One of the highlights of my drive out West from Virginia this summer was the opportunity to spend a night in Memphis. Sandwiched between stops in Nashville and Austin, Memphis will be best remembered not for Graceland (Elvis loved the finer things, incidentally) or Beale Street, but instead for the ribs I had at Rendezvous, a veritable institution of Southern barbecue in a narrow alley in the shadow of the historic Peabody Hotel. I had one full rack of ribs there for lunch, and another for dinner later that night. By the time I left for Texas the next morning, I probably looked like one of those snakes that just ate something huge. In any event, those ribs in Memphis – smoky, tender, and messy – opened my eyes to what real barbecue should taste like.
I hadn’t had ribs since that night, and as such was eager to try the fare at Honey Bear’s BBQ, winner of many “Best of Phoenix” awards since its opening in 1986. After class this afternoon, I changed into clothes I wouldn’t mind getting sauce all over and sped up Central Avenue for a mid-afternoon feast. My hopes for a gourmet meal took a small hit when I saw the restaurant’s motto, “You Don’t Need No Teeth To Eat Our Meat!”, prominently displayed at its entrance. Don’t bring that weak grammar into this blog, Honey Bear. My hopes were crushed, however, when I tried to order baked beans and cornbread with my ribs, only to be told that they didn’t sell either. The guy behind the counter wasn’t even joking. I settled for sides of coleslaw and corn on the cob, and slunk to a booth.
Look again at the photo at the top of this post. Note specifically the grayish color of the meat, and the curiously reflective, suspiciously fluorescent sauce. You don’t need to be a connoisseur of barbecue to tell that the ribs are the fifth most appetizing part of the photo, ahead of the tinfoil but behind the Styrofoam. Had I no obligation to the few people who actually read this blog, I probably would have thrown the tray away and driven to Chipotle. I can now report to all four of you that the sauce is probably watered-down ketchup, and that the flavorless, leathery meat almost certainly didn’t come from a pig. Now, is it fair to compare the best ribs in Memphis to Honey Bear’s offerings here in Phoenix? Probably not. But I didn’t start this blog to eat bad food, or even average food. Phoenix, I expected better from you today.
