16 April 24 - 30, 2025 dallasobserver.com DALLAS OBSERVER Classified | MusiC | dish | Culture | unfair Park | Contents just as cute as I remember. Dude is continu- ing on its quest to combine every ingredient known to man with chocolate and still make it work. (I do not brave the mushroom choc- olate bar and stick with the tried and tested peanut combo.) Emporium is still putting out the chocolate and salted pretzel crust. They say you shouldn’t eat your memories, but here I am. THURSDAY It’s a balmy 15 degrees Fahrenheit, and I find myself at Ascension Coffee. While I settle for the bane of millennials who want to pur- chase houses, aka avocado toast, a compan- ion orders the most visually insane thing on the menu — a trio of coffees meant to repre- sent a deconstructed s’more. Unfortunately, rather than really leaning into the madness of this menu item, Ascension serves him three lattes and a marshmallow. I was hop- ing for a Graham cracker hot chocolate alongside pure marshmallow foam in a jug, but it was not to be. While several of our group head to the Sixth Floor Museum so they can stand on the grassy knoll like any good tourist, I head to Cattleack Barbecue. It should be noted at this juncture that, if you don’t know me, which is entirely understandable because it’s been a long time since my last article here, I used to write for this newspaper about barbecue. Apologies if you’ve got this far and are surprised by the sheer volume of barbecue I can consume, but my most patri- otic American trait is eating high-quality beef until I feel quite ill. Also, while Dallas has a vast array of restaurants, many na- tional cuisines can be found in London to a very high standard. Thus, here we will be fo- cusing on the few that London absolutely cannot do. Cattleack is so fucking good. If there were a Cattleack near me, you’d never see me leave it. If Cattleack has one fan, it’s me. If Cattleack has zero fans, it’s because I’ve died. You see what I’m getting at here. Wa- gyu brisket seems like cheating on the fatty beef front, but cheat away. This is pure beef cream, a textural triumph with a perfectly blackened rub, and accompanied by a smoked bologna that is somehow almost better than the wagyu beef. If I were a rich man, I would put this in my sandwich, and then I would post about my sandwich on so- cial media in ALL CAPS, and not just be- cause I am old now and sometimes I forget the caps lock is on. Cattleack also has a broc- coli salad, which is absolute woke nonsense if you ask me (I AM JOKING ABOUT THIS, PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE THIS DIS- CLAIMER, EDITOR). What’s the best dessert for barbecue? Why, Zavala’s Barbecue over in Grand Prai- rie, which was heavily featured in the most recent Top 50 Texas Monthly list. I think we caught them at the wrong time, as the bris- ket is drier than the tortilla. The brisket boudin is good, though. That’s an entirely new experience, with big chunks of brisket in the rice. Excellent stuff. After a short mental health break in which I lie face down on a hotel bed and try to digest two barbecue restaurants, it’s time for a drink. I was very much hoping during my time in Texas to see my beloved Dallas Stars, but instead, hockey has organized a four-country “World Cup” (a bit like your US-Canada-only World Series), so I cannot watch hockey. Sad, but the U.S. is playing Canada in the final this evening, so we re- treat to the Meddlesome Moth to watch it, balancing the Moth’s lack of screens with a desire not to go to a sports bar while the U.S. is playing a major game against a country they’re trying to annex. Anyway, the Moth’s beer menu is genu- inely world-class, and it allows me to refa- miliarize myself with Lakewood Temptress, a beer that is so good and so very strong that it once caused me to lose memory of a full week of my life after we rather foolishly got a keg of it in the house. Texas is where I dis- covered that beer could be delicious. British people used to say to me after I returned, ‘You must be happy to be back here after all that Miller and Grolsch!’ I would point out the lukewarm ales on the bar made by multi- nationals and remark at how Britain had somehow managed to ruin something as simple as the Buffalo wing. The Moth’s burger is very nice, but what is superb are the beer snacks, especially the auspiciously named Moth Balls (which are actually ricotta gnudi, basically gnocchi made with ricotta and semolina). Even with two barbecue restaurants in me, I could eat several plates of these little things, which pull off the perfect snack trick of feeling both light and satisfying at the same time, cheesy and warming, but also feeling a bit fancy. I love them, and if the Moth closes as is threatened, you should all complain and find somewhere to resurrect Moth Balls. Canada wins. You’ve got to let them have something. FRIDAY The weather is pushing a tropical 30 degrees Fahrenheit, and I am having breakfast at a Denny’s where the heating has broken. The staff is all in heavy coats. By this point, I am wearing winter clothing I bought in Texas. You know another thing the British can’t do? Pancakes. You’ll get either a crepe or some- thing called a drop scone (don’t ask). Den- ny’s has superheated my maple syrup, and I am truly grateful. It’s time to introduce my friends to one of the strangest and best offshoots of pure American capitalist worship, Bass Pro. As we enter, I don’t have to point out the roar- ing fireplace or the actual waterfall with fish in it. If you go to an outdoor store in London, you’re lucky if they’ve put one tent out as an example of what the tent may look like. Here, I enter through a phalanx of camo- painted quad bikes. What a place. I purchase a coat from the sales rack. While there is nothing here to eat (unless you count beef jerky named things like Freedom Beef), it fills the time before we head to Smoke’N Ash BBQ in Arlington. I am intrigued by their Ethiopian take on Texas barbecue, and we are presented with a dizzying array of curries (with beef), greens (with beef), and beef (with beef). It’s fun, but it doesn’t quite hold up to the Ethi- opian places back home, which is fair, I sup- pose, or the brisket at Cattleack, which is also fair. I’ll tell you what is insane: 225 Degrees BBQ, just around the corner. I spy on the menu that they have smoked brisket elotes, and I am there quicker than you can explain what elotes are to a British person, which is quite a long time, really. For just 14 of your president’s dollars, I am presented with not a cup but a bucket layered with corn, Oax- aca cheese, Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and smoked brisket. It’s a revelation. The tex- ture of the Cheetos combines with the un- expected high quality of the corn and the balanced seasoning with the brisket to cre- ate something I cannot physically stop eat- ing. This is your North Texas dish of the year right here. This restaurant had no right to even put this on the menu, but then to have it be this good? As we would say back home, bonkers. We all go to a basketball game after a re- union with the psychotically boozy frozen Irish coffee at my favourite old bar in Dallas, Twilight Lounge. We manage to get eight tickets in a row for $15 each on the day of the game. Odd for a contending team. I’ve heard this Luka Doncic chap is good, but he doesn’t appear to be on the court — perhaps he’s injured? SATURDAY Today I was meant to meet Daniel Vaughn at Goldee’s, which is the equivalent of winning the barbecue lottery. During the basketball game, he asks me if I can go early to please hold his place in line. Absolute diva behavior from the barbecue editor of Texas Monthly if you ask me. All the barbecue has gone to his head. Still, I very much want to eat at the No. 1 barbecue restaurant in all of Texas while I’m here, so we persuade a very nice friend to drive us to rural south Fort Worth at 8 a.m. The temperature? Why, we’re cooking on gas now at a heatwave of 33 degrees Fahr- enheit. Unfortunately, queuing for Goldee’s involves sitting outside. When we arrive at about 8:40 a.m., there may be 20 people ahead of us in line. A good result. It opens at 11 a.m., of course, and I haven’t brought any gloves. I go and stand near a smoker to warm up. An hour later, Daniel arrives with a coolbox containing Champagne and orange juice to make mi- mosas for everyone, and all is forgiven. Dan- iel spends the next hour very patiently taking photos with starstruck barbecue afi- cionados, none of whom ask for a photo with me for some reason. (That only hap- pened to me once in Dallas, and the person Taking Texas from p15 A note about barbecue in London before we continue — it’s appalling. A magazine even commissioned me to eat at every bar- becue restaurant in London to check. It was dreadful. At one point, a restaurant (with good reviews!) that had written a lengthy paragraph on its menu about smoking its brisket over specific types of wood for 18 hours served me boiled beef in meat gravy, topped with chives. Anyway, Lockhart Smokehouse, which has recently changed its pit team, Jill tells me, is a delightful venue and has the brisket to match. I can’t tell you how much I missed those brisket devilled eggs and jalapeño poppers. And a jar of Peticolas! What a time to be alive, friends. We walk-jog down the road into the somehow even colder night because of a need for dessert, and I remember the joys of Dude, Sweet Chocolate and Emporium Pies, both of which are still open at this time and Gavin Cleaver Goldee’s Barbecue Gavin Cleaver Gavin Cleaver at Lockhart BBQ
