King BBQ: The Meats, Baby
I love Jackrabbit Filly. But I think its sister restaurant, King BBQ, might be even better. Just as quirky, with food that had my family fighting over bowls and me strategically encouraging marital discord to protect my dinner.
Parking is easy. You order and wait rather than having traditional table service, which was fine with us. Everybody loved their cocktails, the mocktails were great, and the unsweet tea was good.
There. We have discharged our obligations to the beverages.
The meats, baby.
We started with fried ribs, shrimp toast sliders, krab rangoon dip, and happy hour hush puppies with Sichuan butter. This was already enough food to suggest we needed adult supervision. Unfortunately, we were the adults.
The krab rangoon dip was good, although paired with hush puppies it was heavy. I am not complaining. These are some of the best hush puppies around, and I preferred them with the Sichuan butter. My cardiologist would not approve. If he knew about King BBQ, he might seek an injunction.
The shrimp toast sliders were my favorite starter. Imagine a McDonald’s Filet-O-Fish reincarnated through several lifetimes until it finally achieved nirvana. That is what happened here. I cannot explain the spiritual journey, but I can testify to the result.
Everyone else voted for the fried ribs. Fried, yet fall-off-the-bone tender, smothered in a slightly sweet, spicy sauce. These were not ribs you politely sampled while maintaining a conversation. These required your attention and several napkins. Noel says these were the best ribs she has ever had and she would go back for these alone. That's pretty strong for a woman who knows how to f-up some ribs.
Then came the moo shu pork. Understand something about me: I love moo shu pork anywhere, anytime. I have loved bad moo shu in cheap dives with stale pancakes and old jarred hoisin. My standards in this particular relationship have historically been shamefully low. King BBQ has ruined that arrangement.
This is what moo shu pork becomes when somebody who loves food makes it. Tender pork is mixed with mushrooms and cabbage, wonderful sauce, fresh pancakes, perfect hoisin. I will go back for this over and over. I have accepted trash moo shu for the last time. Personal growth occasionally comes wrapped in a pancake.
And we still had not reached the barbecue. We ordered the Chinatown Delight, a $98 spread that I consider underpriced for both its quality and its frankly unreasonable quantity. Chicken, duck, spare ribs, pork belly, chopped pork, three huge sides, fresh bao buns, and pancakes. The table began to resemble evidence of a catering contract. (Yes, the sides come in addition to the meats!)
The barbecue ribs were the low point, which needs some context. They were perfectly tender, but after the smothered fried ribs we had just eaten, their flavor felt subdued. The opening act had gotten a little rowdy and made life difficult for the next witness.
The pork belly was magnificent. Noel and Desmond fought over it. As their mother and mother-in-law, I should probably have encouraged cooperation. Instead, I let them scrap because it kept them out of my moo shu pork. Sometimes a marriage needs space. Specifically, space at the other end of the table.
The chopped pork was good too, but who had room? It had the misfortune of being good in the company of things that were making us lose our minds.
Which brings me to the birds. Normally, poultry does not win my affection over pork. Chicken is rarely the reason I get excited about dinner. But the chicken and duck here? Fuck me sideways. This shit makes a confirmed meat eater believe birds are real.
The smoke, the seasoning, the skin, the juiciness. All of it. And I have had some seriously good duck this year: Chef Loong’s, the crispy duck at Pho and Pad Thai, and that whole Cantonese duck at Beautiful South. King BBQ’s duck may have been better than all of them. Perfectly smoked, crisp skin, juicy inside, oozing flavor without being greasy. I went in prepared to favor the pig and found myself reconsidering my allegiances.
Even the sides caused trouble. I am not a huge collards fan. Yet Noel and Desmond had to coax me into passing the bowl. Those collards were so tender, with a slight Sichuan heat that brought out a fullness of flavor without bitterness. I finally surrendered them. The bowl never came back. I know where they live.
The red rice had the proper flavor, big chunks of smoked meat, and grains that actually held their structure. Too much red rice turns to mush. This did not. There was enough going on at this table without the rice collapsing under pressure.
Then there was the curried corn pudding. This should have been gross. It looked like mash. It smelled sweet. With all those magnificent meats on the table, why would I waste valuable stomach space investigating a yellow mound? Because apparently I know nothing. We ended up fighting over that too.
Corn mash soaked in butter, with the curry pitched perfectly: neither too hot nor too sweet. It tasted like an Asian dude fell in love with a Southern Black woman and they made love and beautiful food together. I do not know whether that is the origin story. If it is, I need those two to stay together. I am professionally equipped to identify the consequences of separation, and this corn pudding must be protected.
There were homemade tasty cakes available for dessert. I cannot tell you anything about them. I only had eyes for the meats.
King BBQ gave us exceptional food, enormous portions, and several minor family disputes. I will be back for the moo shu, and the duck, and the shrimp toast, and, apparently, a bowl of collards I will have to hold in my lap.
Verdict: judgment for King BBQ. My cardiologist’s objection is noted and overruled.
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