Pat Gee's Barbecue

The high hit 105 on one of the hottest weekends of the year and the a/c in my car gave out at the most hilariously inopportune time. I was already sweating like a hooker in church before I took one step into Pat Gee's—and things didn't get any better from there. This was, hands down, the sweatiest meal of my life. It was like eating in a sauna. Temperature wise, I've enjoyed a more pleasant meal in a humid Saigon alley, catching the breeze from passing scooters.

But at a certain point I gave in to the Texas heat, and once I did I was free to marvel at the diviness of this longtime East Texas bbq joint. This classic spot opened in 1963 under Mack Henry “Pat” Gee, who served as the pitmaster until he passed away in 1999. His wife Vida then took over until her death in 2010, and sons Billy Walker and Arthur Gee have been in charge since. The original building burned down in 1984 but was rebuilt in 4 days and stands to this day.

To say that this place is no-frills is an understatement. VIP seating at Pat's is wherever you can feel the box fan. The lighting is aggressive. The food isn't winning a James Beard Award anytime soon either. I'd describe the potato salad as straight-up hostile, though the pork ribs were good. But you're not really coming here for fine dining.

To quote Daniel Vaughn from 'Texas Monthly', "Pat Gee’s is more than a barbecue joint. It’s a window into Texas history. It’s hard to make it sound romantic, but consuming a chopped brisket sandwich on white bread, covered in sauce poured from a jar by a second-generation pitmaster, in 95-degree heat is more authentic than any trip to Colonial Williamsburg."

If you're going to complain about utensils or "health code violations" then you need to settle down, Robocop. No one wants to hear it. Go air your grievances to a Cheesecake Factory manager like you usually do. But if you're ready to see some Texas history, grab a stick of deodorant and giddy up.