Gianpaolo F.
Google
The place itself is charming enough, though the indoor climate feels more like the windswept plains of Montana in mid-winter than a cosy BBQ restaurant. Drafts everywhere — you half expect tumbleweeds to roll past your table.
We ordered the meat platter for two, the one that includes two sodas. We asked to upgrade to cocktails — even though the menu only mentions beer upgrades — and were told it was fine. Promising start.
Then the food arrived, and the optimism left the table.
The brisket was so dry it could’ve filed for archaeological status: reheated, overhandled, and drowned in BBQ sauce as if to conceal its many resurrections.
The pulled pork tasted boiled and spiritually defeated — flavour clearly didn’t survive the journey.
The ribs were lean, short on meat and long on sauce, like someone tried to stretch a bison across three plates and failed.
The beef sausages were good, and the chicken wings genuinely very good — but not nearly heroic enough to save the rest. The coleslaw and sweet potatoes dutifully existed.
At €45 per person, the only thing truly abundant was disappointment.
The cocktails? Sweet, watery, and confused about their own identity — perfect if you enjoy sipping dissolved gummy bears.
To be fair, our server was absolutely lovely, kind and attentive.
Her manager, however, seemed to operate under a very different philosophy — one in which customer experience is more a theoretical concept than a practical goal.
The finale came with the bill: cocktails fully charged. We asked, at the very least, for the two included sodas to take away — a simple, reasonable request. Denied.
And it’s in moments like these that reviews stop being a choice and start becoming a public service.