Racking up Picking the best ribs in town was a lot harder than we thought. by Mary Cashiola & Dennis Freeland ore than the blues or Old Man River, more than the King himself, it's barbecue that Memphians are most proud of. Barbecue is what pulls this town together. It transcends both race and class, region and religion. And it doesn't matter if the chef is Raymond Robinson at the Cozy Corner on North Parkway or John Willingham out east, when people here argue about who serves the best, the subject is always pork, pure and simple. PHOTO BY LARRY KUZNIEWSKI Other places -- Texas, Kansas City, even North Carolina -- make claims about the greatness of their barbecue. And, sure, you can find decent barbecue in other places. But none of them, we say, comes close to the range of restaurants here. A visitor could spend two full weeks in Memphis, sampling different barbecue each day, and still not be certain that he had tasted the best ribs in the city. That was the daunting question facing us earlier this month. In honor of the Memphis in May World Championship Barbecue Cooking Contest, we set out to find the best rack of ribs in Memphis. We first narrowed our selections to 15 local restaurants (see "The Contenders"). Our list covers most of the big-name pork palaces in the city and a few lesser-known shops. For the sake of fairness, we used the restaurants listed in the book Barbecue Greats Memphis Style, by Carolyn Wells (Pig Out Publishing, 1997, $12.95). Because one of those eateries has since gone out of business, we substituted Willingham's World Champion Barbecue, which has opened since the book's publication. Next, we convened a panel of seven hungry judges -- six staffers from Contemporary Media (the Flyer's parent company) and Salomon Smith Barney broker Hal Lewis, a veteran barbecue judge, to serve as "chief justice." It was a blind test. Judges went out into the city to fetch one entry each, the restaurants themselves not knowing they were being judged. Once at the centralized judging location, the Styrofoam-boxed and aluminum-foil-wrapped entries were whisked into the kitchen and numbered. The ribs were served on plain white plates with nothing to identify the source other than the meat and the sauce. Each judge knew, of course, what restaurant he or she had visited, but not what number it was or when they were eating it. And, of course, they had strict instructions not to tell other judges where they had been. Before the tasting began, the judges received a brief course on Rib Judging 101 from the chief justice. "How much do you have to know?" he asked. "You want to judge tenderness. Okay, did the meat fall off the bones or did you have to take a chainsaw to them? That's pretty simple. To me, the most important category is flavor. That's really the key." The official score sheets of the Memphis in May contest were used, rating flavor, tenderness, appearance, and overall impression. Each category received 5 to 10 points. Lewis stressed that barbecue judging should be fun. Our judges started out in almost boisterous moods, the thought of the carnal contest seeming to fill them with glee, as they gobbled up the ribs from seven local restaurants. But, after the first rib or so, they quieted down -- falling into the judging mode. And it was serious business. As per instructions from the chief justice, the judges did not discuss the ribs while they were eating. After the second day (when eight restaurants were sampled) one judge commented, perhaps optimistically, "I feel less full today." "That's because you stretched your stomach yesterday," said another. After all 15 entries had been inspected and digested, the judges gathered one more day for a "final four" round. This time, none of the judges was allowed to pick up an entry -- the judging was totally blind. The judges couldn't even look into the kitchen. We served up the ribs, letting the judges' taste buds tango with the top four racks in Memphis. They sat quietly, inspecting the selection carefully and then mulling the meat over in their mouths. No one spoke. When they were finished, they tried to discuss the entries in order to reach a jury-like consensus, but it soon became clear that a consensus was about as likely as a clean-faced judge. Disagreements were polite, but voices were raised; everyone, it seemed, wanted to stand up for the ribs he or she believed in. Finally the numerical scores were tallied and it was a tie! We faced a standoff between Corky's and Willingham's. "Number four and number one are tied?!?" yelled one judge. "I think this is great -- I love the tension." The judges next divided into two spirited camps: one group championing entry number one (Corky's), the other preferring number four (Willingham's). At last a voice of reason rang out: "Why can't we have co-champions?" And that's just what we did. When the judges were finally given restaurant names to match the numbers, one exclaimed, "I picked Corky's for first place, and I always thought I hated them." Another judge, upon hearing that the number-two entry was Pig-N-Whistle, said, "I didn't even know they had made the cut." As anyone who has sampled a lot of barbecue knows, ribs from the same restaurant can vary from day to day. The judges agreed that the racks in the final four varied in some cases from the same restaurant's offering in the first round. Grilling ribs, after all, is hardly an exact science. In the end, the top four restaurants came very close. Only a few points separated Corky's and Willingham's from Cozy Corner and Pig-N-Whistle, though the four restaurants serve distinctly different racks. And that may be the best thing about eating Memphis barbecue -- there's plenty of great places to choose from. n The Contenders (*denotes the location judged) A&R Bar-B-Q -- 1802 Elvis Presley Blvd. (774-7444). The Bar-B-Q Shop -- 1782 Madison Avenue (272-1277). Corky's Bar-B-Q -- 5259 Poplar* (685-9744); 1740 Germantown Parkway (737-1911). Cozy Corner -- 745 N. Parkway (527-9158). Germantown Commissary -- 2290 S. Germantown (754-9744). Gridley's -- 4774 Summer Ave.