that's about serving to a greater demand. But national chains? No dice. But still, I said yes. I was really aching for ribs and didn't have the ability to drive to any of the out-of-the-way spots.

When we arrived, the first thing I noticed was the decor. Gaudy colors, blues posters and the like were everywhere. Rule two: a real barbecue joint doesn't need to prove to anyone it's a barbecue joint because it is a barbecue joint. I know this probably seems like a very Zen-like way to look at things, but it's true. Had the Red Hot & Blue crew spent more time on their menu instead of finding the brightest colors of paint and the most "legit-looking" blues posters, things might have turned out much better.

Up first, we ordered onion straws. Not much the most traditional barbecue side, but we went with it. What arrived was a block of what could have been onions... once. It was overly fried and completely flavorless. Rule three: sides are meant to compliment the barbecue eating experience by providing alternate flavors and textures. This dish had neither flavor nor texture. Shuddering and praying for a miracle, I threw a Hail Mary and ordered the dry ribs.

What arrived was an absolute atrocity. Rule three: quality dry rub adds depth of flavor to the meet, but it also brings out the meat's natural flavors so that you know you're eating beef, pork, lamb, etc. This slab was completely coated, covered in a red powder that I can only guess was unadulterated cayenne pepper. I say that I can only guess because the only thing I could taste was pure heat. Not the meat. Not the other seasonings in the rub (if there were any). Only heat. My meal was over, a complete travesty. And I only had myself to blame.

I knew these rules. I knew these rules and did not follow them. So the next time I'm feeling the pull of true barbecue - and it's quite possible that I've been itching since I even left Red Hot & Blue - I'll have to spring for the extra money to drive to a legit establishment. Maybe I'm elitist. Maybe I'm too picky. But the real stuff is so good that I can't possibly care. There are more rules that I'll address in future posts (like the different schools of barbecue thought), but for this first excursion, it was all about the basics.

If you can, help a brother out. Let me know where I can get the good stuff. For now, I remain in withdrawal.