Eric W.
Google
Now, I had high hopes for Iron Pig Smokehouse. I mean, with a name like that, you expect bold flavors, smoky perfection, and maybe a little bit of barbecue magic. What I got instead was a masterclass in how to overcook meat and underdeliver service.
The brisket had the texture of a history textbook — dry, dense, and hard to get through. The ribs looked promising until I realized they were less “fall off the bone” and more “cling to the bone out of spite.” The sides weren’t much better. I’m fairly certain the mac and cheese and I are still emotionally processing what happened.
Service? Let’s just say I’ve received warmer hospitality from a self-checkout kiosk. Drinks took forever, food took longer, and checking on the table seemed to be treated as an optional side quest no one accepted.
And then there was the owner, Ian. If customer service were an Olympic sport, he’d compete in Avoidance and Defensive Responses. Any concern was met with the enthusiasm of someone being asked to do taxes. It’s always a bold strategy to make customers feel like they’re inconveniencing you by… being customers.
Iron Pig has the vibe of a place that thinks its reputation will carry it — unfortunately, the barbecue didn’t get that memo.
One star:…for the parking lot being easy to exit.