Holy fuck. Hoolllyyy fuck. Now, I don’t know shit about barbecue. I don’t even know how to spell the word. I thought maybe it was “barbicue” or “barbacue,” that’s how little I know about it. I just know that I decided to take Nicci to a place called Mr. Cecil’s on Pico tonight, and it was fucking incredible. I’m officially sold on barbecue now, and twenty-four hours ago I didn’t know what the hell that word even meant in culinary terms. I mean, I’ve held a barbecue at my house before, we made some hamburgers and hotdogs, but if you asked me yesterday what they serve at a Famous Dave’s or…any other barbecue restaurant for that matter, I would look at you and say, “What the fuck do I know? I eat bagels and pizza! I’m basically a six-year-old!”
So, yeah. Mr. Cecil’s. Ian recommended it several months ago, after he went to some barbecue cook-off in Madison Square Park. When he swore they served the best ribs, and that they were located in LA, I kinda brushed him off. Since I wanted to take Nicci somewhere nice for dinner, I thought maybe Mr. Cecil’s would be an interesting experience. I didn’t know it was a tiny hole-in-the-wall place that’s practically located beneath a Freeway underpass, so it wasn’t the fanciest of locations…but the food was outstanding.
It’s small inside. Really small. Even a normal-volume conversation could be heard by everyone sitting in the dining room. Our order was taken with remarkable speed, and our appetizers (an order of hushpuppies, and a wedge of lettuce with ranch dressing for Nicci) arrived almost immediately. The hushpuppies weren’t the best I’ve ever had (that honor belongs to a restaurant in Savannah, GA whose name I can’t remember), but the fried cornmeal also included some peppers, which added a bit of spice to an otherwise sweet and succulent dish. I didn’t try Nicci’s lettuce wedge because it looked stupid. I don’t try stupid foods.
The main course arrived rapidly. Nicci ordered a half-rack of St. Louis ribs, and I ordered a BBQ pork sandwich. She describes her ribs as, “Aw, man. I liked that they had the two barbecue sauces on the side and didn’t put the sauce on the ribs because they let you decide how much of which sauce you wanted to use. Perfectly cooked — and although I normally like my meat slightly pink — it was completely cooked through, but it was tender and delicious. It literally fell off the bone. Oh, are you quoting me? Don’t make me sound dumb. Uh…the beans — well you said there was something odd about them, but I thought it was just you and your food — not knowing what food tastes like. But I thought it tasted like beer to me. I don’t know. It was weird. I ended up eating half of it, so it couldn’t have been that bad. But I’ve had better barbecue baked beans. I’ve had better baked beans. Beans. Barbecue bacon baked beans. Are you really — Oh man, okay… uh [uttered with a hint of nervousness].”
Nicci also adds, “They didn’t have any ice cream for my Root Beer float, so it wasn’t a float. It was just Root Beer.”
How was my sandwich? It was good. I caught a little bit of gristle/fat in the middle, but other than that the meat was well-prepared and tasted good. The barbecue sauces were both delicious. I tried a couple bites of her ribs too, and they were really good. I don’t normally like ribs. The french fries were okay, too. It was delicious, but very filling. I’m full right now.
Go to Mr. Cecil’s if you like barbecue. Or, if you don’t. Because I normally don’t, and I enjoyed it. Until next time!
