BBQ

It's not dinner at the zoo. It's dinner in Hell's Kitchen.

329 W. 51st St., between Eighth and Ninth Aves., (212) 315-3315
Sun.-Wed., 5 p.m.-1a.m.; Thu.-Sat., 5 p.m.-3 a.m.
Cuisine: African barbecue
Vibe: Funky Hell's Kitchen spot.
Occasion: Casual date, group dinner.
Don't Miss Dish: Venison sosoties & chicken bobotie.
Average Price: Appetizers, $12; entrees, $23; dessert, $8.
Reservations: Recommended

Do you ever read the menu online before you go to a restaurant? It's a bad idea, at least at Braai.

I skipped lunch and all of my mid-afternoon snacks because I planned to take down a barbecued ostrich that evening.
 
And what did I get? I got one dainty skewer of overcooked ostrich, domestically raised. I didn't want domestically raised. I had my heart set on ostrich right off the veldt.

And where's the antelope? I came for antelope. There was talk of zebra in the papers, too. But the only black-and-white- striped object at Braai is a zebrawood table in the brandy room. So it's not dinner at the zoo ... it's in Hell's Kitchen.

Braai looks like an African date-hut - mood lighting, rose petals scattered on the tables, a reed canopy overheard and lots of dripping candles. There's also a lady at the bar getting her face painted. Turns out she's the hostess. Did I mention the music? Way too much music.

Here's a rule for restaurants: Live music means you're trying to hide the food. It's like the strolling violinist or the mariachi band. Please, just stroll away.

The best thing about Braai may be the wine list. It's exclusively South African. I especially liked the FMC Chenin Blanc 2005 - a crisp, complex white wine with hints of honey and vanilla. It's not cheap. A half bottle is $55, worth the splurge. So is the Neil Ellis Cabernet Sauvignon 2003. You can also try a cocktail made with African rum or one of the house-infused brandies, a welcome by-product of the African surplus of grapes.

Okay, let's talk about the barbecue. If you order meat, insist on medium rare. No more. Otherwise, it will taste like beef jerky, or the game version called biltong in South Africa.

If you want venison, order the appetizer. It's marinated in rooibos syrup and speared with dried apricots, green peppers and onions.

Lamb? Order the mutton-wors - lamb sausage served over a warm yogurt-guava sauce.

One reason to visit this restaurant is to learn a whole new culinary vocabulary. I know my sosoties, but not my bobotie. Sosoties are skewers of marinated meat. Bobotie is the offspring of meatloaf and shepherd's pie.

I had the chicken bobotie. It reminded me of gastropub grub. It was full of raisins, shredded carrots, and chutney. And there was an egg on top. Also worth ordering - the prawns peri-peri and the boerewors (beef & pork sausage), but just for the side of white corn "polenta" with tomato gravy on top.

And don't miss the malva pudding - the African version of banana pudding, with caramelized bananas, vanilla ice cream and custard made from an African liqueur called Amarula.

It's not easy to pull off Afrikaans barbecue in Hell's Kitchen. Clearly, they're adapting a South African tradition for American tastes - and American meats. And in the kitchen, the chef - Armando Martinez - is native American. The menu may sound like fusion, but it's no more complicated than the fusion involved in real South African barbecue.

Just imagine - Malaysian, Indian, Afrikaans and wild game. Minus the antelope and zebra.

Serving up ecumenical barbecue in Gramercy Park

Address: 225 Park Ave. South, at 18th St., (212) 533-2500
Hours: Mon.-Thurs., 11:30 a.m.-11:30 p.m.; Fri.-Sat., 11:30 a.m.-12:30 a.m.; Sat., noon-midnight; Sun., noon-11 p.m.
Cuisine: Regional barbecue
Vibe: Big-city barn
Occasion: Festive occasion; group dining.
Don't Miss Dish: Barbecue burger; Texas smoked brisket; carrot cake.
Price: Appetizers, $5-$9.50; entrées, $9.95-$28.95; dessert, $7.
Reservation: Recommended

If you want barbecue in New York City these days, you have to ask yourself what kind you're craving. You can get down & dirty barbecue - sauce on your T-shirt - at Dinosaur BBQ. You can get artisanal barbecue - sauce on your business suit - at Blue Smoke. But if you want breezy barbeque - sauce on your white leather banquette - you should try Wildwood BBQ, a few blocks from Blue Smoke in Gramercy Park.

Eating at Wildwood is like eating at a theme park called Barbecue Land - big faux barn, dish towel-size napkins, jam jar glasses, firewood stacked against the wall. Over the youthful roar at the bar, you can hear George Thorogood singing "Bad to the Bone." Servers wearing T-shirts that say "Wingman" or "Get Sauced" squeeze between tables, carrying tequila shots, pitchers of beer and cowboy margaritas.

What Steven Hanson did with Mexican at Dos Caminos and Asian at Ruby Foo's, he's doing with American barbecue at Wildwood. He's not alone in this because when barbecue comes to New York, it tends to be ecumenical.

At Wildwood, there's Carolina pulled pork, Memphis-style baby back ribs, and Texas smoked brisket "hand rubbed by Big Lou." Big Lou Elrose is the pit master, a retired cop who's 6-feet-4 and took up competitive barbecue three years ago. His own barbecue sauce sits in a basket at every table.

