By Amy McCarthy
By Scott Reitz
By Scott Reitz
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
By City of Ate
Mike Anderson's BBQ
5410 Harry Hines Blvd.
Cow skins hanging on the wall count: 2
People I mistakenly thought were setting up a joke when they were actually just asking the question "What do you think the difference between a Sloppy Joe and a Sloppy Mike is?" count: 1
It's hot as nuts outside (because, I don't know if you heard, but it's Sweaty Cleavage of the Boob and Ass Variety season, also called Junlygust, also called Texas Fucksyoutime!), which means it's time for a patio lunch. Ooh—and some of those misters. I love leaving lunch feeling sweaty and wet-faced. It's that same sauna slime you get from a couple of hours at Wet 'N' Wild. Mmmm. Pair that sweat-and-standing-water smell with zero A/C and some barbecue and I am so in. Texas, I heart you.
Mike Anderson's BBQ was the destination of choice on this particular sweaty patio lunch. And boy howdy, did they deliver. As I was walking in to order, the windows of Mike's spoke to me. They said, in a voice so sweet, "MONSTER SPUUUUUUUD! MONSTER SPUD, MONSTER SPUD, MONSTER SPUUUUUUUD!" So, I had to order one. I figure if a place is willing to paint a meal suggestion for you on their windows, they must be pretty proud of it. (That might be why I end up eating a lot of Pay Day Loans, but I digress.) So, I'm about to order this Monster Spud when I see that it's freaking $8.50. Eight dollars and fifty cents for a baked pogoddamnedtato? This shit had better be as big as my face and filled to the brim with chives, cheese, sour cream, bacon and butter. And, luckily, it was. Plus it was topped with about a pound of chopped brisket, and then double-topped with about another pound of homemade barbecue sauce. Don't worry. Mike's is located a block from a hospital. Whether you pass out as a result of pure food glee or off-the-charts cholesterol levels or both, it's highly likely that you're chowing down next to an EMT.
I took my spud to the patio, which is lit with these fantastic red lights that make you feel like you're either about to be made into a rotisserie person or you've discovered an outdoor hooker house. Either way, it's going to be an interesting lunch hour.
This potato was super tasty. I'd pay $8.50 for it again in an artery-clogged heartbeat. Oh, and don't forget to hit up the ice cream machine. It's fuckin' tasty, and it's fuckin' freeeeeeeeee.