Dino Dynamo

This article is from the archive of The New York Sun before the launch of its new website in 2022. The Sun has neither altered nor updated such articles but will seek to correct any errors, mis-categorizations or other problems introduced during transfer.

The New York Sun

Someone finally got it right.

With all due respect to Blue Smoke, Pearson’s, and Daisy Mae’s – and none at all to Texas Smokehouse – the recent resurgence of barbecue in Manhattan has been longer on quantity than on quality. Smokiness has been spotty; ribs have been succulent one night and dry the next; gloppy sauces have overwhelmed the meat’s natural flavor. It’s all reaffirmed New York’s long-standing reputation as a barbecue backwater.

But now we’ve got a real contender. As you might expect, it’s being run by outsiders who honed their chops elsewhere before making the move to New York. So at which hallowed spot on the barbecue map did these pitmasters learn their craft – Memphis? Texas? The Carolinas?

Nope. Try Syracuse.

Dinosaur Bar-B-Que opened in Syracuse in 1988 and has built a reputation as a solid ‘cuery – not world-class, but definitely above average. Along the way it opened an outlet in Rochester, and now it’s made the jump to Manhattan, with a huge space up in Harlem at the corner of 12th Avenue and 131st Street. Based on two visits – both times accompanied by large groups, to allow for ample sampling and sharing – I’d say we finally have consistent, high-quality barbecue in New York. Is it on a par with the greatest smokehouses of the South? No. But it is real, legitimate barbecue that evokes the genre’s rare highs instead of its all-too-frequent lows.

Let’s start with the spareribs ($14 for a half-rack, $21 for a full), which, like all the smoked meats at Dinosaur, should be ordered with sauce on the side. The ribs are treated with a dry rub before going in the smoker and come out with a good ratio of outer bark to inner juiciness. As you bring one to your mouth and sink your teeth into the meat, the flavor hits your tongue just as the rib’s smoky complexity registers with your nose. That dual sensory impact, like a stereo broadcast, is the essence of good barbecue.

Personally, I’d prefer a spicier dry rub and an even stronger smoke element, but those are quibbles. The point is, this is real barbecue – a far cry from the parboiled slop slathered in Kraft-level sauce that so many New York restaurants try to pass off as “barbecued ribs” (and a smaller but nonetheless discernable jump in quality from the ribs at Blue Smoke or Pearson’s).

Even better is the brisket ($8.50 for a sandwich,$13.50 for a large platter),which is often the biggest challenge for a pitmaster. The trick is to break down the cut’s inherent graininess without drying it out or turning it to mush. Dinosaur’s brisket is unspeakably tender – as someone at my table remarked, “It’s hard to believe this is beef!” – yet it holds together, and packs a smoky punch to boot. For best results, specify that you want your meat from the deckle, which is the juicier part of the brisket.

Pulled pork ($8 for a sandwich, $13 for a large platter) is good but a small notch below the other two meats. The good news is that the waitress had no trouble complying with my request for a high ratio of outside meat – the browned bits from the meat’s exterior. The bad news is that these browned morsels, while tasty, weren’t the least bit crunchy, and therefore didn’t add the textural element I was seeking. Flavor and smokiness were okay but unspectacular; a bit of Dinosaur’s Creole mustard sauce helped considerably (if this isn’t included among the bottles of sauce at your table, ask for it – it’s the best condiment in the house).

The weakest offering is chicken ($10 for half a bird). It’s fine, but not the least bit special – you can do just as well at your neighborhood rotisserie joint. But if you have your heart set on poultry, Dinosaur’s wings ($9 for a baker’s dozen) are surprisingly good. Unlike Buffalo-style wings, which are usually either baked or deep-fried, these wings are dry-rubbed and smoked before being finished on the grill, with excellent results. The best sauce treatment appears to be the mildly hot version that the menu unfortunately refers to as “Wango Tango.”

Surprisingly, there are no beef ribs, hot links, or Carolina-style vinegar-sauced pork (there’s a “Carolina” sandwich, but it turns out to be just Dinosaur’s basic pulled pork with slaw on top). These are unfortunate omissions – especially since I love beef ribs and Carolina barbecue – but it shows admirable restraint. I’d rather have a smokehouse be good at a few things than mediocre at a lot of things.

All the meat plates come with your choice of two sides. The best one is an upstate regional specialty that the Dinosaur crew brought with them from Syracuse: salt potatoes, which are potatoes boiled in heavily salted water and served in a pool of melted butter. It may not sound like much, but it’s very good. The other sides range from adequate (slaw, baked beans) to weak (macaroni salad, fries) – you’re better off saving stomach capacity for more barbecue.

Speaking of which: Barbecue joints tend to treat dessert as an afterthought at best, but Dinosaur’s sweets ($5) are surprisingly good, so you may want to save room. The standout is a killer apple-cranberry crisp, with Key lime pie, chocolate cake, and butterscotch and banana puddings all holding their own as well.

Dinosaur’s biggest problem lies in the vibe and decor, which lean heavily on all the laziest and most obvious roadhouse cliches: license plates on the walls, distressed wood, down-home tchotchkes, blues on the sound system, embarrassing menu lingo (“So good you’ll slap yo’ Pappy!”), and so on. Customers are even encouraged to scrawl graffiti on the bathroom walls.

This approach, which essentially treats barbecue as little more than a formulaic marketing strategy, is unworthy of Dinosaur’s food. It’s also attracted a predictably frat-boyish clientele – seriously, you’ve never seen so many white guys in Harlem. And this crowd isn’t exactly coming up with the most original bathroom graffiti, if you get my drift.

In any case, whether people are coming for the food or for the backdrop, they’re coming: Despite having just opened on December 1, the place is already so bottlenecked that small groups at prime eating times should expect to wait at least an hour for a table (reservations are available only for parties of six or more).And good luck getting a seat while you wait in the bar area, which is a testosterone fueled mob scene.

The waitresses remain impressively good-natured and energetic while dealing with all this chaos. They also don’t flinch at terms like “deckle” or “outside meat,” are happy to take special requests, and clearly understand that some people take barbecue very seriously. As much as any servers I encountered this year, this group earned its tips.

The only time the staff slacks off is if you have leftovers. Instead of whisking them away and bringing back a doggie bag, the waitress brings some styrofoam containers to the table so you can divvy up the leavings yourself. This seems like fair penance for anyone who can’t manage to finish what is now the city’s best barbecue.

Dinosaur Bar-B-Que, 646 W. 131st St., 212-694-1777.


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