I can’t, right in this moment, remember whether or not JC’s BBQ has tables. This is slightly problematic, I suppose, because this is meant to be a restaurant recommendation. I could see how an admission like this could even sully my credibility. I’ve been eating these greasy, tender, just-sweet-enough ribs for practically my whole life and I do not know if it is possible to sit and eat them on the premises. These are not the words of an observant reporter, I know, and it feels a little shameful. I will say this, though: Even if you can eat there, it wouldn’t be right! This is classic take-away fare. They offer many different cuts of many different meats smothered in a near-perfect homemade sauce, the only potato salad I’ve ever liked in my life, a few other predictable side-dish options done remarkably well, and nothing else. Meaning no ambiance, no atmosphere, nothing warm or inviting whatsoever. JC, whoever he is, must be a practical man. He knew the value of his product when he set this place up, understood that this is food to take home and be comfortable with. This is food too messy to eat in public, too good to be careful with. You’re going to want to suck the bones, and, really, how many of us can do that in front of strangers? So, let’s just forget about the whole table question all together, ok? Stop by on your way back to the hotel after work, get yourself a bucket of whatever you like best (and it all comes in buckets!), pick up a movie on your way past the front desk, and enjoy a night of quiet indulgence.
And if JC turns out to be a woman, I will feel both apologetic and surprised. Forgive me my horrid Neanderthal ideas, but I don’t see a woman being behind a place like this.