* (761-0111); 6842 Stage Rd. (377-8055); 6430 Winchester (794-5997); 3624 Austin Peay (388-7444); 787 W. Poplar, Collierville (854-6030); 1014 Germantown Pkwy. (758-8801). Interstate BBQ -- 2265 S. Third St. (775-2304). Leonard's Pit Barbecue -- 5465 Fox Plaza Dr. (360-1963). Neely's Bar-B-Que -- 670 Jefferson* (521-9798); 5700 Mt. Moriah Ext. (795-4177). Payne's Bar-B-Que --1762 Lamar Avenue* (272-1523). Pig-N-Whistle Barbecue -- 2740 Bartlett Rd.* (386-3300); 7144 Winchester (754-4400). Public Eye -- 17 S. Cooper (726-4040). Rendezvous -- 52 S. Second (523-2746). Showboat Barbecue -- 3711 Lamar Avenue (362-8591). Willingham's World Champion Barbecue -- 680 W. Brookhaven Circle (767-7727). THE TOP FOUR 1. (tie) Willingham's -- 680 W. Brookhaven Circle (767-7727). Open 11 a.m. - 9 p.m. Monday - Thursday; 11 a.m. - 10 p.m. Friday and Saturday; closed Sunday. Willingham's serves its ribs dry, but has a variety of sauces (two kept under the bar because they are so hot): Mild, Sweet and Sassy, Cajun Hot, For Big Kids Only, Old Red, and Old Yella. The Sweet and Sassy sauce, one of our personal favorites, is made with Hershey's chocolate. 1. (tie) Corky's Bar-B-Q -- 5259 Poplar (685-9744). Open 10:45 a.m. - 10 p.m. Sunday - Thursday; 10:45 a.m. - 10:30 p.m. Friday and Saturday. Corky's ships about $20,000 of ribs every week to 48 states. 2. Cozy Corner -- 745 N. Parkway (527-9158). Open 10:30 a.m. - 7 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday. Closed Sunday and Monday. In addition to its barbecue ribs, Cozy Corner also sells smoked Cornish hens. 3. Pig-N-Whistle -- 2740 Bartlett Rd. (386-3300). Open 11 a.m. - 9 p.m. Sunday - Thursday; 11 a.m. - 10 p.m. Friday and Saturday. Pig-N-Whistle has been locally owned and operated since 1990. The restaurant's namesake was the original Pig-N-Whistle, opened in the 1930s and located on Union. HONORABLE MENTION Gridley's 4774 Summer Ave. (761-0111) The BBQ Shop 1782 Madison Avenue (272-1277) Rendezvous 52 S. Second (523-2746) Comments From The Score Sheets Corky's "Nice, mild smoke flavor." "Perfect smoke balance." "Very tender, mildly spicy rub." "Good dry rub, could use a bit more smoke." "Cooked picture-perfect." Willingham's "Best of Show." "Great meat/glaze combo." "Wonderful sauces." "Falls off the bone." "Deep, woody smoke all the way through." Cozy Corner "The flavor stays with you." "Moist -- good meat texture." "Great smoke flavor." "Deep-smoked flavor goes all the way to bone." Pig-N-Whistle "Robust flavor." "Sauce complements meat." "Good pull." "Superb sauce." A Tale of Two Corky's Atlanta gets a much-needed taste of Memphis barbecue. by James Busbee ATLANTA -- Almost a year ago, I left Memphis to pursue my boyhood dream of sitting in traffic 25 hours a day. In the 10 days before I tossed the wife and dog in the U-Haul, I ran an artery-wrenching gauntlet of the Mid-South's many barbecue joints, from the big guns like Corky's and Rendezvous to the cult faves like Interstate and Payne's, and damn near everything in between. I was sweating barbecue sauce, but that was fine with me. Atlanta has many wonderful aspects, but a major barbecue presence isn't one of them, and I wanted to get in my last rib fix. Imagine my delight when I found that Corky's has set up a franchise here. I visited it almost immediately after arriving in Atlanta, and I've since taken innumerable friends and family there to give them a taste of Memphis by proxy. So when the Flyer asked me to write a review of the restaurant for the barbecue issue -- well, let's say I've had tougher assignments. Reviewing Corky's is a lot like reviewing The Phantom Menace -- pretty much everybody knows what to expect going in, and you're not really going to change any minds. So it's worthwhile to note the very real differences between the restaurant habits of Atlanta and Memphis, which make visiting Corky's in Atlanta a peculiar -- though certainly not unpleasant -- experience. In Atlanta, nobody eats at home. Ever. I'm surprised that new homes are still built with kitchens. Most of the top restaurants have one- to two-hour waits, and people really sit still for that long. But what's even more amazing is that such a large portion of this restaurant-frenzied community is so very conservative. Chain restaurants rule in the particularly noxious northeastern suburbs, where rampant development has crammed every available inch with a megastore or cutesy chain "grill-and-bar." (Imagine the Wolfchase Galleria area stretching for seven or eight miles, at every one of a half-dozen exits