Frankie the Bull’s BBQ has the trappings of a real barbecue joint. But does it have the goods?
When living in San Diego, you find that there are some realities you just have to face. French fries, oddly enough, do belong in burritos. Winter and summer, aside from the hanging of twinkle lights, are indistinguishable. Flip flop sandals go well with jeans, and sometimes, when it’s cold, a hoodie. But perhaps the most troubling of all of these new, twisted realities is this – San Diego, California, for as long as any one ever can remember, has been a barbecue wasteland.
Ordinarily, this should be an outrage. It’s summer all the time here, and there are breweries a plenty, and beaches! So many beaches! Yet, I am almost certain that every other major US-Mexico border town has better barbecue. Maybe there are just too many taco stands, maybe it just moves too fast (BBQ is, after all, slow food made by generally slow folk). I’m almost willing to bet that Arizona probably has better barbecue than San Diego and Arizona is just like the real world, only everything is a little bit worse.
Sure, there are places that serve barbecue. Barbque House puts up an admirable attempt, even going so far as to misspell “barbecue” (or barbeque, or BBQ, for the vowel-averse), in order to try and gain some of that backwoods authenticity. Unfortunately, it falls short, and when you’re eating good-but-not-great barbecue across the street from truly amazing burgers at Hodad’s, or even solidly crafted New York pizza at Newport Pizza, it’s hard to feel good about your restaurant choice. Even Phil’s BBQ, with long lines that suggest a truly spectacular restaurant, under-delivers, with tri-tip that can’t compare to places that can be found north of Los Angeles.
But recently, Frankie the Bull’s BBQ on Morena Boulevard, has been trying to change that, and it has every chance to. Meat at Frankie’s is smoked, low and slow, as opposed to pre-boiled. The menu is relatively small, and the service is remarkably good. I counted no less than three employees doting on my every whim in a span of less than 30 minutes. In fact, the service was so good, that I’m mentioning it before really talking about the food.
But is that a good thing? Well, yes and no. The food is good. Honestly, it gets my vote for the best barbecue in San Diego. The sauce, which is the gold standard for barbecue, and the largest difference between barbecue regions in the US, is good. Put it on your fries instead of ketchup, it’ll be worth it. Hell, do a shot of it if you’re so inclined, that would probably be worth it, too. It comes in two different forms, for those who like sweet barbecue sauce. The portion sizes are generous, go there more than four times a month, and you may have to start being rolled out of the restaurant. Go there more than four times a week, and you’ll require a crane and a harness. The cole slaw, also good, complete with sliced candied almonds that make the genius idea of putting peanuts in coleslaw look half-assed.
Overall, there are a million good things I could say about this place: it’s clean, friendly, fast and good, real good. In a perfect world, I would end this review right now, declare myself completely stunned, take a Stetson off the wall of the restaurant, and ride off into the sunset on a trusty steed named something ridiculous like “Gunsmoke.”
But sadly, I can’t end there. Because there’s one thing I never actually talked about. Did you miss it? You shouldn’t have, because it’s the most important thing ever in the history of barbecue. The meat at Frankie the Bull’s BBQ is… very good. But it is nothing more than that. The pork and the beef are tender, and well-flavored. But they’re also a little bit on the dry side. And as much as this gives you ample cause to drown your sandwich in biblically large floods of the house barbecue sauce, it does mean that the heart of the food is probably the weakest part of the whole operation. And that’s why it falls short of being cosmically legendary, short of being John Wayne in food form, all true grit and badassery. Instead, we get something more akin to Marty McFly in Back to the Future III. Sure, he’ll still win the day, but he won’t spit in your eye and punch your horse in the face.
I would gladly go back to Frankie the Bulls. I would gladly pay. It was definitely worth it. But given the choice between going out for barbecue in San Diego, or trying my own hand at the grill, I think I’ll be staying at home on my Sunday afternoons.
Chef Jordan Cherry
www.thefeedfeed.com
