Come gather ’round kids and hear me spin a fantastical yarn: A young boy from Illinois named Todd watched his father and grandfather smoke pork and beef the family raised. Todd was mesmerized.
When he was old enough, Todd realized his barbecue hopes and dreams were being held back. He had to break free. So one day, he pinned a note to one of the family’s seven grills: “Stepped out to get sauce.” And he set off on his trek for barbecue salvation, as a cloud of dust kicked up from Todd’s boots.
This is the story printed in the slick brochure found at select Mariano’s supermarkets. And guess what? The legend is mostly bunkum and horsefeathers.
It is, in fact, an embellished tale promoting Todds BBQ, a counter food stall at seven Illinois Mariano’s. Given the meek offerings and low expectations of prepared supermarket foods, Todds BBQ is actually, counterintuitively, better-than-decent barbecue for a better-than-reasonable price.
Todd actually exists. He is Todd Willits, vice president of deli and food service for Roundy’s Supermarkets. Willits told me he grew up outside Rock Island, Ill., by the Iowa border, worked in the food business as a deli meats sales manager and, in his youth, barbecued with his father and grandfather. He also lived in Kansas City, Mo., one of America’s undisputed barbecue hubs, and entered a few competitive barbecue contests.
Now Todd has a barbecue-within-a-supermarket in his honor. That genre, however, has an awfully low bar. I remembered the last time I saw what a supermarket claimed to be “barbecued brisket” — it was a desiccated shoe insert of gray matter, slathered with a quarter-inch layer of KC Masterpiece-ish sauce.
But at the Ravenswood/Lawrence Mariano’s I visited (1800 W. Lawrence Ave.), the first encouraging tell about its brisket was jiggle. It wobbled the entire length as it traveled from steam tray to cutting board, as if the brisket was half-done Jell-O. The chalkboard sign confirmed my suspicions: “We keep the natural fat layer on our brisket. A lot of people love it. You don’t? Just say lean!” Any barbecue stand with a fat-default philosophy is a barbecue stand deserving our attention.
Barbecue should never be a dining option for the health-conscious, in the same way one shouldn’t eat at steakhouses if you’re dieting. If you’ve already conceded to eating barbecue, you might as well taste the most delicious version possible. Because the oils in meat best absorb smoke flavors, the general rule is the more intramuscular fat, the more potent the barbecue. Lean brisket is an atrocity.
I didn’t phrase my request specifically for fatty brisket, just one that’s “not lean” and on the thicker side. As a result, the 12-hour Southern Pride smoked slices ($13/pound) quivered on the fork, glistened with sheen, with an assertive, savory head of hickory. Part of the brisket’s appeal is a heavy hand of dry rub, which doesn’t taste of any specific seasoning but amplifies the beefiness. Asking for the exterior “bark,” the flavor point-of-entry, underscores that even more.
There’s no precedence for good supermarket barbecue. Barbecued ribs are more likely boiled than smoked and come shrink-wrapped in the cold case. Todds, however, serves meaty St. Louis ribs by the bone for $1 each, and the faintly sweet crust of brown sugar and ginger gives way to a firm, tender-with-a-tug pork interior. Todds doesn’t venture into “fall-off-the-bone” territory with its ribs, which barbecue aficionados will tell you is the worst thing ever, ever, ever.
I usually steer clear of pulled pork unless I’m craving dried, flavorless meat floss. I was encouraged to see smoked pork shoulders ($9/pound), which you can buy in whole hunks here. The meat was moist, with smoke flavors penetrated deep. The same can be said about the terrific half-smoked chicken ($5), which has leapfrogged into the top position of my supermarket rotisserie chicken rankings (followed by Gene’s Sausage Shop, Real Kitchen and Costco).
The only side worth mentioning is the horseradish pickles ($1), which are addictive in their snappy crunchiness, though these aren’t made in-house.
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The barbecued meats are decent enough to try without the three available sauces, the weak links of the operation. The Kansas City sauce tasted candy sweet, and the Texas Heat lacked balance and was overpowered by smoked chilies. Only the tangy Carolina mustard sauce was passable. Like the legend of Todd, you, too, can step out for some sauce for barbecue salvation. Fortunately, the aisle with all the bottled stuff is a 20-second stroll away.
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Todds BBQ is available at the Mariano’s in Uptown, Glenview, Oak Lawn, Lake Zurich, Harwood Heights, Wheaton and Frankfort.