WHY BOTHER EATING AT URBAN BBQ?
We're that good.
On 'Cue
Urban Bar-B-Que's ribs and pulled pork hit the spot
By Tom Sietsema
Sunday, March 7, 2004; Page W41
** Urban Bar-B-Que Company
2007 Chapman Ave. (at Twinbrook Parkway), Rockville 240-290-4827
Open: Sunday through Thursday 11 a.m. to 8 p.m., Friday and Saturday 11 a.m. to 9 p.m. AE, D, MC, V. No reservations. No smoking. Metro: Twinbrook. Parking lot. No alcohol. Prices: appetizers $4 to $6, entrees $5 to $17. Full dinner with soft drinks, tax and tip about $15 to $20 per person.
David Calkins was cooking at J. Paul's in Georgetown and Lee Howard was managing the nearby Old Glory barbecue restaurant when they decided to strike out on their own in December. As Calkins sums up their motive, "We got tired of making everybody else rich."
These days, the two friends just want to make everybody who visits their tiny Urban Bar-B-Que Company in Rockville fat and happy. Or so it appears. The fun starts at the counter, where the jolly Howard tosses out suggestions along with a big hello, and continues with commentary from the dashing Calkins, who is not quite behind the scenes in the open kitchen (which, unlike the space for diners, is so big it accommodates a mini-basketball court for the cook's children). "We make everything ourselves," Calkins tells a first-time visitor scanning the chalkboard of possibilities. "Everything except for the hamburger buns and the corn dogs."
Much of the food here revels in old-fashioned appeal. If the pulled smoked chicken is a bit of a bore, and the chili smacks of too much sweetener, they are outmuscled by some real crowd-pleasers: meaty and crusty pork ribs, suffused with the scent of hickory and apple wood, for example. Even tastier is the pulled smoked pork. Like many of the meat selections, it is offered either as a sandwich or as a plate with corn bread and a choice from eight other side dishes. Marinated and slow-smoked, "Lee's Texas brisket" is shaved into a heap of thin slices but tastes just okay. The brisket is greatly improved with a splat or a splash of one of Urban's sauces, either the thick "yella," with mustard, tomato, onion, lemon and such, or the thin but assertive "Carolina sop," its cider vinegar and red pepper punch countered by molasses. (The simply named "red" sauce is smoky but cloying.) The crab cake looks out of place, like Anna Nicole Smith at a state dinner, but one taste of the fat, fresh patty and you'll be glad it has been included on this meat-stacked menu.
Calkins and Howard venture beyond the expected pulled meats, brisket and ribs typical of most barbecue joints with several snacks that are middlebrow riffs on popular American foods. If you're encouraged to try a "soul roll," just do it. Calkins combines brisket, caramelized onions and cheese in egg roll wrappers, frying each length to a light crunch. Good by themselves, these noshes show up with a dip -- "redneck fondue," which translates as some of Urban's chili mixed in with melted cheese. It's the sort of soothing, substantial munchie you want to have around while watching a game on TV, or after a night of club-hopping. In other words, it is mindless and heart-stopping -- but also pretty darn good. Urban's Buffalo wings, plump and juicy, get a slight Asian accent in their seasoning; otherwise, they are served classically with celery sticks and blue cheese dip. I can't say whether the "world's best B-L-T" is all that, because I haven't yet tried every last version on the planet. I do admire this one's crisp, thick-cut bacon and cool iceberg lettuce, though.
Most of the side dishes are stars. Coleslaw tastes fresh and lightly creamy, and baked beans hint nicely of brown sugar and smoke. I might wish for more tang in the collard greens, but the corn bread is right on, light in texture and punctuated with corn kernels. And the chunky potato salad gets a nice kick from mustard, celery and herbs. "Nothing but cream and butter in the mashed potatoes," Calkins says, tempting customers to throw to the wind what little remaining caution they may have. Even the macaroni and cheese, creamy and tender, is something to cheer about. This food calls for beer, but you'll have to settle for soda or, more appropriately, peach tea. Urban doesn't have a liquor license.
It's probably a good thing that most of the people who drop by order their food to go. The Urban Bar-B-Que Company has no more than 10 shiny stools, some arranged along a narrow window counter, and others around a big butcher-block table, with a little barrel of peanuts for munching and a rainbow of barbecue sauces. To call it a dining room would be a stretch. But the room is crammed with plenty of diversions, from the chili pepper lights clinging to a wagon-wheel chandelier to an impressive array of cookbooks (even the haute French Larousse Gastronomique) and amusing signage, some of it collected during Howard's childhood in Texarkana. "No Cursin'," one placard playfully reminds customers. "Free BBQ Tomorrow!" a chalkboard announces. "Free barbecue tomorrow?" I ask Howard. "How does that work?" He waits a moment for the joke to sink in, then explains: "It will say the same thing if you come in . . . tomorrow." Gotcha!
Desserts share the same homey quality of what comes before them. Among the all-American treats are an ice cream float made with draft root beer, a Key lime pie that nicely balances sugar with citrus, and an apple crisp rich with cinnamon and big enough for two lumberjacks to split. "I peel the Granny Smiths myself," the cook feels compelled to say.
The subject of barbecue evokes strong feelings among its fans. Whether you embrace Urban or not may depend on what you consider the real deal, or where you grew up. Memphis? Lexington? Dallas? Kansas City? Raleigh? Each has its cheerleaders. The point is, Urban has more than just meat to recommend it: Who knew that carryout could be so much fun?