Fine Mess Smokehouse… the name certainly makes a statement. A fine mess can be a good thing, or it can be the opposite of what it suggests—just a goddamn mess, and not a refined one at that.
I’m a true believer that when it comes to barbecue, you need to keep it straightforward and let the main elements do the heavy lifting. I’m putting on my chef hat for this story, because barbecue is something that sits very close to my heart. I do have a very stubborn opinion on how it should be executed: the simpler you keep it, the better it will be.
1. Find the best product.
2. Manage your fire.
3. Don’t drown your best features in things that don’t belong.
4. Nail that simplicity.
There are more, but I’ll stop at number four.
The chef here knows how to low-and-slow their brisket, but I couldn’t help noticing that the kitchen was trying way too hard with ingredients and ideas that didn’t connect and weren’t needed.
You do not need a risotto underneath your short rib. You do not need a purée next to a brisket that has been smoking for 10 hours. The brisket wants to be with its partners in crime—slaw, chips, beans. The last thing it wants is to be associated with sweet potato, cramping its style.
The “mess” had crept in, looking rough on the plate at times, and the combinations didn’t translate. I do have some advice, because it is in no way bad—the meat was excellently smoked. It’s just the choices the chef made to pair with the most important elements that were unnecessary.
So… create a side menu. We just want a very crispy portion of chips, deep-fried to perfection alongside the meat; a julienne-sliced slaw to cut through the richness; and how about an array of barbecue sauces to dip that meat right into?
Instead of trying to do too much—mixing and matching—your barbecue could be elevated to the max. Less is always more with this. The problem arises when people think they need to make low-and-slow more posh, more elevated, more “gastronomy” (whatever they’re thinking). I can tell you this is the wrong path to go down.
Apple gel? No—bring back a robust apple sauce. A jus? No. Just make a banging, hot barbecue sauce. Make a few different kinds—and never tell anyone your secrets. A jus can be reserved for sweetbread or steak in a pan in France, not for American-inspired barbecue.
I rest my case—and I say it with enthusiasm, because this place has potential. I’m just begging you to clean up the mess a little bit. Strip it right back. Think about what is most important—the proteins—and remember they need their comrades to lift them up, not drag them down.
If they radicalise the menu and bring back a classic touch, it wouldn’t be a fine mess—it would be a fine barbecue. And that’s all we ever want.
