At one time, legendary BBQ was synonymous with a certain blue-collar, down-home atmosphere: a ramshackle shed outside Memphis, a gritty brick-walled place with a grease-slick counter. Part of the allure was the heady marinade of secrecy. Lose that exclusivity, and you were typically talking a chain where the “smoke” came from a bottle and sauces were reduced to the anodyne barbecue equivalent of Kraft Ranch Dressing.
But barbecue in a suburban strip mall? It would be like Andrew Zimmern or Anthony Bourdain suddenly discovering they don’t have to travel to Outlandishstan to sample roasted camel tongue since there’s a place in Cleveland selling it. And it’s available in a Happy Meal.
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If your view of ‘cue is this sort of cloistered hoi polloi provender, well, you might want to use one of those moist towelettes to clear your culinary windshield. Fact is, great BBQ has evolved. And it hasn’t sacrificed any of its homey authenticity in the process.
Big Baby Q is the latest, delectable example. Located in Maryland Heights, it’s spotless, gleaming—a far cry from those old-school ‘cue joints with smoke-stained walls and linoleum tiles.
A long, successful history of cooking in several restaurants led the proprietors to the corner of a strip mall on Dorsett Road, on the crest of a hill that probably had something to do with putting the “heights” in Maryland Heights. It’s small—two tables small, with another out on the patio. With offices all around, business is primarily take-out. By 11 a.m., designated pick up couriers are already lined up, with lists in hand. The place closes when they run out of whatever’s been prepared for the day. The brisket is usually the first to go.
That’s why we’re here. If barbecue had the appellations and vintages of wine, brisket would be Lafite Rothschild. The catalog of things that can go wrong in turning out a good brisket is multi-volume. Doing it right is an exacting science, the felicitous blending of wood, heat, and (most essential) time—each element vital in creating those glistening slabs of moist tenderness rimmed with a crispy, charred bark.
There are, of course, diversions at Big Baby Q: smoked chicken wings with a succulent rub that renders the meaty appendages mildly spicy, magnificently marbled pork steaks with sugary undertones.
Ribs are blessedly unadorned with sauce. (The sauces, while flavorful, are superfluous.) Cherry wood smoke is worked into the meat without desiccating it. St. Louisans have a long, sad history of preferring ribs consigned to the heat so long, they turn jerky-like and topple from the bone. Big Baby Q is a lesson in how this approach is so wrongheaded; the meat is pleasantly firm, substantial, the fibers with a delightful springiness.
The pulled pork neither shreds nor crumbles. The meat is served in juicy chunks, tumbled with enough of the skin to give a chewy, almost crunchy counterpoint.
The “loaded” in the loaded smokehouse potato is misleading. The potato is actually struggling to keep atop a smothering of butter, chipotle sour cream, baked beans, shredded Cheddar, and a generous heap of whatever barbecued meat, brisket, turkey, or pulled pork suits your fancy.
The Big Baby is a towering production, a stack of turkey breast and brisket slabs, paired with pickles, slaw, and a combination of Alabama-style white sauce and the house’s regular smoky sauce. It’s all confined, just barely, between buns. It’s a beautiful beast of a sandwich. All of the place’s offerings are prepared at the counter and nestled in paper boxes; this sandwich is so tall, it presses against the lid (though not for long before we tucked into ours). The combinations of sauces adds complementary elements; the pickles and vinegary slaw provide textures that are interesting and complex. The smoked turkey? It’s lovely, but the lack of fat in the breast has never made it a good candidate for the smoker. Really well-prepared smoked turkey breast is OK, and Big Baby’s smoked breast is definitely that.
But the brisket? It’s a whole different ballgame, one played in the smoker, with the brisket at a relatively low temperature and no particular hurry in coming out. It’s the whole brisket, including the fatty deckle and meaty lean point. The former marinates the latter, bathing it in a luscious dew.
We watched, last Thursday at lunchtime, as the woman behind the counter assembled the sandwich. Alexander Calder didn’t construct his famous mobiles with as much care, or attention to symmetrical proportioning. She neatly sliced off a Ritz cracker-size rectangle of bread. (If you need to be told it is white bread, you do not understand something of the essential nature of BBQ.) She then strategically arranged four slices of jalapeño atop the bread and added a slice of brisket. Cradling the entire composition on her fingertips as carefully as if it were a rough diamond, she dribbled on an oozing spiral of pearlescent, Alabama-style sauce.
The result: an edible masterpiece, as much an artistic statement as lunch.
We sampled a chunk from the sandwich without any of the sauces. It had the moistness, the smoky tones, the delicate crust of char. It is good brisket, and that says a lot. You can eat it tucked into sandwiches or by itself. It doesn’t matter. There are many reasons to visit Big Baby Q, and the brisket is at the top of the list.
Sure, the place might be sparkling clean and located in the suburbs. Nonetheless, trust us when we say it’s a BBQ destination.
Big Baby Q
11658 Dorsett
314-801-8888
