CJ’s Texas Barbeque
If I was going to review a place that purports to serve Texas-style barbecue it would make sense to take a Texan, and so I did. I was beginning to wonder about the wisdom of that decision when, after biting into a slice of brisket and murmuring, “Mmmmm,” I looked across the table to narrowed eyes and an expression that clearly said, “I’ll be the judge of that.”
I slid a piece in front of my friend. “Well?” I asked.
“Well I’ll be darned,” she mused. “That tastes just like my granny’s!”
High praise indeed. Before I get any further I’ll point out that the meats at CJ’s Texas Barbeque may well not taste like your granny’s (if, in fact, your granny is/was a barbecue maven), because barbecue, like pasta sauce and chili, is a highly personal thing. But by God, this is real barbecue, really appealing — whether you’re from Texas or not.
It’d be handy to have some familiarity with Texas barbecue before dropping into CJ’s. Then you won’t be shocked that the meats are ordered by the pound, the sides individually (unless, in both cases, you choose one of CJ’s Signature Meals), and that each portion of meat is served on a sheet of waxed paper, plopped onto a tray with your sides to be carried to a picnic table. On the way to the counter to order, you can pluck an iced bottled drink from one of the galvanized stock tanks, unless you want Lone Star or Shiner Bock, which is behind the counter, or sweet or regular iced tea, which are in dispensers.
Looking around, my friend had a definite glimmer in her eye. It was, she said, as close to a rural roadside Texas barbecue joint that could be imagined within the confines of a suburban strip mall.
And that extended past the setup and decor to the meats. Pickles, onions and jalapenos are available for dressing up your ‘cue, and you’re also welcome to “all the (white, of course) sliced bread you can eat.” A behemoth of a smoker anchors a prominent spot in front of the counter, and from it comes CJ’s meats. Those would include that brisket ($3.99 for a quarter-pound, $7.89 for a half, $15.79 for a pound) which was so tender it seemed to melt on the tongue.
And the pork ribs ($3.79 for a quarter-pound, $7.49 for a half, $14.99 for a pound), which my friend had as part of a two-meat, two-side Signature Meal ($9.59, or $8.79 for three meats and no sides) and which were slightly crusted on the outside but yielded immediately upon biting. Her other choice, the turkey ($3.69 for a quarter-pound, $7.39 for a half, $14.79 for a pound) was impressively moist.
We didn’t fair as well on the sides ($1.79 for 51/2 ounces, $2.59 for a half-pint, $5.19 for a pint and $10.29 for a quart). The creamed corn had a nice peppery kick but was too thin, the ranch-style borracho beans were too dry. The potato salad was OK, the macaroni and cheese the best of the bunch, well-seasoned and creamy.
Two bottles of signature sauce were on the table, a slightly sweet tomato-based version and one called Summer in Texas that lived up to its name. A bottle of Shiner Bock ($2.49) and a cup of sweet tea ($1.49) were good; a slice of pecan-bourbon pie ($2.59) was only OK, with a too-mild bourbon flavor and a too-cardboardy crust.
If they want to do this Texas thing right, they ought to bring in some Blue Bell.
Las Vegas Review-Journal reviews are done anonymously at Review-Journal expense. Contact Heidi Knapp Rinella at 383-0474 or e-mail her at hrinella@ reviewjournal.com.