You remember how it goes. There were blues, and then there were white blues, and then there were technically awesome players like Mike Bloomfield and Johnny Winter who were " just as good, " and finally there were players like Stevie Ray Vaughan and Robert Cray who were effectively peers, both fully rooted and freely creative within the style. No one would mistake Vaughan for Cray, but there was no longer a question of Vaughan trying to sound like something else, or Cray trying to cross over.

So we’ve had ribs (like at Pit Stop or M&M), and we’ve had white ribs, and we’ve had technically awesome ribs like at Redbones or the original Jake and Earl’s, which was part of the East Coast Grill, and finally we’ve got places like Uncle Pete’s and Jake’s Boss BBQ. No one will mistake Pete Cucchiara’s barbecue for Kenton Jacobs’s, but there’s no longer a question of Uncle Pete’s trying to make it taste like something else. This is white barbecue, Northern barbecue, and yes, East-Boston-Italo-American barbecue — but it has its own integrity. With all its hyphenations, the food at Uncle Pete’s is as true to its neighborhood as any barbecue in America. (And this is true even though Pete also serves the older style " East Boston barbecue " — still popular at Barney’s and Santarpio’s — consisting of wood-grilled lamb and tenderloin tips on skewers. Like a lot of South Italian foods, Eastie barbecue is as much Greek as Italian.)

Pete’s barbecue is wood-smoked, but the smoke flavor is subtler and less overpowering than what the technically awesome revivalists deliver. Most notably in the " Wicked Pork Ribs " ($6.95 for three ribs/$11 for a half-rack of six/$17 for full rack of 12), Pete’s meat has a superlative juiciness and tenderness. Since it reportedly takes three days to make these ribs, and since three days in the smoker would produce a much more powerful smoke effect, I suspect marinating may be involved, or possibly brining. It’s certainly not a dry rub. And it’s certainly not the sauce, which seems to be glazed on at the end, and isn’t much to begin with. The " sweet and tangy " version has a lot of tamarind, sort of like a homemade A1 Steak Sauce. The " hot and spicy " really isn’t very hot, and it’s a little sweet, too. The table sauce is Texas Pete’s (no relation, but of course), a relatively mild pepper sauce like Frank’s.

Beef brisket ($6.95 on a bun/$10.95 dinner) is sliced thin, but has the same balance of mild smoke and juiciness. Pulled pork ($5.95/$10.95) has come the farthest from its original style, since it’s more smoked, and blended with a heavier, sweeter sauce than the classic Carolina pepper vinegar. It’s almost beefy.

Pete’s has quite a long menu for a barbecue joint, even serving appetizers. A bowl of chili ($3.95) is surprisingly authentic, having very little of the sweet tomato flavor that usually separates Boston from San Antonio. Pete’s chili isn’t overly spicy, but it tastes like chili — mostly meat with some beans, and the onions and cheese already mixed in. Oyster crackers are served on the side. Steamed broccoli ($6.95) is barely steamed, like the broccoli served as a garnish in some Chinese-American restaurants. It comes as florets around a hot yellow cheese dip.

You get two side orders with dinners (they’re mostly $1.70 on their own), and it’s hard to pick just two. (You also get a " sweet potato biscuit, " which is quite sweet, and frosted besides!) French fries are quite excellent — skin-on, crispy, and full of potato flavor. Asian slaw is rough-cut cabbage and carrots, topped with a Thai-style peanut sauce (Sue Cucchiara was born in Thailand) and crunchy peanuts. The house salad is surprisingly large. Onion rings ($1.95 on their own) are remarkably good, thick-cut, and juicy. Barbecued baked beans again benefit from Pete’s not over-flavoring the dish, which has some barbecue-sauce elements and a little of the pulled-pork trimmings. And we didn’t even get to the regular cole slaw, rice pilaf, pasta, or corn.

Southern fried chicken ($8.95) confirms the promise of the French fries and onion rings. Pete’s hand on the fry basket is as sure as his eye on the smoker. A half-chicken is turned into four pieces of crunchy, thin-batter excellence, with only the boned-breast chunk a little dried out. Boneless Buffalo wings ($6.95) are likewise fried strips, with rather more batter and sweet, slightly hot sauce, kind of like the General Gau’s chicken in suburban Chinese restaurants, where they forget the ginger. Broiled chicken breast ($7.95) is sliced and pounded into two large scaloppini, brushed with a mild barbecue sauce, and grilled. It’s surprisingly successful.

The drink list is headed by Pete’s Wicked Ale (no relation, but of course), along with Sam Adams and some more familiar brews. Lemonade ($1.75) tastes like it’s from a mix, but a good mix. All the drinks are served in mason-jar mugs with handles. Desserts include sweet-potato pie (which sells out early); a very large slice of apple pie ($2.50), which is mostly spiced apples and not juicy; a brownie; and various permutations of ice cream.

Service, from a multicultural staff that mirrors the new Eastie, is just fine, without any theatrics. The sit-down room is a modern add-on to what was once — get some irony into your daily diet — a Dairy Queen. A lively take-out business still proceeds through the old DQ, but you can thread around to the left to get to the dining room. Despite space heaters, there is some draft. The room is all booths, with World War II posters that have taken on new meaning, and a roll of paper towels on every table. The tablecloths are red-and-white-checked oilcloth, a touch both Eastie and Southern. The background music is ’80s Top 40, which wouldn’t be the right music anywhere else, but it works at Pete’s because the sit-down crowd here is working-class and from the neighborhood. And this is what makes Pete’s authentic, not its " white barbecue " or revivalist barbecue. People who say " wickid " all the time order the " wicked pork ribs, " and obviously think they’re " wicked good. "

Robert Nadeau can be reached at RobtNadeau@aol.com.