I spent a couple more days in Florence, Alabama, writing and trying not to eat anything noteworthy. On a wild compulsion, I had dinner at Grille 360, the revolving concrete monstrosity lurking far above my hotel.
It’s quite expensive and as spiritually vacant as intergalactic space. Join me for some high anxiety in this video: Movie file
Breakfast in the concierge lounge at the Marriott was surprisingly good:
There may not be much great eating in Florence, but all of Alabama lies enticingly to the south. My cousin Michael, who lives in Birmingham, met me halfway, in Decatur, which happens to have some famous ‘cue.
I am forever indebted to Michael for bringing up some ribs from Birmingham I’d hoped to try, and, moreover, taking the impressive step of strapping those puppies into a child safety seat for maximal protection:
Below are the ribs Michael brought from Demetri’s Barbecue (1901 28th Avenue South, Homewood, Alabama; 205-871-1581). They’re quite good, though a bit flat tasting. Maybe the two-hour ride knocked out the je ne sais quoi.
We scarfed them in the parking lot of Big Bob Gibson Bar-B-Q (1715 Sixth Avenue S.E. (a.k.a. Highway 31), Decatur, Alabama; 256-350-6969), which we subsequently hit for dinner.
This is a real Alabama landmark—for pie, white sauce, barbecue baked potatoes, and overall good barbecue in general. The big news was that they quietly make a superb spuddy Brunswick stew, rife with potato chunks, which I adored.
White barbecue sauce is a unique local innovation (just served in this part of Alabama, to my knowledge, and known here as “white sauce”) that’s good on chicken and for dunking french fries. Here’s Gibson’s recipe, courtesy of the Food Network … and here’s a totally different recipe, also claiming to be authentic, from the WhiteTrashBBQ blog.
The chicken was wonderful, especially with that white sauce:
You can get a feel for the chicken’s tenderness from this shot, and also gawk more closely at that weirdo cole slaw:
I don’t totally understand the barbecue baked potato (one of Gibson’s famed innovations), and it looked like hell. But after my first tentative, probing forkful, I couldn’t stop eating it.
I’ve gone to the unusual length of offering two shots of the ribs (below). You’ll notice that they have a slick, hard, greasy sheen. They taste slick, hard, and greasy, too. They were served hot, and while I don’t suspect the kitchen actually fried them to rewarm, mucho oil went in late in the game, and to my palate it really deteriorated what had clearly started out being fine ribs. Depressing!
Killer wonderful pies!
I nearly knocked Michael unconscious with a third barbecue stop (he called the next day to say that he’d awakened with a food hangover), but it had to be done. On the way, we passed this amazing car:
b.b. perrins (608 Holly Street N.E., off Highway 31, Decatur, Alabama; 256-355-1045) is as soulless a sports bar as you’d guess from its corny lack of capitalization. Everything in this place screamed, “Get out before it’s too late!” But the ribs were excellent, as was the chicken.
Hear my shock at finding great barbecue in a horrid sports bar: MP3
This barbecue, too, was rewarmed, though with a lighter hand, making it more enjoyable (I’m quite sure Big Bob Gibson’s ‘cue would beat them right out of the smoker, though). I guess these places are trying to zing up their ‘cue to appeal to the widest possible market.
But just as I was complaining about the greasy sizzly cynical rewarm, my mind flashed back to Demetri’s ribs, which had seemed flat to me at room temperature. So I guess these places are damned if they do reheat and damned if they don’t! Come to think of it, the ribs I tried outside Chattanooga (see report #25) were at room temperature, too. But somehow they managed to taste quite lively. I’m confused. But no time for further research, as it’s time to roar north for (I’m actually trembling with anticipation!) the Kentucky Bourbon Festival.