Redbones

Real men eat at Redbones. Big men. Red-blooded men. In fact, on one recent visit, it looked like the whole Harvard football team was there -- and judging by the abundance of embroidered team jackets, they were. Given the size of Redbones portions, it is unlikely that any of those very big guys walked away hungry. It is even less likely that they walked away dissatisfied.

There is something profoundly heartening about wading through a massive plate of ribs. Maybe it's my childhood -- I grew up in Maryland, eating fried chicken and raw oysters and steamed blue crabs encrusted with Old Bay Seasoning -- but I find little in life as pleasing as sitting around a table with friends eating messy food. It breaks down barriers to have to lick your fingers before lifting a knife. Or to wolf down that last square of cornbread to cut the heat of a too-cavalierly chomped-on jalapeño.

So I have to confess I felt a certain nostalgia when I saw Redbones's cramped Formica table tops (the pattern I grew up with: pink and white boomerangs on a slate-gray background), the unflattering overhead lights, and the friendly-though-sometimes-bumptious service. It feels unaffected and welcoming. And the food makes my heart go thump (the cholesterol, perhaps).

Given the size of the entrees at Redbones, it's tempting to skip appetizers and side dishes altogether, but that would be a mistake. There are some treats lurking in those sections of the menu. Corn pudding ($2.95), for instance, makes a memorable starter. It's one of the South's great culinary inventions, and the Redbones version is rich and creamy, intensely cheesy and packed with corn kernels. It's also spiked with chilies, a non-traditional touch that gives it a gentle kick. The restaurant's collard greens ($2.95) are cooked to death, which is to say they're cooked properly. Soaked in the nutrient- and flavor-loaded vegetable broth Southerners call "pot likker," they're tender and redolent of long-simmered bacon fat. If you like your nutrients plain, you can order a bowl of pot likker ($1.25) alone to sop up with sweet yellow cornbread. Barbecue hash ($2.95) is leftover heaven-pulled pork and beef, fried up with chunks of potatoes, chilies, some sweet red peppers and lots of strong mystery spices. Order it as a side so you can have something different for dinner.

Among barbecue enthusiasts, technique is a subject hotter than religion, with Memphis and Kansas City each claiming to be hallowed ground. Redbones takes an ecumenical approach; in Somerville, you can take your meat Texas style or Kansas style, Memphis style or Arkansas style. You can eat red meat (beef, as the Texans do) or "the other white meat," as the pork industry bills its product. You can eat your meat on the bone or pulled (that is, smoked until it pulls off the bones with ease). You can douse it with hot sauce or sweet sauce or mild sauce or vinegar sauce (North Carolina-style). You can even eat chicken. Or fish, which comes cold-smoked or grilled or fried, as in catfish. And you can order a combination of just about any of the items listed on the menu. What distinguishes Redbones most from the roadhouses in the South is the variety and the flexibility of the offerings.

The Arkansas ribs ($10.95) are a tremendous value -- huge grilled pork ribs that look more like chops. They are remarkably tender and meaty; you could eat them with a fork and knife but you'd miss the joy of licking the sauce off your fingers. They come, as do most barbecue entrees at Redbones, with coleslaw and black beans. The slaw was fresh but a little dry, and the beans were undistinguished. Save your appetite for the meat.

If you want variety, the Barbecue Belt platter ($13.95) offers a great selection. It's piled high with Memphis-, Arkansas-, and Texas-style ribs and a hunk of beef brisket. The night we tried it, the kitchen was out of brisket and substituted what looked like pulled ends of brisket. (It tasted a lot like the barbecue-hash appetizer, minus the potatoes.) The Memphis contribution was smoked pork spareribs, moist and tender. And the enormous Texas-style beef ribs were a little stringy but still moist.

We ordered a combination platter ($13.95) and found ourselves staring down a ten-inch side of ribs. They were remarkably succulent, lean, and meaty, and were rubbed with a complex, spicy-dry marinade. (Cloves? Allspice?) We started to order the grilled shrimp, but our waitress recommended the Buffalo shrimp, which were a special that night. ("Like Buffalo wings," she said.) The shrimp were ambrosial-fat, juicy, lemony, just a little bit spicy, and fried God-only-knows-how -- but who really cares? You want just one more. They come with the mandatory blue cheese dressing, which was beside the point but tasted good anyway.

The whole concept of dessert at Redbones seems superfluous, but once you're on a roll it's hard to stop. They ordinarily serve two pies ($2.95): pecan and sweet potato. Both are excellent. Sweet-potato pie is like pumpkin pie, but meatier, a little starchier, less custard-like. It came swamped in soft, barely sweetened, fresh whipped cream, as did the pecan pie. Now, pecan pie can be painfully sweet -- an old friend of mine used to say it made her teeth curl -- but at Redbones it's restrained, neither too sweet nor too rich. We kept eating it long past the point of physical discomfort. And the special dessert that night, a flan ($2.95), was like a crème caramel, with orange-caramel sauce dripping down the sides. We ate that until our jeans rebelled. Then we walked out into the icy Somerville air feeling very, very content.

A word of warning: the waiting list at Redbones is legendary -- come 45 minutes early on a Sunday night, an hour or more on a Saturday at prime time. The bar serves a noteworthy selection of microbrews -- the tap itself is a work of art -- but really, save room for dinner.