Rosedale Bar-B-Q

I have to apologize because this post is about a week late. My friend, Jess Langford, a local Kansas Citian and a sauce hound, and I went to Rosedale Bar-B-Q last Thursday right before I left town so I didn't have time to write it right away. I know I said that I'd only review a restaurant when the tastes were fresh in my mouth but I haven't had any BBQ since and I took great notes.

We went to Rosedale to fulfill a bet we made on the Super Bowl. The winner got to pick the sandwhich, side, and drink at the establishment of his choice. Jess picked the Giants thus he picked the meal. He wanted to go to Rosedale because he hadn't been in a long time and he remembered they had unique sauce. His memory was accurate.

I hadn't been to Rosedale before which is silly because it is incredibly close to my house. I rolled down Rainbow, turned left on Southwest Boulevard and shortly thereafter, among the aging brick and stone factories and a grain elevator next door, sat Rosedale, whose red brick structure matched that of its industrial surroundings.

It wasn't busy, but there was steady traffic. There were two registers on either side of the lunch counter, above which large pictures of smoked, sauced meat hung and a long bar on which sauce and ketchup were spaced evenly between every two stools. The cashier was friendly and patient while we stood meandering, unable to make up our minds. We examined the menu which was hung on the wall. Jess got the burnt end sandwhich, fries and and iced tea. I got my customary pulled pork sandwhich and fries, but also ordered the beans. Our food was ready before my receipt was printed to be signed.

We grabbed a light brown wooden booth, which matched the rest of the establishment. The bar, the walls, the floor, all wood, giving Rosedale an old fashioned feel. The walls were laiden with Budweiser and Bud Light signs, articles proclaiming the Rosedale legend, and artifacts representing various elements of Kansas City culture. As I lathered my meat in sauce, I glanced at one of these articles on the wall to my right. I read the first few paragraphs describing Rosedale's history.

In 1934 Anthony Pieke and Anthony Sielmann, brothers-in-law, opened a hotdog and beer stand, known as The Bucket Stop, to serve lunch to workers in the Southwest Blvd. area. A year later they took $183 and opened a BBQ stand 100 feet from The Bucket Shop after regularly smelling "Fatty" Sharp's smoked meat from a half mile down the road. They found their clientel was hungry for BBQ and decided to invest, according to the Rosedale BBQ website. http://www.rosedalebarbeque.com/the-rosedale-story.html

"If the barbeque is good you should have trouble deciding whether to eat or write," Jess proclaimed, noticing I was having such a difficulty.

As I chewed and took notes I examined the room which was mostly occupied by men with long beards, camo or trucker hats, overalls and flannel. I also saw a pair of older men, splitting a long thick slab of ribs, sandwhich, I think brisket, and sides. They looked like they'd been doing so for decades. I joked to Jess that that would be us in about 50 years. The blue collar clientele matched Rosedale's history of serving the working man on his lunch hour.

The restaurant's speciality seemed to be the lunch break. Clearly set up for efficiency, to quickly serve so its customers could fit in a hearty meal in a short time. The more than substantial portions were seemingly made to order and wrapped, easily pocketable to eat on the fly. Comparing portion, taste and price, Rosedale is some of the more affordable BBQ I've had in Kansas City.

Now, I'm big on efficiency. I think its my German genetic engineering, but I also believe that when it comes to art, creating maximum speed will sacrifice certain aspects of quality. Rosedale was no exception.

The food wasn't cold by any means, but I think it could have been hotter, fresher. The pork, laid between a white bread bun, was shredded, pulled finely, juicy and a little fatty, but the delicious kind of fatty, the succulent kind of fatty, the mouth-watering kind of fatty.

The sauce, as Jess put it, had a complex assortment of flavors. It was thick and looked like it could have been preserved jam, specs floating, tangled in jelly. The standard sauce had a quiet kick of spiciness in addition to the standard paprika backing. It had a bitterness, providing balance and complexity. We discussed and analyzed on and off throughout our meal, trying to determine what the balancing ingredient was. Jess, who had worked at a BBQ establishment in Springfield, MO as a meat smoker, and who is constantly cooking up new concoctions, finally found the secret, celery. He came to this conclusion by examing the individual specs and saw little green flakes that almost had to be celery.

