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The Bridgeport Ribhouse: These Yankees, with Their Crazy--But Sometimes Inspired--Ideas about BarbequeMar 22 '01 Write an essay on this topic.The Bottom Line Enjoyable barbeque really is available in the Philadelphia area. As a child, I never really had the opportunity to crave barbeque. I grew up in Texas, where it was difficult to make it through a week without having excellent barbeque in one form or another. I have sat through lots of arguments about the value of pulling meat vs. chopping meat and serving it cold vs. serving it hot and using spicy sauces vs. using sweet sauces. But the arguments never meant much to me because the solution was always to go try a new barbeque place that proved the validity of serving barbeque a different way because the barbeque--be it pulled, cold, and sweet or chopped, hot, and spicy--was always good. You just can't get bad barbeque in Texas. The good stuff is so readily available in so many places that the bad barbeque restaurants don't stand a chance. But there is bad barbeque in the world. When I moved to the Northeast back in 1991, I quickly learned that it is very easy for people to serve bad barbeque when there isn't any competition around. In the ten years that I've lived in New Jersey and Pennsylvania, I have visited endless restaurants--even in New York City--that seemed to think that the practice of baking a chicken breast in barbeque sauce entitles the management to put barbequed chicken on the menu. They don't even know how to spell barbeque. The proper spelling is just three letters, for crying out loud: b-b-q. Those who know what they're looking for will be glad to see that the chef was too busy smoking and saucing the meat to bother spelling out the whole word on the sign. I'm pleased to report that after ten years of searching, I have finally found a restaurant (just outside of Philadelphia) that serves barbeque that is a good deal better than edible. I won't call it the best barbeque I've ever had. Frankly, it's been so long since I had good barbeque that I am no longer an adequate judge. But I will say that if the owner of The Bridgeport Ribhouse decided to move his restaurant to Austin, he would be able to hold his own against the local competition. Not that he wouldn't get some funny looks. "Provolone cheese--," his first customer would ask, "now why would I want provolone cheese on my barbeque sandwich?" And when the customer asked for barbeque sauce to douse his sandwich with, he might be surprised to receive a condiment caddy including spicy brown mustard, horseradish chunks, and chopped peppers. Everybody knows that barbeque sandwiches are served with pickles and onions and red sauce (and once you make it west of Abilene, jalapeno peppers). The very idea of serving barbeque sandwiches with brown mustard and horseradish chunks and provolone cheese is outrageous. It's also not at all bad. I spoke to the owner of The Bridgeport Ribhouse about his condiment selections and the way he prepared his meats. He admitted that he grew up in the Philadelphia area, but recently made a tour of the South to find out what he thought he needed to know about barbeque. Since his tour was only a month long, he must be a very quick learner. When he was finished with his apprenticeship, he came back to Philadelphia to make a barbeque that he would like. He hoped that others might like it to. My aunt owned a roadside barbeque restaurant just outside College Station, Texas. It was some of the best barbeque I've ever had in my life. When I asked her how she made it so good, she said pretty much the same thing as the owner of The Bridgeport Ribhouse: "I just keep fiddling with it until it tastes good to me. Then it's ready to serve." Although there is more to say about the barbeque, the restaurant itself is certainly worth commenting on. When my wife and I walked in for lunch at 2, we found ourselves in a slightly smoky, chatty atmosphere. The dining tables are clustered in large niches surrounding a long, rectangular bar. The bartender made us feel at home right away by asking if we would mind sitting at the bar, since she would be able to take better care of us if she didn't have to make her way out of the bar and to a table in order to wait on us. Others who came in after us received the same polite speech. Anyone who really wanted a separate space could have sat at a table. But the encouragement to join an ever-growing group of friendly (and almost exclusively blue collar) diners almost made me feel as if I was in a part of the country where people are inclined to give strangers the benefit of the doubt. There is a pool table tucked away in the corner of the restaurant and a video poker machine off to the right of the bar. The decor is charmingly bizarre: The walls are studded with knick-knacks that are separated from each other with neckties. The bar is extremely well-stocked with liquor, but since I was only there for lunch, I restricted myself to beer. I had the Yuengling Lager, which went perfectly with my barbeque sandwich. But the selection of beers at the Ribhouse runs from Bud and Bud Light to Guinness on draft and an extensive bottled selection. I ate my meal elbow to elbow with a mechanic named Butch who talked to the bartender about her car trouble. On the other side of Butch, a couple of gentlemen got themselves quietly drunk on Jack Daniels and argued with one another with the easy civility that comes to us naturally when we are in a place that makes us feel comfortable. On the other side of the bar, a couple of guys in greasy uniforms tried to flirt with the bartender, who was far more interested in hearing what Butch thought about her car. The atmosphere, in other words, was perfect. I give the Ribhouse five stars for its clientele alone. This is an easygoing place for hardworking people. And the neckties on the wall are a riot. The food was not perfect. My wife ordered the spicy spare ribs, which were delicious. But they came with french fries that were undercooked and--judging from the look of them--produced by a french fry manufacturer. Considering how easy it is to make french fries from potatoes, I'm always a little annoyed to see mass-produced french fries at places like the Ribhouse. My Italian barbeque sandwich (with the provolone) was really excellent, but was served (rather unimaginatively) with a few tasteless potato chips and a pickle spear. It's unreasonable of me to expect a place like the Ribhouse to compete with the barbeque joints I grew up with, but I expected something more than potato chips and a pickle spear on a $6 sandwich plate. My wife's rib plate, at $11, came with any two side dishes from the menu. The fact that she ended up with french fries and macaroni salad had less to do with the limitations of the menu than her desire to recreate the kind of barbeque plates she was used to ordering in her hometown of El Paso. Considering the price gouging that we all know to associate with alcoholic beverages in restaurants, the drink prices at the Ribhouse were a good deal better than reasonable. My beer only cost twice as much as my wife's iced tea. I don't recommend the Ribhouse for barbeque aficionados who are only visiting Philadelphia for a few days. They won't quite be able to get over the shock of seeing provolone cheese on the menu. But for anyone who lives in the Philadelphia area and wants to know why whole regions of our nation swear by b-b-q, the Ribhouse is an excellent place for barbequed ribs. I imagine it's also a fun place to shoot pool. ___________________________ Located at 1049 Ford Street in Bridgeport, The Bridgeport Ribhouse is within spitting distance of Highway 202. Those who are interested might want to check out the restaurant's homepage at the following link: http://www.ribhouse.net/  |
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