The narrow-minded will tell you barbecue season has been over for months now.
But you know better. You know the spirit of barbecue season lives within your heart all year round.
These guys are with you on that...
Pack some wet-naps for Mighty Quinn’s Barbeque, a real-life version of the barbecue shack that’s been creating ridiculous lines at Smorgasburg for the last two years, now open in the East Village.
This used to be Vandaag. Scandinavian place. Not bad. But not as good as this. A simple, wooded space where brisket sandwiches with pickled onions ascend to religious heights. (And they make this ascension late; this place is open till 2am on the weekends.)
There’s not a lot to tell. Don’t mess around with dates here. Unless they’re way into barbecue—in which case, you’ve got what they call in the biz “a keeper.”
It’s basically a midsize indoor picnic. Wood reclaimed from the Puck Building on the walls and on the tables. Steel chairs. A generally minimal, Shawshank-made-into-a-smoke-shack-type feel.
But just look at the menu. Really look at it. Brisket. Pulled pork. Smoked sausage. (All of it washed down by Allagash White Ale or a Black Duck Porter on draft.) This is meat cooked so torturously slow, it might be violating the Geneva Conventions. And you can get it by the pound.
By the ton might be a little too ambitious.
But you know better. You know the spirit of barbecue season lives within your heart all year round.
These guys are with you on that...
Pack some wet-naps for Mighty Quinn’s Barbeque, a real-life version of the barbecue shack that’s been creating ridiculous lines at Smorgasburg for the last two years, now open in the East Village.
This used to be Vandaag. Scandinavian place. Not bad. But not as good as this. A simple, wooded space where brisket sandwiches with pickled onions ascend to religious heights. (And they make this ascension late; this place is open till 2am on the weekends.)
There’s not a lot to tell. Don’t mess around with dates here. Unless they’re way into barbecue—in which case, you’ve got what they call in the biz “a keeper.”
It’s basically a midsize indoor picnic. Wood reclaimed from the Puck Building on the walls and on the tables. Steel chairs. A generally minimal, Shawshank-made-into-a-smoke-shack-type feel.
But just look at the menu. Really look at it. Brisket. Pulled pork. Smoked sausage. (All of it washed down by Allagash White Ale or a Black Duck Porter on draft.) This is meat cooked so torturously slow, it might be violating the Geneva Conventions. And you can get it by the pound.
By the ton might be a little too ambitious.
