Smoking out the facts
Lockhart, awash in legends about the state’s favorite food, offers the real deal
In the movie “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance,” a U.S. senator (played by Jimmy Stewart) regales a group of reporters with stories of both actual and embellished accomplishments. When he asks what they plan to write about him, one of the reporters famously quips, “This is the West, sir. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”
Though misquoted and misattributed over the years, the comment still applies today: Every story has components of fact and fiction, and the fiction is usually more interesting than the fact.
Except when it comes to
Texas barbecue. I am often asked why Texas barbecue is so popular. From my experience, it comes down to authenticity.
The alignment of fact and legend in Texas barbecue is in full force in Lockhart.
The popularity and influence of Lockhart, known as the “Barbecue Capital of Texas,” has waxed and waned over the years. Recently, the influence of Austin has become predominant, where barbecue destinations with retro-cool dining rooms, sleek barrel smokers and highly marbled brisket are the media darlings of celebrities and influencers.
To be sure, the best joints provide an outstanding product and experience. But
they have garnered some criticism for the homogenization of Texas barbecue. In other words, they are the real deal, though lacking in the unique and sometimes messy myths and truths that only time can bestow.
Lockhart, on the other hand, is awash in myths and legends. From the family feuds of the Schmidts and the Blacks, to the time-capsule atmosphere of Smitty’s Market, Texas barbecue history can be tasted and experienced.
Walking into Smitty’s is like stepping into the 1920s, when the building was constructed. Passing through the vestibule into a low-lit pit room, you first brush up against a fire pit openly burning next to the order counter; if you’re wearing shorts and get a little close, you can feel the hair singe on your legs.
The smell of rendering fat and post oak smoke create a Pavlovian response, conveniently as you approach the cutting block to place your order. You may find the darkly painted brick walls unusual (why black?) until you realize that’s a patina of smoke from decades of cooking.
There are literal stalactites of creosote hanging from the ceiling above the pits.
Place your order meat market-style (by the pound) and the order taker barks the details to the meat cutters standing at the well-worn chopping block behind. Meat is pulled off the pit, sliced to order, wrapped in butcher paper and handed over after you pay (cash only).
Move into the brighter dining room and stock up on the accouterments of classic Central Texas-style barbecue — bread, pickles, onions and cheese.
You can have a knife, but don’t ask for a fork — they don’t provide them here in classic meat-market barbecue tradition.
Off to one corner, the owner, Nina Schmidt Sells, watches the comings and goings of both locals and tourists. We chat briefly, and she laments the difficulty of upholding the myths and traditions of Texas barbecue as Lockhart is quickly becoming a suburb of Austin, bringing rising property values and gentrification.
She’s still committed to the traditions, though.
We often see something on TV or social media that hypes a place (restaurants in particular), inspiring us to make a visit, only to be disappointed when it turns out the fiction was greater than reality. Fortunately, when you print the legend of Texas barbecue, you are also printing the facts, and vice versa.