 "Photo: Caitlin Domke")
"Ain't nothin fancy, mind ya, just a place where good folks go."
This is the self-proclaimed slogan of The Village Smokehouse, a restaurant that has been serving authentic, open-pit Texas barbecue in Brookline Village since 1987.
Stepping into the restaurant, I could see that the motto didn't lie. The decor was more "picnic lunch" than upscale bistro - but would you want it any other way? The red-checkered plastic tablecloths and wooden chairs added to the down-home Southern charm of the restaurant. Old photographs of cowboys and movie posters of Westerns dominated the walls. Country music tunes blared from the speakers.
In the center of it all was a partially exposed kitchen area with an "open pit" where the barbecue was cooked. Cooks in T-shirts ducked away from enormous bursts of flames, undaunted by the near-fire-hazard spectacle. A long bar with swiveling leather bar stools lined one wall. There were a modest seven beers on tap, featuring standards such as Sam Adams, Guinness, and the less prevalent Sierra Nevada. Also available was a long and varied list of margaritas to try, some with creative names such as the "Clint Eastwood" and the "Mae West."
On each table there was an empty cardboard six-pack case filled with salt, pepper, and the biggest bottle of Tabasco sauce I had ever seen. The restaurant also supplied a gigantic roll of paper towels - a good indication of the old-fashioned, messy barbecue to come.
At the table, I ordered a Magner's cider ($4), a subtly sweet drink that complemented the tangy barbecue cuisine. The waitress - clad in a black T-shirt that read "Don't Mess with Texas" - immediately greeted us with a basket of corn bread (a nice alternative to bread or rolls, but tempting to fill up on). We started with the boneless buffalo tenders ($6.95), which were fried just the right amount for a delicious, slightly crunchy outside. They were actually kind of mild, and I tend to be a wimp when it comes to tolerating spicy foods.
My dining companion decided to try the tenderloin tips with rice ($13.95), which were juicy and delicious, but even better when you added the Smokehouse's homemade, sweet and tart barbecue sauce. I opted for the pulled pork sandwich ($9.95), which was a mountain of tender smoked pork piled high on a bun.
With its gigantic portions, the Smokehouse's three desert options were three too many.
When I did a little online research on The Village Smokehouse, I was alarmed to find some less-than-stellar words to describe it; many urged people to go elsewhere. For college students, though, I cannot think of a better new place to try - it's T-accessible (take the D-line to the Brookline Village stop), moderately priced, serves delicious food in huge portions, has a great, upbeat atmosphere and bar scene, and is frequented by unpretentious regulars. C'mon, I dare you: Venture from Cleveland Circle for your next night out and head to Texas - er, Brookline Village - for the evening. And if you're really daring, try the "Death Fajita." You'll understand when you go.
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