Sean L.
Yelp
Behold, fellow carnivores and smoke-chasers: the meaty pilgrimage has officially begun. I kicked off my Texas Monthly Top 50 BBQ Tour with a belly brimming with anticipation, a fresh stamp-ready passport in one hand, and a custom t-shirt on my chest that screamed "50 Reasons I'm Not a Vegetarian." Reason #1 now proudly smeared in brisket juice.
Destination One: Dayne's Craft Barbecue.
From the moment I stepped up to the weathered wood facade of this sacred meat chapel, I could smell the holy trinity of Texas BBQ salvation: brisket, ribs, and sausage. No frills. No fluff. Just smoke signals to your soul.
Inside, rustic charm meets BBQ grit. There's a giant metal cow logo looming like the guardian of the goods. A saloon slinging beers and brisket-fueled cocktails. And a mounted beast on the wall rockin' a patriotic top hat like he's Uncle Sam's meat-loving cousin. This place didn't whisper BBQ vibes, it hollered 'em through a megaphone made from mesquite.
Simone, my BBQ spirit guide for the day, greeted me with a smile and a stamp. I ordered like I was drafting the All-Smoke Hall of Fame. I sat down, passport stamped, t-shirt inked, stomach growling like a smoker at dawn. Then they delivered the tray. Folks, this wasn't lunch. This was an altar of barbecue devotion. I sampled everything: pure research, of course, before boxing up the rest to bring home and eat lunch with my wife, the Side Dish Sage of our household.
The verdict?
The brisket was a smoked miracle, tender enough to make a grown man weep into his red butcher paper. The sausage had that jalapeño pop and creamy Havarti melt that made me nod like I'd just heard Willie Nelson sing. Ribs? Fall-off-the-bone like they were late for church. The turkey had a peppery bark and smoky depth that'd win over any dark meat loyalist.
Sides? Oh yes. The loaded red potato salad was creamy with a crispy kick. The flamin' hot street corn was truly flamin', like Fourth-of-July-fireworks-in-your-mouth hot. The crisp apple slaw was a crunchy, tart palate cleanser. The broccoli grape salad was sweet, nutty, and fancy enough to wear boots and a bow tie.
And dessert? You know I didn't leave that rodeo unwrangled. My wife called dibs on the banana pudding faster than I could say, 'Wait, that was for sharing!' I didn't argue. As for the Funky Monkey, I don't know who named it, but I'd give that monkey a medal.
This meal had no weak link. Not even close.
Before I left, I snuck a peek through the window where the magic happens. The staff put in a call and introduced me to Alex, the pitmaster himself, in his smoky domain. With pride, he gave me a behind-the-scenes tour of the pit room, a wonderland of iron, fire, and flavor. Those pits? They're not machines. They're instruments, and Alex is playing symphonies in smoke.
TL;DR:
Brisket tender enough to make a grown man cry. Sausage that kicks like a jalapeño roundhouse. Sides that could run for office. Dayne's isn't a BBQ stop--it's a BBQ destination. And with my t-shirt now stamped and stained, I'm one bite closer to smoked meat immortality.
BBQ Passport Stamp #1: Complete.
49 more to go. Pray for my belt.