The rub with the ribs

>> Texas-size portions and problems at Bofinger

by A.J. KINIK

With all the fuss that’s been heaped on Bofinger over the last couple of months since it opened, you’d think the late, great Arthur Bryant, the legendary “King of Ribs” and godfather of K.C. barbecue, had dropped down from on high to deliver Montreal from its barbecue doldrums. All I know is that the “A” word (“authentic”) had been getting trotted out an awful lot, so I figured it was time this BBQ-lover took a closer look.

Bofinger’s “Barbecue Smokehouse” ambience is a little puzzling. Its style is minimal, even kind of tasteful—black wooden booths against a white background, the tables distressed just so—but otherwise, the format is clean, classic, family fast food. Meanwhile, the buzz on Bofinger has it pegged as one macho joint—you might expect Stevie Ray Vaughan or the Fabulous Thunderbirds or even Blues Hammer on the stereo, but, strangely, we had to put up with Norah Jones-esque soft jazz instead.

One last bit of weirdness. Bofinger has a mix-and-match, customer-service-friendly approach to barbecue. There’s no mention of rubs or how any of their meats are cooked, but you get your choice of five different barbecue sauces that you can get ’em slathered with, regardless of whether that sauce is actually appropriate or not.

In the sauce department, the people at Bofinger have done their homework, covering virtually every U.S. regional variety—from no-brainers like Texas and Memphis to lesser-known types like Western Kentucky (with lemon), South Carolina (with mustard) and Alabama (with vinegar and cayenne). However, it’s really not clear what that South Carolina sauce (intended for pork) would taste like on brisket, or what that Western Kentucky sauce (intended for mutton) would taste like on any of their offerings, and, regardless, they tend to push the Texas-style sauce on everyone.

Anyway, our little barbecue posse was famished and our hopes were high, so we made our way to the counter, asked a couple of questions about their “house specialty” sandwiches, and got to ordering.

I was already dead-set on getting a straight-up, pulled pork sandwich, but when I found out how convoluted both their po’boy and their Cuban BBQ pork sandwiches were, I was even deader and setter. I got my sandwich dressed with their “Atomic Alabama” sauce, rounded out my pulled pork combo ($8.25) with some baked beans and coleslaw, and, ever the purist, steered clear of the fixins bar. The rest of the posse got beef ribs ($18.99) and a half-pound of maple BBQ smoked chicken ($12.99), both with the Texas-style sauce, a full rack of pork ribs ($13.99) with more of that Alabama-style sauce and some sides of mac ‘n’ cheese and potato salad to top things off.

The portions were Texas-size, there’s no question about it, but when problems arose, it only meant there were a heap of ’em. The pulled pork was tender enough, but it had no character of its own—no smokiness and no real flavour in the absence of that Alabama-style sauce, and that oily, bland coleslaw did nothing to improve the situation. The chicken had a nice skin to it and was juicy, but, again, there was no trace of smoke to it, maple or otherwise. It also tasted more roasted than grilled. Worse still, it arrived cold and found itself completely outmatched by that Texas-style sauce. The pork ribs were easily the highlight of the meal—at least they came meaty and juicy—but even they didn’t have the kind of crust that’s the signature of world-class ribs, “wet” or “dry.” The beef ribs were definitely butch enough to stand up to that tangy Texas sauce but they arrived dry as, well, a bone.

The problems only continued with the sides. Baked beans: distinctive only in that undercooked onions were the dominant flavour, and they came with chickpeas. Mac ‘n’ cheese: a chintzy cheese sauce did nothing to keep them from being dry and listless. Potato salad: undercooked chunks of potato served swimming in a dull, buttermilk dressing.

None of this appears to be affecting Bofinger’s business, though—both eat-in and take-out traffic was swift. I left thinking they really ought to rename the place Fauxfinger, but for the moment they could just as easily be named Goldfinger