Armed with my longing and my recommendation, I left work Thursday and braved the North-going traffic to Division. A bar by day and night, Smoke Daddy is dark and cozy. The menu is limited, but it includes all the right stuff. Well, everything you need to BBQ your face off, at least. Allagash white on draft doesn’t hurt my review, either.
Alex, the “aaahmbugaah” fiend that he is, baconcheddar-cheeseburgered it up (hey girl, half-off burgers on Thursday), while I kept my eye firmly on the prize. Pulled pork sandwich with sweet potato fries, please. Oh, and I’ll have that Carolina style. (Don’t let my hip new lingo intimidate you. BBQ pro here, just asking for coleslaw.)
I remember it like it was yesterday—maybe that’s because it happened last week—my first bite was spicy, sweet, and tender, with cool crunch from the coleslaw. That Smoke Daddy sure can pull pork. Each bite took me deeper into the porkbelly of the beastwich, the sticky sauce coating my cheeks. I was the BBQ version of Health Ledger’s Joker. Do you want to know how I got these scars?
Let's talk about the cookie. You know the cookie I’m talking about: the dish of hot, gooey, chocolate-chipped dough, melting a single scoop of vanilla. That cookie. Oh yes, it was perfection.
Lesson of the week: mid-winter BBQ hits the spot.