Say It Ain't So, Otto

Genetics have left me predisposed to several things: chubby thighs, migraine headaches, an internal navigation system (affectionately named Hellergation by my boyfriend), and a love for Bar-B-Que. I mean, there's nothing like a good rub and bone or two to suck on. (Seriously people, get it out of the gutter.)

Growing up in Wisconsin, BBQ was a delicacy and quite hard to come by. Our common version was also called Spanish Hamburger, and outside of Wisconsin we call it Manwich. Now don't get me wrong, a Sloppy Joe has it's time and place in my heart. I mean, give me a few potato chips, some pickles, and nary a complaint will slip from these lips. But when you've lapped up dry rub ribs at the Rendezvous in Memphis or Andy's vinegar base in Richmond, ole Joe slips into a different category.

My father and I have created a rating system for BBQ, we're that intense. Tenderness, spice, sauce, rub, vinegar usage, smoke, sides... all considerations for finding that perfect combination. We are strict connoisseurs of the cuisine and use a take no prisoners approach. When I moved to Texas, I felt that it would be worth my time to become well versed in Texas-style BBQ. And I have learned a lot in my adventures towards finding the best BBQ in Texas. I'm a firm believer that Saltlick outside of Austin is perhaps where God eats on the weekend.

When a friend said that Otto's BBQ in Memorial was a superior stop in Houston, I thought I would try it out before my dad's next visit. I'm glad I did the leg work ahead of time and saved us a wasted meal.

It's located on Memorial Dr. just between the park and Shepherd, across from the Starbucks. The restaurant is divided in two: burgers in the front building, BBQ in the back. Walk through the utility closet and you'll see it.

This is the kind of joint you expect to be good. It's old, rickety, smells yummy and smoky, and has pickles sitting out for the taking. They even have their own line of rootbeer, cream soda, and orange pop. I felt my heart leap... this was it, I thought. This was the down and dirty BBQ joint I'd been looking for. I ordered the turkey with beans and potato salad; Matt got the ribs and brisket, with potato salad and cole slaw.

But when it came, the food was a disappointment. There's something wrong with BBQ when you pour hot sauce on it to spice it up a bit. And I did. I used a lot to add an extra something to give my smoked meat that pep I adore. I watched Matt gnaw his ribs; the meat was tough and turkey had a bit of a funny after taste. It was, I hate to say, just not great BBQ. It wasn't terrible, but it isn't good enough to bring me back, much less take my dad who would leave heartbroken, disenchanted and confused.

There were, of course benefits. I liked that they had cornbread out to eat at no extra cost (no butter?). And of course, the pile of pickles I ate was more than enough to feed a pickle monster for a month. Maybe next time I should just go and order a water and eat all the pickles in the joint. The sides were fine, particularly the beans, which I ate all of.

While Goode Company is perhaps the best in Houston to my knowledge, I am on a quest to find if there is better. Otto's isn't it. I'll keep looking.