Inn a BBQ Way

Now, I like Robb Walsh from the Houston Press as much as the next guy. I think his writing is great and his humor is subtle. I've met him twice and find him to be a very kind, interesting guy. But what is wrong with the guy's pallate? Seriously, so many times he's recommended something and I've come away disappointed and unsure of his taste buds.

The Bar-B-Que Inn is said to have the best chicken fried steak in Houston. Not just by Robb Walsh, but also by others. This is evidenced by the many newspaper writeups and magazine recommendations. Yet, if that's the best around, I'm leaving.

The place was classic and deserves the press it gets only for its decor and kitsch. It's all supper clubby in side, with an illumiated number strip for when orders are ready. The decor is brown, poorly lit, and has a 70's feel to it. I can remember going to places just like it in northern Wisconsin when I was a teeny little tyke. It's got counter seating that looks into the kitchen, and is served by crabby waitresses dressed in brown-and-tan polyester uniforms.

Matt and my dad got the chicken fried steak, which is the item to get. I got the fried chicken, mostly because I wanted the baked potato. And it's not really even the potato itself that I wanted, but the potato caddy that accompanied it. It was a salad dressing server filled with cheese, sour cream, and butter. When someone ordered the baked potato, the waitress would walk to a different table, take the caddy, and deliver it to the latest potato eater. The three bowled silver server had heaping piles of the heart-attacks-in-a-bowl. I wanted to top my own tater the old fashion way, and hence I got the fried chicken.

The chicken fried steak was tough and a little gritty, but the breading was great. It was cripsy and peppery. The white gravy, which is the classic signature of the dish, was repulsive. It was sugary sweet, almost as though they accidentally used sugar instead of salt. It was close to inedible and left a stale sweet taste in your mouth after swollowing. My chicken was great going down. The same peppery breading covered the steaming hot bird. Half an hour later however, I was doubled over with gas pains, followed by an extensive "crossword puzzle session" in the bathroom.

In short, the trip to the inn wasn't worth the money for the chicken fried steak, nor for the aftermath of what on the surface seemed to be excellent chicken. The novelty of the baked potato caddy can easily be replicated at my own home.