Driving past perhaps the least appetizing fast food mural ever, my associate and I arrived at Uncle John's BBQ today, in its location on a just-slightly-nicer-than-desolate stretch of 69th street, parking on a street probably scraped for resurfacing in the Eugene Sawyer administration.
Inside it was amusing to see that the bulletproofed interior had been tagged by the Dolinsky and Time Out gangs. We ordered a combo and my associate, having charmed the female of the staff, was presented with a complimentary bag of chips. Mack, looking dapper in a new goatee, posed for pictures by his aquarium smoker:
We took our combo to
my customary spot for eating southside rib tips and links, the grounds around Lorado Taft's masterpiece.
Yes, I forgot to tell them sauce on the side again, so sue me. And even a mix of hot and mild is screamingly hot by the third or fourth tip. Be warned.
But the meat? Accented with a taste of smoke that is gentle yet profound, the tips were as meaty and flavorful as any I've ever had, while the hot link, even slightly overdone as these were, is one of the most complex and multidimensional sausages in a great sausage town-- part breakfast (with the discernable sage profile), part all-night party (with the hot red pepper), and all smoky porkiness.
Uncle John's, or more accurately Mack, its fabled pitmaster, packs big flavor into a small smoker and a building that's not much bigger. He's a Chicago treasure.