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By Root 1023 0

into the parking lot at Wilson’s on East Apache, a Tulsa street that sports a handful of interesting barbecue parlors. Inside the door, the blues were louder, but another rhythm was even more compelling: the whack-thud-whack of a meat cleaver hacking hickory-cooked beef into shreds. “U Need No Teeth to Eat Our Beef” is one of Wilson’s several mottos (others being “U Need a Bib to Eat Our Ribs” and “U Need No Fork to Eat Our Pork”), and sure enough, that hacked-up beef is outlandishly tender. Moist, velvet-soft shreds are interspersed with crusty strips from the outside of the brisket; the flavor is quintessentially beefy, well salted, and fatty. Wilson’s sauce is tongue-stimulating hot with vintage savor that reminded us of fine old bourbon.

We have not sampled either the ribs or barbecued bologna (the latter an Oklahoma favorite), but we did get hot links with the beef and they are terrific: snapping-taut, dense, and peppery. Another house specialty is a huge smoke-cooked spud that is presented splayed open and lightly seasoned, available plain, with just butter and sour cream, or stuffed with your choice of brisket, cut-up hot links, or bologna.

J. B. Wilson, who opened the place in 1961, passed away in 2004, but it is now run by Amos Adetula, whom the menu describes as “a good friend to J.B. [carrying on] the same values and traditions.” It is now a modern two-room eat-place with wood-paneled walls, table service, and a counter where people come for take-out orders. Décor includes signs that read, “Our cow is dead. We don’t need no bull” and “The bank and I have an agreement. They will not sell bar b que and I will not lend money or cash checks.” Tulsa law enforcement officials who dine at Wilson’s are entitled to a 10 percent discount for their public service.

Texas

Angelo’s

2533 White Settlement

214–332–0357

Fort Worth, TX

LD | $

“You are in the Land of Brisket,” proclaims the counterman when an out-of-towner arrives at the head of Angelo’s line and innocently asks what type of meat is served on the beef plate. You can watch the brisket being cut from the order counter. As the knife severs the dark crust and glides into the meat’s tender center, each slice wants to disintegrate. But slices hold together enough to make it intact onto a Styrofoam plate, where they are accompanied by beans, potato salad, coleslaw, a length of pickle, a thick slice of raw onion, a ramekin of sauce, and two pieces of the freshest, softest white bread in America. Tote your own meal to a table, and if you pay an extra twenty-five cents, you can stop at the bar along the way and fill a small cup with scorching hot peppers to garnish the meat.

Sliced brisket stars at Angelo’s, but the hickory pit also yields pork ribs with meat that slides easily off the bone, as well as zesty hot link sausages, ham, and salami. In the relatively cooler months of October through March Angelo’s posts a sign below its regular menu advertising chili. Strangely, a simple bowl of red is hard to find in modern Texas. The kind Angelo’s serves is an unctuous soup/stew of ground beef and plenty of pepper, here served in a plastic bowl with plastic spoon and little bags of oyster crackers on the side. Most people get an order to accompany a rib or beef plate or a few sandwiches—along with a few of Angelo’s huge, cold mugs of beer.

Avalon Drug

2417 Westheimer Rd.

713–527–8900

Houston, TX

BLD | $

One morning at the counter of Houston’s Avalon Drug and Diner, as members of the ad hoc Breakfast Club start to swirl around on their stools, leaving behind tips alongside emptied coffee cups, we get into a conversation with Don Compton, a seven-day-a-week regular, who tells us that in his profession as jury consultant, this is the best possible place to be. “Here, people say what they really think,” he explains. “If you’re curious about what’s on people’s minds, sit at this counter a few days and there is nothing you will not know.”

Although it is in the deluxe neighborhood of River Oaks and extravagantly manicured, big-haired ladies come