When my friend Ben was moving from San Francisco to New York over Fourth of July weekend in 2003, I joined him in Austin to feast on Central Texas barbecue, the best there is. Texas Monthly had just published their list of Top 50 barbecue restaurants in the state. We ate at four of the Top 5 over a three day stretch. Our last and best stop was Cooper’s Pit Bar-B-Q. We drove over four hours out of the way before driving on to New Orleans, and it was worth it! I couldn’t stop stuffing my mouth with succulent brisket, lamb ribs, sausage links, pork ribs, and chicken. The flavors of the salt and sauce and mesquite kept building on my taste buds until I was in a frenzy. Almost three years later, I returned with my father and brother, attempting to recreate that initial taste bud bliss.
When we arrived, there was smoke flooding the air surrounding the open smoker, so thick I could barely differentiate between the large variety of meats in the pit.
In the background were stacks of mesquite, which the pit men use to smoke the ‘cue for 6-7 hours. A large pit boss was spearing chunks of meat and tossing them in a metal bin. He asked us if we wanted “sauce.” We did, and he dipped the meat in a bucket of jus to moisten the meat before binning it. We ordered a large sausage link, a half-slab of pork ribs, about a six-inch cut of brisket, a large pork chop, and half a chicken. On the weekends, they also sell sirloin and pork loin, but we skipped them. I was torn about whether to order one of their unusual specialties: goat and lamb. I saw several goat-filled fields on the drive to Cooper’s, but no sheep, so I went with goat. There were only three pieces of goat left. I avoided the backbone, since all I could make out were vertebrae, and went for the flank instead.
Inside the front door, the pit man weighed each of our meats on an electric scale, then asked if we wanted any of our meats carved. We had him carve them all. He then packed our meats in white butcher paper and stacked the two packs on a red plastic tray. There were sides and drinks in a fridge. We ordered pints of cole slaw and German potato salad. He then rang us up underneath a faded printout, taped to the wall, that read: “If you are grouchy, irritable, or just plain mean, there will be a $10 charge for putting up with you.”
We took our purchases next door to the “dining room,” which consisted of four picnic tables, a TV showing a college women’s softball battle between Texas A&M and Oklahoma, three taxidermied skulls on the wall, and framed cartoons joking about ranch life.
Each table featured a built-in paper towel dispenser and a mammoth squeeze bottle of spicy, orange, vinegar-tinged BBQ sauce.
I took a bite each of the German potato salad and cole slaw. They were both excellent, the former vinegary and the latter finely chopped and crisp, but I wasn’t there to eat side dishes.
My father and I unfurled the white butcher paper bundles, revealing huge piles of carved meat. I started with the brisket, which was juicy and rimmed with a black charred crust, the most prized part of the barbecued brisket, almost caramelized in consistency.
The pork chop was a little dry, but flavorful. The sausage was finely ground, almost silky in texture, containing none of the grit or kick of the City Market version, but it was still solid. The chicken was almost lacquered the way the skin gleamed. It was even better than I remembered it, very juicy and smoky, not dry at all. I ate a drumstick. The pork ribs were a little chewy, but they had bronzed skin and were juicy.
Surprisingly, my favorite meat was probably the goat, which was chewy, a little salty, rosy pink, with great flavor. It wasn’t gamy at all. The only part I didn’t appreciate was a mash of curded white fat, on the interior of the flank. There were no desserts to speak of, just the kind of pre-packaged baked goods you’d find in a grocery store aisle, so we skipped them.
The late great George Cooper opened Cooper’s Pit Bar-B-Q in 1953. The current owner is Duard Dockal, who purchased the restaurant in the early 80’s. There’s another Cooper’s about thirty miles down the road in Llano, opened by George’s late son Tommy in 1963. It has no connection to the Mason original, but it’s very good on its own merits, with a similar array of meats, outstanding cobblers, and even more taxidermied animals.
Before we left, I hit the head to wash the thick coat of sauce off my hands. Cooper’s personality extends to the bathroom, taking “bathroom humor” to new heights. The unisex restroom wall is plastered with bumper stickers and placards with sayings like: “Prices subject to change…according to customer’s attitude”; “Of course I can do it!…the question is, do I want to?”; and several witticisms from Garfield, that hilarious cartoon cat.
It’s highly unusual for an all-time favorite restaurant to live up to that first visit. Sadly, Cooper’s didn’t generate the same kind of elation I experienced in 2003. Happily, despite the perceived oh-so-slight dip, Cooper’s Pit Bar-B-Q still rates with the very best barbecue establishments, in Texas or anywhere.
No Comments Yet
You can be the first to comment!
Leave a comment