once I was on a plane to New York when I saw some sort of “best of” special on the Food Channel. Much to my surprise, they claimed one of the best BBQ spots in the country, not just in California, was in Venice–Baby Blue’s BBQ. If I wasn’t an Arab I might have requested they turn the plane around and land that shit so I could get some ribs, but I didn’t want to alarm anyone. I’m nice like that.
Pretty much the minute I got home I made my boyfriend come with me to Baby Blues. We must have eaten there a dozen times, yet each time they were sold out of their Texas ribs. Once I wrote a 4-star review on yelp saying that I would trade them a fifth star for some Texas ribs. The owner emailed me with his cell phone number and told me to call him next time so he could save them for me. He explained that their restaurant was tiny and the ribs were HUGE so they couldn’t store enough to keep everyone happy.
Enter, their new enormous location in West Hollywood. I thought it might be less weird to just order ribs there instead of calling the owner.
I met with my friends Ryan and Patty and we sat at the bar, where I out-ordered and out-ate them like the champion that I am. Plus we also got to watch all the magic happen.
Patty got Memphis ribs, mac n cheese, collard greens, and shrimpy shrimp.
Ryan got brisket, corn, and maybe potatoes.
Now, brace yourselves, I got the Memphis ribs, the brisket, AND, finally, the Texas rib. I say rib because it was one enormous fucking dinosaur bone with meat on it. Also, collard greens and stewed tomatoes.
Patty took one look at the Texas rib and said, “you’re gonna grow a penis if you eat that.”
I mean, look at the bone! I took most of the meat home and couldn’t fit this rhino calf in the to go box.
Honestly, it was anti-climactic. Not only alarmingly huge, but unbearably fatty in my book. But frankly, I’m relieved. Now I can go back to the brisket, memphis rib, baby back rib combo I was so accustomed to ordering.
I was able to do some serious damage but still lived off of the meat for a good three days. Here’s what was left when I decided to throw in the towel:
Not bad, right? Patty, an example of eloquence, said something to the effect of, “Ugh, I just wanna throw it all up.” I couldn’t have said it better if I tried. It’s not that everything wasn’t delicious. Quite the contrary. It’s just that when it’s that good, I ignore all signs pointing to fullness.
If you can’t decide which one to go to, go to West Hollywood if you are claustrophobic, want to be seated faster, and want to try the Texas ribs for yourself. Go to Venice if you always prefer the original, want hot/manish Venice beach volleyball babes to wait on you, and don’t care for dinosaur meat. Either way, you’re in the right place. Really.