He brought the premonition to my attention. I analyzed and agreed. We both really dug the sauce, in particularly its originality. "I'm a fan," Jess stated simply and I agreed. Too many sauces, not just in Kansas City, have the standard KC Masterpiece flavor and its always nice to have one that not only branches off but plants its own sapling.

We sampled the spicy sauce too which took the standard sauce's quiet kick to a yell. It didn't scream or burn but we could hear what it had to say. The makeup was similar to the standard sauce but brought the kick to a march and let the bitterness in the background. Jess was particularly fond of the spicy version and I enjoyed it too.

The baked beans were soaked in the standard sauce along with pieces of onion, celery, and chunks of pork that I found settled at the bottom of the styrofoam cup. The consistency could have been more homogenous but the contents were tasty.

Jess enjoyed his burnt ends which were chopped in large chunks and slopped on an eight to ten inch baguette looking bun. I had a piece and found it pretty dry which I understand may be common with burnt ends due to its burnt nature, but as Jess explained it doesn't have to be that dry. We agreed that this probably had something to do with Rosedale's efficiency. However, he did like that they weren't soupy as some burnt ends are due to being soaked in juice for too long. He enjoyed his meal but this was definitely not his favorite burnt end experience.

I have to say that Rosedale's fries were weak. They were crinkle cut and seemed to be taken from a frozen bag that you could get at Sam's. As a fry fanatic I was disapointed. They were fried, golden and crispy so they were prepared about as good as they could be, but in my opinion fries should be fresh cut and given a little more attention and respect than to be grabbed from a grocery freezer.

A general rule of mine for KC BBQ is that if its open every Sunday, it probably is not top tier. This being that the family owned and operated establishments usually close on Sundays, giving the clan a day off. Rosedale, open on Sundays, is among those that make me question the rule. I wouldn't quite call Rosedale as a whole top tier, although their sauce is definitely up there, but I'd be down to go back any time. Rosedale seems to be one of those places that probably used to be one of the best but has sacraficed some quality for speed, but if you need hearty, quality barbeque on the go or you want to try a unique sauce experience, roll down to 600 Southwest Boulevard.

LC's Bar-B-Q

I'd like to apologize for the lack of pictures. I lifted my bun to pour the sauce on, meant to take another picture with the meat smothered, but then I started eating and I forgot about my journalistic integrity. Once I bit, I was lost in the succulence. But for the short conversation I had with LC, the man himself, I was completely absorbed in my meal.

Heading away from the plaza Volker turns into Swope which turns into Blue Parkway. Less than 10 minutes from the fancy plaza fixins', where the buildings get older, more dilapidated, the neighborhood gets a little rough, you can find a true diamond of Kansas City culinary delight, LC's Bar-B-Q. LC's has been in the same shack for 26 years, since 1986, a year before I was born.

I have to be honest with you about this post. I will not be unbiased but I'll try. LC's is my favorite BBQ place in all of Kansas City and that includes those I've visited in the subarbs in Kansas. I still have many to try but so far LC's keeps me coming back more than any other eating establishment in the whole metropolitan area except for maybe Winstead's and D'bronx which is due more to convenience.

Once I cross the Blue Parkway Bridge, I don't know its official name, I see a glimpse of LC's sign and then I immediately spy the smoke that constantly billows from the the smokestack. LC told me an anecdote about a man who came down from Michigan talking about liquid smoke. LC explained with a grin and a little disdain that we didn't have any of that down here.

I pull up into the tiny parking lot, there is more room around back, and I see through a window into the back room, storage for jugs and boxes piled and stacked everywhere. I grab one of the bars that lay criss-crossed on the front door, that match those on all the windows, pull and enter. It was about 2 pm so the place was mostly empty except for me, a cashier, a smoker, and LC who sat, laid back in his office chair, hands folded against his protruding belly. In front of him was his office, a desk leaned against the far wall with stacks of papers laid across it.

I ordered my customary pulled pork and fries, no soda as I'm trying to quit. Now, a friend of mine complains that the workers aren't polite at LC's, that they don't care about you or whether you're there or not. I'll admit the service can be a little stiff, maybe deliberately indifferent, but I don't go to LC's to be served. I go there to be fed. I wouldn't call them rude, but I wouldn't call them polite either.

