Ted Cook's 19th Hole BBQ

I've lived all over the country and all over the world, so while that makes me cultured and erudite and knowledgeable about other cultures, it also tends to make me an insufferable dinner companion sometimes. Just ask my girlfriend Shannon.

Because I'm from the east coast, I think the pizza out here in Minnesota is ok at best, but doesn't hold a candle to Pepe's in New Haven or anything you can get at the best places in New York City. And I cry a little bit on the inside when Minnesotans actually talk about walleye as "seafood."

I went to college in Baltimore, so no crab cake I've ever gotten since has lived up to my lofty standard.

I lived in Switzerland for over six years (and went to school just down the street from the Lindt factory!), so I consider myself something of an expert on chocolate. And don't even try to talk to me about fondue.

And I lived in the south for years, so I know me some barbecue. Hands down, there is no way any person not from the south, in the south, or somehow connected to the south can make barbecue that won't have me yearning for my days spent below the Mason Dixon line.

Well... except for Ted Cook, that is. Or whoever is working the smoker over at Ted Cook's 19th Hole Barbecue anyway. Now this stuff... this stuff is the real deal.

To be honest, when I say I lived in the south, I actually only lived in Balitmore, MD and Charlottesville, VA. Baltimore is just about as north as you can get while still claiming to live in the south, and Charlottesville is a college town, so while it is in the middle of Virginia, it's hardly representative of the rest of the state. So when I say that Ted Cook's has better BBQ than I used to get when I lived down south, it doesn't mean it's better than any BBQ you can get in the south, just better than any that I used to get. But by any standard, it's really good BBQ.

It's the kind of place that, as soon as you walk inside, you know it's going to be good. There are no tables, no chairs, and no real ambiance or charm of any kind. There's just a menu on the wall (with huge pictures, in case you weren't sure of what a rib is), a counter where you order, and a hole in the back wall through which some mysterious magical being hands out BBQ after you order it. This is southern style BBQ that comes sweet, hot, and with coleslaw a piece of white bread. And just like down south, half the fun is in figuring out what to do with the bread and how quickly you can throw away the coleslaw.

About the food there is little else to say except that it's great. The ribs were falling-off-the-bone tender, the pork was smoky and dripping with sauce, and the brisket just about melted in my mouth as quickly as I could shovel it in. The highest compliment I can pay this place is that now, after watching hours of programs about BBQ on the Food Network, I finally know of a place close by that will cure any cravings I get.

About the only negative things I can say about this place are that the "jojo potatoes" were mediocre and the prices were a little too high. Their jojo potatoes were basically just a huge mass of homemade chips that were either too thick or too crammed into the deep fryer, so none were able to cook through completely, leaving a big, dripping mass of chewy potato. Of course, we ate them all anyway. And the prices were a little too high, but considering how much you get, not so exorbitant that they were unreasonable. But a few more all a carte options at lower prices wouldn't be such a bad idea in my opinion.

But, at the end of the day, this was just good BBQ. And now when I start on a rant about how good the food was when I lived in the south, people can shut me about about the BBQ in South Minneapolis.

I Got Dogged

Last night my sister and I went to the Uptown Bulldog, and since I have a blog, I'm going to complain about the lousy service because I'm still mad about it.

We arrived at 6:30pm, which was a little late to enjoy the happy hour since it ends at 7:00, but hey... a half hour is better than nothing. I figured I could get in at least a couple beers at the discount before the regular pricing kicked in. That was the plan, anyway, which was made mostly impossible due to the slow, lackluster service.

At first, out waitress was a fine if not all together wonderful server. She was polite and arrived only a few minutes after we sat down, answering whatever questions we had and then went off to get our drinks. She came back with the drinks after a few more minutes and then took our dinner order. And then we never saw her again until around 7:00pm. I was hoping to get a last call or at least flag her down so I could get my empty beer replaced before happy hour ended, but that didn't happen. When she finally came over, I asked her very politely if I could still get a beer at the happy hour price.

"Happy hour was over a while ago," she said, which was odd, because that was an extreme exaggeration. I said I knew that, but was hoping I could still get one at the happy hour price since we never got a last call.

"I don't do last call," she said coldly. "We don't do that here."

I just stared at her, actually shocked not only by what she was saying, but that I could tell that my simple question would generate that kind of attitude. How about something like, "I'm sorry, but I'm not able to do that"? That would have been a satisfactory answer. But to act as though I was a jerk simply for asking pissed me off.

"I have 7:01," I said, showing her my watch, which meant that when she actually came over to our table, it was no more than a minute after happy hour, but possibly not even that long.

She just looked at me and then said something along the lines of, "Look, if you really need it, I''ll give you a dollar if you order another beer, ok?!"

I said I'd take it, and she walked away in a huff. It was just... strange, and while I'll admit that my request was kind of bold (even though I was right, and I actually went out of my way to be polite and not rag on her for being a poor server), her response was ridiculous, and made all the worse by the fact that she made an effort to ignore me for the rest of the night, only looking at and talking to my sister when she'd come back over. At one point we were both done with our meals, with our empty baskets pushed away from us toward the center of the table, and then she came over and took only my sister's tray, asked her how it was, and then left without looking at me or taking my tray as well.

And then when the bill came, there was no dollar included nor any kind of discount. She did come over as we were looking at the bill and said, in the same cold tone she had used on my all evnenign, "I know I said I'd give you a dollar, and you can have it if you want. I don't want to be some kind of jerk."

Too late, I thought, but what I said aloud was to keep her dollar. So... that's the Bulldog. Good burgers, lots of beers on tap, awful service. I don't think I need to go back there.