off the interstate.) It's into this suburban hell that Corky's has bravely (and thankfully) set foot. The first thing you notice when you pull into this Corky's parking lot is that you can pull into this Corky's parking lot. It's huge, large enough to fit the entire Poplar Avenue restaurant with room to spare. No more wedging into microscopic back-alley spaces or hanging your back bumper out on Poplar Avenue praying softly as you wait for that drive-thru line to move. In a way, the parking lots -- and by association, the restaurants themselves -- sum up the difference between Memphis and Atlanta. One doesn't need to be an urban planner to pick up on the obvious contrasts between the two Corky's. The Memphis locale doesn't change, even though change would be the best thing possible -- surely, at times, you've wanted to go to Corky's but decided on another restaurant because you didn't want to endure a 90-minute wait or that death-defying drive-thru line. On the other hand, the Atlanta location boils away most of the Memphis quirkiness in a bid to please everyone and remake the restaurant as just another chain-style barn -- and Corky's gets lost in the suburbs' restaurant shuffle. The brick building's green-and-white awnings do set it apart from similar restaurants on the huge boulevard where it's located. But alas, sometimes a nice exterior just isn't enough -- on a recent all-you-can-eat ribs Monday, Corky's was only half-filled, while just up the road a T.G.I Friday's was crammed to bursting. Aesthetic concerns don't mean much if the food's good, though, and that's where Corky's, bless its barbecued heart, comes shining through. All your old favorites are here -- pulled pork, beef brisket, onion loaves, and ribs, ribs, ribs. (Vegetarians note: there ain't much for you here. My little sister was almost reduced to eating napkins. But again, that's something you ought to know going in.) The prices are comparable and reasonable, particularly the $10.99 all-you-can-eat ribfests all day Mondays. The interior of Atlanta's Corky's is a long way from the cozy confines of Poplar Avenue. This restaurant has vaulted ceilings, brick walls, a full bar, and plenty of seating. It's a nice nostalgia trip to see all the old Beale Street Music Festival and Great Wine Race posters all over the walls, and the Elvis quotient is pleasantly restrained. Ironically, the Atlanta Corky's portrays a Memphis the way Memphis itself wants to be seen -- casual, cool, confident in its barbecue and its multiracial musical heritage. The service at this Corky's is relaxed and pleasant, with just the slightest hint of pride, as if the servers are in on something that you're not. Truth to tell, they are; Corky's barbecue smacks the heck out of any other brand in town. My wife and I smiled pleasantly as our waitress painstakingly described the difference between wet and dry ribs; she was obviously accustomed to patrons who knew ribs only in their chain-restaurant form, slathered in oversweet tomato sauce. As in Memphis, Corky's spreads the word in Atlanta with its catering as well as its restaurant. (Now, if they could just set up a branch in the Atlanta airport ) It'll take time, but Corky's will catch on. It's a welcome taste of Memphis in a town that could use a break from the chains. The Corky's in Atlanta is located at 1605 Pleasant Hill Road, just east of Interstate 85. Barbecue by the Book by MARK SCHUERMANN ooze, blues, and barbecue are the staples of Memphis Ribs (Salvo Press, 209 pp., $12.95), a funny new crime novel by Gerald Duff, former dean at Rhodes College. The novel's hero, homicide detective J.W. Ragsdale, gets his fill of all three in pursuit of the killers of a drunken business traveler, the members of a local gang, and the patriarch of an old Memphis family. In his effort to get to the bottom of the murders, J.W. uncovers a conspiracy headed by an unlikely crime syndicate which is peddling rancid barbecue destined for Memphis during the World Championship Barbecue Cooking Contest. J.W., who is recently divorced and long since cut off from his landed Delta heritage, is a menthol-smoking, catfishing frequenter of juke joints like the Vapors and the Owl Bar. Early in the novel, he also encounters a devoted Elvis fan who is astounded to learn that J.W. doesn't know that Elvis used to perform between headline acts at the very bar where they are having drinks. "You're too close to it," the tourist tells J.W. "A person never looks at where they live. It takes distant eyes to do that." And distant eyes is just what the author, who left Rhodes after 12 years to act as dean at McKendree College in Illinois, has on the idiosyncratic ways of Memphis and the Delta. The result is a novel that is full of ironic twists and details familiar to any longtime Memphians. Who knows if the slice of life depicted by Duff is an accurate depiction of the criminal or social scenes in Memphis, but also who cares? Memphis Ribs is so entertaining and suspenseful that one begins to wonder if Duff was once part of the action. The author's prose is spare -- no flowery descriptions as one might expect, in the treatment of such subjects as the Delta or the Cotton Carnival. Instead, with a distinct ear for the colloquial and through a crisp narrative, Duff keeps the plot moving and the pages turning.