Up, up, and away we went. The city below shrank and the
pressure in my head and in the cabin grew until I popped it with a yawn; my
head, not the airplane cabin. I popped it like it’s hot. Just a two-hour flight
and we arrived at our destination. Everybody outside the airport in Charlotte,
North Carolina was dressed in parkas and face masks, but I had on only a
T-shirt and jeans as I strolled out into the spring sun.
A coworker and I had been given this opportunity to travel
for work to the annual Chef to Chef conference a few months ago, and it seemed
so far away back then, but here we are at the Country Inn and Suites in
Matthews, NC. Yesterday was optional in that it wasn’t part of the conference,
we just wanted to come explore and enjoy some local food. My main goal since I
printed my itinerary was to find the smallest BBQ joints and hole-in-the-wall
smokehouses I could and eat my way through a city.
I got off to a good start yesterday about two miles from the
hotel at a side-of-the-road shack called Stallings Rockstore Bar-B-Q. I could
see the neon sign from a few blocks away and I could also see that it appeared
to be a small operation in a beautiful 1930’s renovated stone gas station. I
couldn’t actually see that part, but that’s how Google described it. We pulled
the rental into the small parking lot, and wandered into the small dining room
where we were greeted by a literal Mom and Pop family welcome. I ordered some
of everything, my coworker ordered a half-rack, and we went to town.
Now, for those of you that don’t know, BBQ is a little or a
lot different everywhere you go. Some regional BBQ that I’m familiar with and
what I try to imitate when I cook at home are St. Louis, Kansas, and Carolina. St. Louis is
more sticky-sweet whereas the Carolinas present their food with much more mustard
and vinegar. In Kansas City you can expect a lot of dry rub to finish. All BBQ
has a place in my heart, but I’ve never been able to try it in its own origin.
So I was excited.
I was also disappointed. Not in the meat. The chicken was perfect.
It was tender, juicy, flavorful, and with just the right balance of sweet and
vinegar with a healthy dose of mustard sauce. Very little smoke flavor
presented itself, but there was just enough to know it wasn’t simply cooked in
a n oven. The pork was average in that it was shredded and soaked up the sauce
as it should. And the rib-tips were exceptional and full of smoky flavor. When
ribs are cooked properly, they should not literally fall off the bone, they
should be tender enough to peel away from the bone with little effort. It’s a
fine line and they nailed it. Again, I added extra mustard sauce, which is my
favorite of all BBQ sauces.
It was the sides that fell short for me. The slaw seemed to
be just cabbage, roasted red peppers, and vinegar. And if I dug around in their
recycling bin out back, I would put my paycheck on finding an empty #10 can of
Busch’s Baked Beans. The worst part was that they didn’t even doctor them up,
Most of my professional cook friends who may read this know exactly what I
mean; we’ve all done it. It was an unsatisfying end to a good start.
I’m certainly not done trying; I’ll need to find at least
three more similar places to dine before I leave this place.
We finished up, cleaned up our table, and thanked the owners
for their southern hospitality. As I would find out later, we aren’t truly in
the south. Not many people here have the stereotypical accent, which should
have been my giveaway.
We had big plans for the night, we were meeting up with a
former coworker for a fine-dining experience at the McNinch House, which was adorned
with dozens of local and national critic awards and stars and medallions and
whatnot. We had made reservations three months in advance, and I even bought a
suit because a jacket was required to dine.
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| This is a 2016 Dodge Grand Caravan. It's blue. The only differences between it, and the van I own at home, are the color and the license plate. I arranged to rent a 5-speed Hundai Accent, so we could zoom to and fro, but when we arrived at the airport rental agency, they had only one vehicle left to rent: my dad-van. |
