House of Barbecue’s website is intriguing. It offers a pretty plate shot portfolio for sure: grill-marked crab legs, charred bark, and smoke ring-ribboned meats, along with a menu teasing bourbon-buttered twin lobster tails and seafood-stuffed salmon. Taken together, it suggests something above and beyond the usual smokehouse-style experience. So do the prices. Noteworthy are two, shareable $150 dinner entrees (King Crab and “Tomahawk Steak”), and a selection of 10 lunch bowls offering everything from barbecue classics (pulled pork, ribs, brisket, etc.) to curried lamb, jerk chicken, and tofu ($18-$38). Such particulars promise much. How could I resist?
Contrastingly, parked on Clawson’s main drag, House of Barbecue couldn’t appear humbler. A cold, rainy Friday precluded the possibility of sitting out on its tented patio. Cozying up to a small corner table inside, I found myself sharing the smallish room with just four other people; servers Aaron (in training) and Claudia, and a couple of repeat customers, who were kind enough to invite me in on their menu browsing conversation.
“Everything we’ve tried so far is fabulous,” one raved after I confessed first-timer status. “And the chef is absolutely fabulous.”
As if on cue, chef-owner Collier Willis emerged from his kitchen. When he mentioned the half-off special (half portions at half price, Monday through Friday, 11 a.m.-3 p.m.), my heart leapt. Fabulous, indeed. Rattling off a three-item, first course order to Aaron, my hopes were high for a grand exercise in discount dining.
“The food takes a while because it’s all cooked to order,” my new friend at the next table let me know, so I passed ten minutes or so taking in House of Barbecue’s interior: a modest arrangement of banquet hall chairs and tables topped with butcher paper, appointing a room painted yellow-gold and trimmed sparsely with a handful of brassy chandelier, mirrors, and two barbecue trophies. Chef Collier credits his wife for the interior work to date.
“And there’s some artwork on the way for the walls,” he mentioned during one of several dining room visits, addressing his restaurant’s work-in-progress ambience.
Finished taking décor notes, my focus turned to appetizers. Wedge salad (reg. $15, half portion $7.50) was plated pretty-as-a-picture and still plentiful. The candied, smoked bacon’s killer; crowning two, doorstop-sized wedges of iceberg dotted with generous crumbles of bleu cheese, sliced cherry tomatoes, and soft-smoked red onion. But what was that bold spicing I tasted in the balsamic vinaigrette dressing? Beguiling and the biggest flavor on the plate by far, it overwhelmed my senses like a big whiff of burning incense. Was there actual frankincense in my salad? I had to find out. When I asked, Chef laughed out loud and shook a finger at me.
“Now, you know I can’t give out that info,” he beamed back, taking my question as pure compliment. “That’s my secret dry rub recipe. It’s in everything.”
And it pretty much was.
Sure enough, Chef’s magic dust cast its pungent spell over my crab cake as well ($22/$11). While I found no fault with the cake itself (no filler, all crab), the spice smothered its luxuriant, subtle flavor, as it did added to the gravy of a skillet poutine served with tender bites of smoky, fat-rendered beef brisket and grated Mimolette (a French cow’s milked cheese, nutty and slightly sweet). I tried finding forkfuls the spice hadn’t permeated, to no avail. It truly was everywhere, leaving my tongue spiked with its potent and persistent aftertaste. I’m hard-pressed to describe it, but imagine smoking a clove cigarette stuffed with fresh rosemary and ginger, and then eating the roach. That’s probably as close as I can come.
Mixed feelings of disappointment and next course dread welled-up in me while I waited for my main courses. Taking hesitant first tastes of lobster tail (two $49, one $24.50) and jerk chicken ($18/$9), I was relieved to find each brought fresh and bracing new flavor profiles to the table. My five-ounce Maine (chick) lobster tail was well-broiled with grill-finished flavor. Plump and firm, I bathed every bite in an accompanying bourbon butter, letting it coat my singed tongue like a salve, which also helped quench some of the considerable fire of the jerk-rubbed chicken (leg and thigh); hot as hell yet welcome as another layer of secret spice-clearing palate cleanser. As to the sides served with my entrees (they each came with two); mashed potatoes pooled in butter tasted homemade as can be. And I’d order the mac and cheese again, but without barbecue sauce on top next time. Sadly, the secret spice re-emerged in an otherwise fine, vinegary slaw, and strafed Chef’s street corn dredged in butter and Parmesan.
Chef Collier: Your passion’s obvious, and rarely do I use that overused word. You demonstrate mastery of many cooking disciplines. In my opinion, you needn’t rely so much on one elemental signature to make more of a name for yourself. It just scribbled over all the worthy talent and technique your cooking showcases. You fed me seafood, salad, cheese, smoked beef, poultry, potatoes, cabbage, corn, and gravy. Too much of all that delicious diversity tasted the same because of the spice. There’s a fine line separating creativity and alchemy that culinary pros toe. We step up to it every work day. Sometimes, we step over. Then, we step back. It’s a dance we do. And we all do it.
While refreshing myself with Key lime pie ($6/$3), Chef came by again with a request.
“Write me a [Google] review,” he asked sincerely. “Let everyone know we’re here. That’s all I ask.”
I promised I would. Now I have, telling it like I think it is. Let your food shine, Chef. It will.
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