Down to the Bone, Brandon
That place. You know it. You passed it once in a while and thought to yourself, “If I had the time-,” or “If I was hungry-,” or “If I hadn’t just eaten, I’d stop. I’ll remember it next time I’m looking for a place to eat.” Next time comes, but you forget. “Next time,” you say. But it never comes to mind, because you only saw it for a moment when distracted by other things. Then one day you’re at home, in the mood for what that place has and it hits you. “Let’s go to that place.” So you do, and afterward, you kick yourself for never having made the time before.
We went to that place.
We were at home when the peckish mood for BBQ struck us and we began mulling over the options when it hit us to try “that on the bone place.” We could never get the name right. But every time I passed it I’d start singing the chorus from Bonin’ in the Boneyard. So, that helped commit part of it to memory.
What really stood out and drew me to liking Down To the Bone before having even tasted their food was the building itself. It was painted in brilliant red and yellow with flames along its foundation. With giant hand-painted effigies of ribs and chicken, and cannibalistic pigs in aprons and chef hats offering up their brethren smoked to a ruddy brown. Down To the Bone — Bar-B-Que and Catering waved in red block letters.
The murals alone were a labor of love and reminded me of the signs I used to paint back when I had a little market stand in Lancaster.
Anyone who put that kind of effort into their facade simply must have a great product inside, I reasoned. And hoped. So, we drove over. The fact that I never saw anyone in the parking lot gave me pause, but then we never passed by at peak dining hours. Still, there was always a plume of smoke and the aroma of smoldering hardwood.
We fought our way through the fact-of-life traffic of Brandon and pulled into the lot behind the beautiful building. A cloud of smoke was trapped in the arching oak branches, clinging to the Spanish moss. That smell.
Down to the Bone
110 S Kings Ave
Brandon, FL 33511
Phone: (813) 653-9903
Hours:
Monday to Thursday – 11:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m.
Friday to Saturday – 11:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m.
downtothebonebbq.com/
We walked in without a wait and were greeted by a guy behind the counter, clearly one of the owners—his pride was beaming. He began hyping how they made award winning BBQ and they had the trophies to prove it. There were trophies all right, big shiny ones. Now, I didn’t bother to ask when they had won, but lots of places won contests in the past and their current retail product often lacked the same punch that won their competition meat the title. But I took the man at his word and we looked over the menu board.
We weren’t starving, we were just craving smoked swine and looking for small samplings of the product. I was in a rib mood and was considering just a half slab at $12.99, but then saw the rib sandwich was only $7.99, which would leave room in my belly and budget for beans. Never not try the beans. I got a small for $1.75 and chose the spicy sauce on my ribs when asked. Christa got her usual pulled pork sandwich as a plate for $9.50 (with mild sauce) and chose beans and coleslaw for her two sides. Their prices seemed fairly reasonable for authentic mom and pop BBQ. And then I saw the portions.
Our foam boxes were passed over the counter with a wad of napkins and we carried them to the picnic table behind the shop. I cracked the lid on the rib sandwich like opening the box of an engagement ring and—oh dear Lord. I do. These guys went to Jared.
Down to the Bone does not scrimp on food. Nearly a half slab sliced into four thick meat-laden bones from the wide end sat on a slice of white bread (the standard rib sandwich build) glazed with a slathering of red sauce glittering with chili flakes. Steam rose from the pile. It was a meal yoinked from the gods at a fantastic price.
Christa’s pork sandwich, though described as chopped, was true pulled pork, cooked slow and low enough that the fibers just fell away from each other, but cooked just long enough that the fat has not run completely out. The chunks and strands of glorious pink meat glistened with the stuff in a big juicy pile on an enriched white bun, a dollop of red sauce seeping into the steaming mass of meat.
She tasted a pinch of pork and nodded silently: It was good. I nibbled a pinch and agreed. It had a great smoke flavor that didn’t overwhelm the meat—you knew it was pork from the door—and was nice and tender with a smoky flavor permeating throughout. The red sauce was not too sweet, though the mild was hotter than Christa could handle. Lucky for her, the pork didn’t need sauce. Unlucky for her, she had already mixed in the small dollop that was on top. I was certain it was homemade as it seeped into the bread, rather than gelling on top like corn syrup based bottled sauces.
The beans looked like canned baked beans, but I had hope that they were simply homemade from canned beans. Simmered in a sweet and tangy tomato-based sauce just long enough to soak up the flavor but not so long as to break down into a paste. (I like them cooked down to a paste, but most people don’t, so no gripes if they taste great.)
And they did taste great—sweet and spicy (a little too spicy for Christa, sadly), tangy and well seasoned. I wish they contained burnt ends, bacon, or fatty chunks of pork, though. My hopes were damn near met.
