On the road again, alone, as Kim again insists on going to work. Today’s destination: Sonny Bryant’s, an old, tumble-down structure that has clearly been there for years. What it lacks in architectural integrity it more than makes up for in character, though.Sonny Bryant’s is not a BBQ ‘joint’ like our prior destinations; it’s a veritable BBQ ‘shack’ stuck in the middle of a glistening and manicured medical complex which clearly grew up around it.
The clientele includes everyone from bums and bikers to yuppies, and medical workers in their scrubs, The inside is tiny, and there are no tables, just old wooden school desks nailed around the perimeter. The operation is best described as managed chaos. There’s no line per se, just an owner roaming among the customers shouting out their orders to the pitmaster. They’ve been here since 1910 so clearly their system works.
Sonny’s bears out my earlier thesis that Texans express their individuality through their sausage. Here it’s a hybrid. It’s kielbasa style, but not as compact as Coopers. The fat is fully integrated into the slightly chunky interior. Spices are flecked throughout, and the casing seems to be thicker than normal.
Later, the owner tells me he has it specially made by the previously excoriated Myer Sausage Co, in Elgin. Funny that they can’t make good sausage for themselves, but they manage to do so for Sonny’s.
The brisket is moist and tender with good flavor and a real mopped crust. But it’s too lean and wasn’t served with the fatty underside that is so crucial for a world-class brisket. It’s a good find for Dallas, but not in the top tier.
The biggest surprise at Sonny Bryant’s was the pork ribs. They aren’t Texas at all! In fact, if I closed my eyes, I’d be convinced I was back in the Mid-Atlantic. These were by far the best of the southern ribs I’ve been eating for the last 20 years-- falling off the bone, good outer crust and mopped with a sweet, dense Southern-style BBQ sauce, but I’m not in Virginia, folks!. I’m looking for Texas twang and these ribs just don’t fit the bill. They are good, though.
The stars at Sonny Bryant’s are the sides. The potato salad is damn near perfect, beaten only by City’s Market’s, which actually was perfect. Same for the sauce, a tasty and homemade concoction of vinegar, peppers, black pepper, mustard, and God knows what else.
Cole slaw rounded out the trifecta. It was a wonderful brew of vinegar, mayo, black pepper, celery seed, and some secret ingredients that elevated a beautifully hand hewn mélange of red and white cabbages to art. Steven elects to create a “best cole slaw” category just for this dish.
His only real complaint with Sonny Bryant’s was its bread. In some misguided attempt at originality, they have replaced the sacred Wonder Bread with a choice of hamburger buns (huh?) or hockey puck-like rolls that are stale, and tasteless.
Steve admits to indulging in one last guilty pleasure since the quest was nearing its end—the onion rings. Every single order that went out had them so he gave in to their siren song that had been calling him the whole time he was eating. Were they good, you ask? Let’s put it this way: it’s the closest he's ever felt to wondering if he was cheating on his wife. Orgiastically orgasmic.
They were that good. Giant Vidalia onions, hand cut, hand dipped, hand fried, salted, served blazingly hot and fried so perfectly that there wasn’t a trace of the frying medium left on the paper or on his hands when he was done. Best onion rings he's ever had, period, full stop.
The rating: Sonny Bryant’s BBQ is a fantastic joint, with an unusual ‘shack’ twist, and one that would certainly merit many a return visit if one is in Dallas, or anywhere in the surrounding metroplex,
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