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| - Hoooo, boy. Where do I begin? Let me start by saying that, while not native Southerners, the boyfriend and I spent the last several years living in Memphis, one of the BBQ capitals of the nation. They take BBQ VERY seriously in Memphis, and it is everywhere. After years of living around the corner from some of the best BBQ in town, we have been absolutely appalled at what passes for BBQ up here, and Brickhouse was Exhibit A.
Let me set the stage -- it was a hot Sunday afternoon, around 2pm. Not a busy time; in fact, the beautiful, multi-floor restaurant was practically deserted. Lured by the promise of a rooftop patio, we schlepped up the stairs, only to discover that, oddly enough, there were no umbrellas. Those few brave patrons up there were baking in the sun, and not wishing to freeze in the air conditioning inside, we joined them...after I ran back downstairs, and up again, for sunscreen and a hat from the car.
Craving something cold and alcoholic at this point, but not being a beer drinker, I asked our waitress to tell me about the whopping 2 hard ciders on the menu (1 apple, 1 pear). She mumbled something about not really knowing anything about them and settled for bringing me tasting portions from the bar. Ok, fine. I settled on the pear, and we ordered food.
Our fried duck wings eventually came out, and they were a disappointment. If I hadn't known they were duck, I never would have guessed, and the overly sweet sauce they were served with didn't add anything. And then. And then. Halfway through our appetizer, the waitress appeared with our entrees. My pet peeve.
Rather than send them back, and risk having them sit under a warming lamp in the kitchen, we made room on the table and dug in. My pulled pork was not spectacular, and I didn't like any of the 3 sauces on the table -- all of them seemed to have a great deal of black pepper in them, and were somehow not quite an appealing consistency. The boyfriend's ribs were a major disappointment, clearly having been braised or otherwise cooked without benefit of a smoker, which is the whole point of BBQ (he actually commented on entering the restaurant that he didn't smell their smoker, which is a bad sign -- no smoker means no true BBQ).
His green beans, described as spicy, were not at all, and the final straw for me was discovering that my mac 'n cheese was cold. Cold enough that I suspected that it had been the first thing put on the plate waaaay downstairs in the kitchen, waited for the rest of my food, and, by the time it made it up several flights to me, had died a sad, quiet death. When I pointed this out to the waitress she brought me a fresh portion (which was actually hot), but may I remind you that the restaurant was practically empty? And who serves cold mac 'n cheese??
At this point, having been roasting in the sun for an hour and been served a poor excuse for BBQ, we paid the $60 bill and left. Asked on the way out how it was, I commented on the lack of umbrellas on the patio and was given a lame excuse about how they were replacing the worn-out ones. Uh, could you keep the old ones til the new ones came? So your patrons don't die out there?
So if this is "the best BBQ in Madison," that is a very sad statement. If you don't know what BBQ is, you might like Brickhouse, but please, stay away. Far away.
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