One meal. One visit. One chance to get it right
The Slow Bone
The moment the words escaped my lips, I knew I’d screwed up. “… And I’ll have a side of the cauliflower au gratin,” I said, employing the proper French pronunciation.
Big mistake.
Not that anyway rolled his eyes or looked at me quizzically. But at a venue like The Slow Bone, you feel compelled to order things “aw grottin;” to chew on cornbread, not baguettes; to help yourself to the fixin’s bar, not request the waitress bring you an extra dollop of sauce. There are no pretenses here, as ideally there shouldn’t be when folks from all social strata commune to break bread. There’s just food, manners and the shared experience of excellent barbecue.
The Slow Bone is an egalitarian setting, the kind that just arises organically and cannot be foisted on anyone. During a midday lunch rush, truckers and bankers, mechanics and ministers of all ethnicities will stand, elbow-to-elbow, waiting for the chance to order meals laden with proteins and home-style sides. I assume they accept credit cards, but it seems right to pay cash — keep the line moving. Any delay just punishes yourself, making you wait until you can indulge in the food before you.
If turkey weren’t such an inviolable Thanksgiving tradition, the kind of food they serve here would be the ideal celebratory feast, only one you can access any day of the year. It’s plentiful and unabashedly rich, and as is the fashion with holes-in-the-wall where gourmands converge, consistent.
Places like this always have a “secret:” secret sauce, secret smoking/curing process, secret add-ins to make the vegetables pop. (Were I to guess, I’d imagine the two secret ingredients here are “love” and “lard.”) It’s not brain surgery (unless, on a special day, they’re serving cabeza) — it’s just what restaurants should do well.
The menu is limited: The rib platter ($14.99) is the specialty, but you can get one, two or three meat plates (starting at $12.99), choosing among ribs, brisket, sausage, chicken. Your order is carved in front of you, and you work your way down the cafeteria-style line, selecting from among the half-dozen sides and always with a bread included (hush puppies or cornbread). You can get a piece of buttermilk pie if they have it, and of course they serve sweet tea.
Many folks differentiate their favorite barbecue spots based on the sauce, but the best barbecue doesn’t require any. The meat is the star, not stewed tomatoes and spices. Still, The Slow Bone makes a sweet sauce, including what they call “cock sauce” (housemade Sriacha; it packs a kick) and the default barbecue sauce is on the sweet side. I liked it, but the meat lived on its own, from the succulent flesh falling off the ribs to the tender sliced brisket to the chipotle-infused pork sausage. Vegans need not apply here; I think even the Diet Coke has pork fat in it.
The sides are just as wonderful, especially the mac & cheese (who doesn’t love mac & cheese, especially one this rich) and okra where the cornmeal merely dusts the veggie, not entomb it like a caterpillar waiting to emerge from a chrysalis.
My dining companion, despite his substantilSouthern roots, had never tasted buttermilk pie before; he was unimpressed, though I liked it. That’s OK. You don’t need to love everything about someone to still wanna spend your life with them.
— Arnold Wayne Jones
The Slow Bone, 2234 Irving Blvd. Open daily for lunch. 214-377-7727.
This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition May 16, 2014.