So what works at Wildwood? Brisket. Anything with brisket. The kitchen tosses burnt ends of brisket into the kettle-cooked baked beans. It dices brisket into the Texas jailhouse chili, topped with cheddar, onions and sour cream. The Texas smoked brisket - crusty edges spiced with pepper, cumin and paprika - comes hand-sliced on a butcher board. Best of all is Big Lou's barbecue burger - 90% brisket (10% chuck) - piled high with caramelized onions, sautéed mushrooms, Monterey Jack cheese and sturdy bacon.

I'd come back to Wildwood just for the burger and the homemade salt and vinegar chips that come with it. But be sure to tear open a few Handi Wipes before you tear into your burger.

Unfortunately, the "fallin'-off-the-bone" short rib refused to fall off the bone. It was also salty enough to chap your lips. The kitchen seemed to have left the flavor and the vinegar mopping sauce off the Carolina pulled pork.

Wildwood likes to use a chipotle-raspberry barbecue sauce. On chicken wings, the ingredients get along fine, but they bicker on baby back ribs. The cornbread is dry as Wyoming grassland. We had to pry it out of the cast iron skillet it was baked in.

Saving room at a barbecue joint is downright impossible. But you need to at Wildwood.

Elizabeth Katz, who used to work at Fiamma - a much more upscale restaurant - oversees desserts here. The eight-layer chocolate cake and the six-layer carrot cake are so comically oversized that you can't believe they're any good. They almost look like diner cakes. But they're not. They may be huge, but you won't want to share them.

And don't forget the fluffernutter s'more - the love child of a peanut butter cup and a campfire s'more.

Wildwood is a survey course in American barbecue -Barbecue 101 - until you get dessert.

Then it's an advanced seminar.

If opening night is any indication of Hill Country's big city debut, New Yorkers are rolling out the welcome wagon for the newest in barbecue.  This generous bi-level space on the outskirts of the Flatiron District, embraces its down & dirty southern roots with Western accoutrements, unfinished wood floors, communal tables and Americana signage.   First-time restaurateur Marc Glosserman, an ambitious Jew from nowhere near the Lone Star state (Maryland), has wisely recruited Queens pitmaster Robbie Richter and "lady of the grill", Elizabeth Karmel, to run three high-tech Hickory smokers and a well-endowed assemblage of southern-stamped sides and desserts. 

Pass your wait at the front bar, where you can buy a round of tequila shots, browse the all-Texan wine list or elect for a cocktail.  I kept returning to an addictively refreshing caipirita, a cilantro-spiked blend of tequila, lemon & lime juice, until we were finally handed a meal ticket, then called to take our place in a line that impressively spanned the length of the first floor.  First up, all things barbecued and dry-rubbed of course.  The supply of chicken had long since run out, so we ordered pork spare ribs, boneless prime rib, & Texas-imported Kreuz sausage (jalapeno cheese and regular).  Served up cafeteria-style on plastic trays, all meats were delivered on sturdy brown paper, then plopped onto a scale.  Finished there, we moved right along to the hot & cold sides station, where we had a choice of cheddar mac & cheese, sweet potato bourbon mash, campfire baked beans & green beans casserole.  While barbecue loyalists may turn their nose up at the very notion of dessert, I dare suggest you hit up the sweets station.  Bypass dried-out pecan pie tartlets and beeline it for the pb & j cupcakes.  I promise you won't regret it.

We dined like savages on the subterranean second floor with its own cowboy boot-crowned bar & live music stage.   Austin legend Redd Volkert and his band Heybale were in the house to kick off the finger lickin' opening night ceremonies.  As the band played on, we gnawed on blissfully sweet and fatty pork ribs.  Chubby string-in sausages were kicked up a notch by fresh bits of smoky jalapeno and gooey melted cheese, but the real find at Hill Country hands-down is the prime rib.  Don't let the brown paper platform fool you: this refined, unusually supple and flavorful cut of cattle warrants no more than a simple butter knife. 

As far as sides go, savory campfire baked beans intermingled with smoky chunks of pork, were the perfect complement to any of the above barbecue opportunities.  Ditto on a vinegary cucumber salad.  I was less impressed by an overly chewy mac & cheese, but the green beans casserole, sprinkled with bread crumbs & mushrooms, proved a tasty & worthwhile vegetable accompaniment.

Last but not least, the pb & j cupcake holds its own in a city ravaged by a hefty stockpile of cupcake competitors.  While I was content nibbling at the rich, peanut buttery frosting, my companion urged me to dig deeper into the perfectly moist cake, where I discovered a rich grape jelly filling.  On Hill Country's behalf, I'm challenging Magnolia to a duel. 

Hill Country is anything but sophisticated, but that seems to be exactly the point.  A surreal mix of barbecue fanatics, Texans nostalgic for home and friends of Marc Glosserman, Hill Country's energy is contagious.  Though you might want to practice your two-step game face or else prepare to face your painfully obvious East Coast upbringing.

Address: 30 W. 26th St., near Broadway
Phone: 212.255.4544

Until we eat again,
Restaurant Girl
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