I can’t tell if they either make the sauce separately then simmer plain beans in it or just doctor up store-bought baked beans. Either way, they taste great and this is a BBQ joint—the jointiest of joints–not haute cuisine; I’m fine with tasty doctored beans.
A lot of reviewers on Yelp complained about too much fat, but I didn’t find this to be so. Most places don’t include enough fat. It’s a sign of the prosperity of our times that we can afford to trim and toss all the fat from our meats. But it’s fat that makes barbecue so good. It’s the fat from these tough cuts of meat that help make it juicy and flavorful after a long cook to break down collagen and other connective tissues. Fat is flavor; fat is moisture; fat is energy—eat that fat and go take a hike.
When serving pulled pork, a good bit of the butt’s fat should be mixed in for flavor and to keep the meat moist, and a slice of brisket should have nice fatty streaks throughout. Now, that doesn’t mean I want huge globs of fat taking up half of my purchased portion.
I thought our dishes had just enough fat. Had it contained more than was reasonable, I’m sure taking it in to show the guys would result in them giving a little more meat to make up for the error. Nobody that seems as proud of their product as these men do wants to cheat their customers and or have them go away mad.
Okay, the ribs: The bark was nice and crisp, but not too thick and not burned. It had a nose- and tongue-pleasing flavor of spices and roasted pork. I peeled a thin strip of pink meat from the top of a rib and popped it in the salivating mouth. The smoke was there—just right, not acrid, mellow yet distinct. It didn’t hurt that the smoker sitting twenty feet from us was still rolling.
The sauce was sweet, tangy, and tomato based, but not ketchuppy, a spicy heat from the chili, but not tongue-searing. The hot sauce was sweeter than the mild and the aromatic spices really complimented the smoked pork but didn’t hide it. I gnawed my way around a bone; the pork without the sauce stood readily on its own. I’d go so far as to say the sauce was wholly unnecessary on the ribs, too. Of course, a good cake needs no frosting, but guys—frosting. I like a good BBQ sauce for its own sake, and this one was tasty. I sucked my nail beds clean. Next bone. More of the same.
The thin layer of fat that resided under the top layer of muscle was still there, glistening; with the tenderness of the meat, this was a sure sign of expertly smoked ribs. Long enough to tenderize, but not so long that all the fat could render out making a dry dish. These were perfect. I ate with glee, spitting out the bits of cartilage and bone (the price paid for loving a cut of meat that is literally a grid of bones and gristle) between savory bites of tender smoky pork and tangy sweet sauce. A spoon of beans, a hunk of bread with some meat. A spoon of beans a hunk of bread with some meat. A lick of the fingers, a spoon of beans, a hunk of bread with some…you get the picture.
It is not easy to keep a restaurant afloat and Down on the Bone’s been in operation since 2003, so they’ve got to be doing something right. Having read the short and sweet About page, I’m inspired by the entrepreneurial spirit that drove the owners to pursue their dream and I love a success story as much as I love good barbecue. I don’t know from what competitions they earned those trophies, but they won our hearts and stomachs.
Down To the Bone might become our favorite spot for local BBQ. Several more places require a taste test before making a declaration, though. We enjoyed our food so much that I failed to get good pics of Christa’s pulled pork. But trust me, it looked and tasted great.
The guys came around back to tend the smoker. After laying some wood from the big pile of seasoned chunks into the embers, they asked how we were doing. All I could do was give red thumbs up. I was all smiles when I told them it was fantastic, but they knew that. That guy wasn’t all hype, he was all honesty. They make award-winning barbecue and their daily product reflected that.
Are the reviewers on Yelp lying, confused, or ignorant? Neither, necessarily. Every restaurant has bad days. People are people and we all make mistakes. Natural food items are inconsistent, equipment breaks down, the weather gets bad, etc. Countless factors go into running a food service business and it’s a miracle when they all go well. This is why I like to give second chances as long as I see that the fundamentals are in place. And the prime fundamental is passion. Down to the Bone is painted with passion.
It’s probable that some future visits to Down to the Bone may not be as fulfilling as this one. But you don’t stay in business for over a decade by being consistently bad. All I can say is, this particular visit and this particular meal were delicious and a great experience. They’ve won our business.
So, we kicked ourselves for not trying this place before, and we made ourselves a promise to come again, though we have to rotate it in with our trials at other spots. Down To the Bone has everything I’m looking for in a favorite BBQ joint: counter service, love and hands-on attention to detail, happy and proud owners and crew. And most importantly, great tasting quality food. When we get the craving and don’t want to mess around, we’ll jump in the sporty little runabout and get Down To the Bone.
Thanks for reading!