Percy Street BBQ: Will Philly Bite on Texas BBQ?

There’s a common element to the barbecue joints we’ve been to so far: Smoke permeates everything. We reek of it. Our van reeks of it. Which could be a problem in Philly, where the constant outpouring of smoke won’t drift away into a sparse Texas landscape. In fact, a recent BBQ outpost, Locust Street’s Smoked Joint — which also bought its smokers at J&R — closed after neighboring Academy House residents complained about the smell and owner/chef Adam Gertler (now famous for his Food Network appearances) discovered that smoking off-premises in Roxborough was illegal. Danny Meyer, owner of Blue Smoke, a barbecue restaurant in Manhattan, had to build chimneys that soar 15 stories high to waft his smoke away from the city.

But Steve doesn’t get too worked up. “I’m venting up and out, so hopefully that will do it,” he shrugs. No use worrying about it now.

We drive west and then south, toward Austin, and make a stop in Taylor. At Louie Mueller’s, Erin finds her sausage. Eating barbecue meal after meal isn’t easy, but something this good reinvigorates your palate. “Man,” Erin moans, pointing her plastic fork at the sausage lying on butcher paper. It’s mostly brisket trimmings, ground coarsely, so when you pop the natural casing and cut in, the meat is crumbly like hamburger — nothing like the dense, smooth German and Italian sausages we’re used to.

DAY THREE
We’re tired, bloated, and feeling beyond unhealthy, but there’s a buzz among the group this morning. We’re headed to Hill Country, the heart of Texas barbecue — this is the day the Percy Streeters have been talking about since the plane ride down. It’s now or never.

And then, we finally find our way to Smitty’s, the dark, windowless joint off Route 183. “This is badass,” says Erin. “Did you taste this?” she asks, looking around for Steve and Michael. She goes back for seconds. Given that this is the 10th version of brisket I’ve watched her eat over the past two days, I’m thinking this must be it.

“This has it all,” she says, chomping into round two. “The smoke, the moistness and the salt.” Salt makes everything taste better, and the meat at Percy Street will be salted. Philadelphians like salt, but apparently Texans don’t; our other briskets have been way undersalted. This one seems to be perfectly balanced: The meat has that desirable slow-cooked, tender, fall-apart, almost wet texture. There’s just enough smoke flavor to lend a distinct taste, but it’s not so strong that it overrides the beefiness.

We don’t think we’ll find anything better, but we continue on. Fourteen samples of barbecue in three days.

Enough. After 72 hours, we need to do something besides eat. There’s an impromptu game of touch football in a parking lot, and someone has the idea to go to a nearby shooting range. After signing waivers and getting quick instructions and anti-Obama-isms from the range’s owner, eight of us line up to aim handguns at paper targets in front of a dirt hill — the Texas version of a team-building ropes course.