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| - A brick wood-fired smoker with a cast iron door, a stainless steel prep table with cutting boards, cooler case, a cash register, and a man who has been tending the coals well beyond your time.
Wilson's is what a great BBQ place should be. Simple.
There is no sense in overanalyzing what Mr. Wilson has been doing here for years. He's not a competition circuit smoker, not a modern restaurateur spreading his seed across Pittsburgh, and certainly no hipster chef serving ingredients grown in his rooftop garden.
Ribs. Chicken. Sauce.
The slow smoked spare ribs, sold by the plate size or full rack, are smoked just long enough to make the rib bones protrude from the top of the slab but not long enough so the meat is "falling off the bone"... tender and juicy, but enough bite to let you know that you're eating the flesh off an animal. The color and texture of the surface aren't overwhelming in flavor but give you just enough crust and seasoning to let you experience the strata of bark / meat / fat. For those that don't like fat, you'll complain about the ribs. Spares have a tendency to hold a bit more fat within the meat fibers, particularly the section around the tips that are usually trimmed for a St. Louis cut. you want low fat? Eat a pork loin or a handful of grass.
The chickens are halved and smoked right alongside the ribs. The skin had nice chew, a good simple rub, and cooked beyond the point of any gummy texture but not so long that it was a layer of armor surrounding the meat. The dark meat was succulent and the white meat maintained just the right amount of moisture.
As requested, everything was served with the hot BBQ sauce. Not mind blowingly hot, but a well rounded picquant flavor with a bit of black pepper on the tip of the tongue. Tomato base with a bit of vinegar, good enough to compliment the meat and fat of both animals.
As for sides, the collard greens are tender and you'll come across the occasional gold nugget of pork. The coleslaw and macaroni salad are simple and a bit underseasoned, but when eaten in tandem with the meat and sauce they compliment everything just fine. Mr. Wilson also caps off an order with the true stamp of great bbq... white bread. A vessel to mop up all the rib shrapnel swimming in the pool of sauce at the bottom of your styrofoam container.
It's not the cleanest, it's not the classiest... why? It's a rib shack in an old house that's been here for going on 53 years. It may not be the best barbecue you'll ever eat, but in a city with new restaurants popping up every week that all try to outduel each other with trendy ingredients, it's nice to know that I can walk in through an old screen door and be slapped in the face with a stiff breeze of smoking pork... without having to worry about anyone selling me small portion size, extravagant presentation, and a list of 35 ingredients to compose a single dish.
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