For our first visit, my husband and I met another couple for dinner. Our waitress seemed clueless, but, after some confusion and annoyance, we ordered cocktails and two "pre-q's"--fresh, dusted potato chips with a warm cream cheese-and-onion dip and, at my husband's insistence, frickles--deep-fried, battered dill pickles. The chips, as warm, thick-sliced fried potatoes usually are, were addictive, with or without the dip. The frickles, eaten with the house Thousand Island-type dip, tasted like a Big Mac without the burger--a good thing or bad, depending on your predilections.
My friend ordered a smoked chicken quesadilla for dinner, which was fine. His spouse, a ribs lover, found her half rack of baby back ribs a little too chewy, though I thought them pleasant enough. To get a wide selection from the smoker, my husband ordered the Enthusiast, a plate that included pulled pork, beef brisket, and smoked chicken. An unappetizing jumble of shredded meat so cooked and reheated it was hard to tell visually which was which, it proved uniformly dry and unsatisfying; slathering on any or all of the four house barbecue sauces was no help. For reasons the waitress couldn't explain, my order of Southern fried chicken, advertised as one thigh and one breast, came out as two boneless breasts. Their ample crispy crust, drizzled with honey, failed to compensate for the dry, flavorless flesh.