After I ordered, the smoker opened the metal cabinet behind him, retrieving a hunk of pork as smoke filtered out into the open. He proceeded to slice the meat in front of my face as the cashier dropped a fresh batch of fries. I'll get back to the fries later. He sliced medium thick pieces of pork, dropping them on my plate then stacking them atop and below simple pieces of white bread, a pile of meat woven together contained by the grain.

On every table lay a scroll of paper towels, a bottle of ketchup (but who needs it?), and a bottle of LC's sauce. The meat, as you can see from the top picture, doesn't come with all that much sauce on it, but there's plenty waiting at the table. I lifted the bun, squirted a stream of sauce onto my pork, another onto my plate for dipping and took a grand gluttonous bite, sauce dripping from my lips, meat probably dropping from my mouth.

I should tell you that I don't cook enough to tell you what is in the sauce. My primary weakness as a reviewer will be that I can't always tell what it is I am describing but I'll do my best, and you can't ask for more than that so back off. However, my good friend Ryan Derks bought me a container of LC's spice powder for my birthday so I can list the ingredients that are in that: salt, sugar, paprika, dehydrated onions & garlic, monosodium glutamate, corn starch, spice extractives and not more than 2% soybean oil, tricaclium phosphate and spices. Its the spices that I couldnt' figure out.

The sauce has a special sweetness to it that I have tasted nowhere else. Many BBQ joints have sweet sauce but none have a sauce with the same sweetness as LC's. I'm sorry if this post lacks in specificity but until I receive some kind of training, you're going to have to deal with it. A light tanginess follows and I can't put my finger on that either. The sweet and tangy blend, allow the paprika, which is common in most KC BBQ, to take precedence but not overpower.

The pork, which as the smoker informed me is cooked for 4-6 hours, the beef for 6-8, was a little dryer than normal, but I still wouldn't say it was barren. The smoky, salty meat did contain juiciness, just saying that it has been more moist in the past. The meat was void of fat and perfectly complimented by LC's sauce. Have I mentioned I love the sauce?

Now, the fries. LC's has some of the best fries in town. Hell, I'd argue they are some of the best fries I've ever had and I love fries. I like good french fries about as much as I love sauce and only slightly more than I love other types of potatoes. The long, fat chunks of potatoes are fried and salted fresh. I should add that when I arrived there were fries laying, ready to be eaten but new potato chunks were dropped for me anyway. They are thick, crispy, and you can actually taste the potato unlike many establishments which have them sliced so thin and short that all you taste is fried.

While I sat, gorged, and pondered I overheard LC and the cashier discussing stocking issues, what they were out of, what they needed to order, when orders were coming. LC was quite concerned that the stock be replenished, that the customers not "suffer because of our weakness," as he put it while explaining to the cashier that they were to make something as customers came, not make a bunch ahead of time just because they were out. I wish I could tell you for sure what they were talking about, but it seemed rude to ask. It might have been kethcup, it might have been sauce. It might have been something I have no idea about. Anyway, LC seemed concerned with freshness and with quality. He has seemed cranky and distant in the past, but now I think he has just been watching his room, looking for faults in his product, and making sure the customers stay happy, albeit in a standoffish manner.

He told me about the new shoes his daughter got him and that he was disappointed about their being made in China. He said his hat, which he pointed out what a good hat, was made in China and asked where my St. Louis Cardinals cap was made, saying that it was probably made in China too, or Taiwan, or somewhere else far off. I looked and to both of our surprises it was made in the U.S.A. His general concern didn't seem to be one of xenophobia, only one of pride in producing an American product. I replied that at least they can't make BBQ like this in China. I know, a kissass move, but I meant it, and it drew a short chuckle and a wide grin from LC.

I finished my meal slurped some water to drown it down. Then, I furiously wiped off my hands, threw my trash away, thanked the cashier and LC, and walked out the door, my notebook slathered with sauce stains, my belly full, my cheeks bloated, my hands and mouth still somewhat sticky, and my craving quenched.