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Holy Smoke Barbeque & Smoke Pit

We enter Holy Smoke Barbeque & Smokepit to the apropos baritone grit of Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire.” A little prior to noon, the great American troubadour serenades an already long line of lunch-hour patrons here to tackle the second greatest cultural export of the southern U.S.: barbecue.

The place is somewhat exclusive, but not in a “Garçon, deux cochons avec la sauce brune, s'il-vous-plaît” kind of way. Located on Manhattan Road S.E., it’s open weekdays only, from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m., but its owner is contemplating expanded hours.

This baby-blue cinderblock smoke shack, with its gallery of antique licence plates, features counter service with an adjacent self-serve sauce counter. My pal orders a large pulled-pork sandwich ($8.49) and I go for the manwich ($8.75). I’m later told this hearty bestselling sandwich was invented by a customer.

Both of us dress our sandwiches with a blast of “house” sauce. Though their tastes may vary, “mama,” “sweet” and “hot” are all a similar shade of brown. Very handy for meaty, saucy messes, this station also features a wall-mounted paper towel roll.

The four red-and-white checkered tables are taken, so we pull up tall chairs along the east wall’s Arborite counter.

The manwich, as its name suggests, is for big eaters. Its mush-resistant potato bun (custom-made by Daniel’s Bakery) is filled with a mountain of pulled pork, a layer of chopped beef brisket, plus coleslaw and pickle slices. The meat has a great consistency; it’s juicy and tender without being sloppy. My lunch mate’s pulled pork sandwich is a similar but somewhat smaller sandwich. It is likewise excellent.

As sides, I’ve ordered both beans ($1.49) and coleslaw ($.99). Sweet and salty, deep and, yes, delicious, the beans are a hit. The coleslaw is tangy and lightly dressed, a welcome green palate cleanser to my meat mountain.

Owner-operator Torin Shuster also heads Devour Catering and previously worked at Savoir Faire and Florentine. “My first instinct was to come at it from a chef’s point of view and make everything better than what I’d seen. That’s not really what barbecue is,” he admits. “It’s humble food. It comes from poor people that would catch a pig, make a pit and cook the pig in the pit. When I realized that, it became easier. It shouldn’t be more than an indoor picnic.” He’s adamant that the culture of barbecue be respected. Shuster’s putting his own mark on the food, working with regional variations, but staying true to its southern U.S. roots; Texas beef brisket, North Carolina pulled pork and Memphis-style dry pork ribs.

The latter go for $1 per bone. They’re a No. 1 cut, which is one bone shy of a full rack. Top-shelf meat, just cheaper and shy a bone. The idea is to keep the price down and please folks who don’t need a full rack. “Just about everyone will get a sandwich and at least one rib,” says Shuster.

The balance of Holy Smoke’s short menu includes chili con carne ($4.99) and house-made hot links ($4.99). Andouille sausage is big in Texas, says Shuster, and his is made using an old family recipe.

Barbecue’s working-class history squares with Holy Smoke’s current reality. Ninety per cent of the restaurant’s clients are physical labourers and other blue-collar workers. Food Network fancy isn’t what they’re after. “They’re looking for a $5 sandwich, basically,” says Shuster. “They just want it to taste good, be fast and be cheap.”

Be this as it may, his industrial zone clientele had previously been hostage to the fast-food chains and are appreciative that Shuster’s built a better $5 sandwich. He’s got a couple hundred daily regulars and full-to-capacity lunch hours.

He relishes the giant task of satisfying their massive appetites. “Some guys come in and get a manwich, a bowl of chili, a few ribs, corn bread, beans. I don’t even know how they walk out,” he says, laughing. “Then we have the meat-coma guys that eat so much you see them go to sleep at the wheel for 10 to 15 minutes before they head out.”