While in Boulder, Colorado, I had an inexplicable craving for barbecue. I think it was the universe trying to tell me something, because a few days later, I found myself sitting in a parking lot, eating the best barbecue I’ve ever had.
Daddy Bruce’s Bar-B-Que is an unassuming building on a corner lot. It’s the kind of place that you know must be good, because there’s no other way it would be in business. Although, I suppose if you were going for an ambiance of barbecue-scented sauna, you’d find it here.
A “triple meat” cost $16 and featured barbecued ribs, brisket and chicken, along with baked beans and coleslaw. And five slices of white bread that I ended up tossing frisbee-style off my friend’s balcony. The “triple meat” ended up being more than enough for four meals.
The barbecue sauce is exquisite. It’s on the tangier side of sweet, but it’s also rich and meaty. The ribs were beefy and delicious (if a little tough at the edges), the chicken smoky and moist, and the brisket tender and flavourful.
We ate at the picnic tables outside the shop, with stacks of maple wood (for the wood-fired grill) behind us. We watched as a steady stream of people went in and out of the shop with take out, and chatted with the other barbecue lovers at the tables: two BMX bikers, two engineers, and a man in a suit.
Food this beautiful always has a story behind it, and this was no exception. When I spoke to him after the meal, he mentioned that someone had made a documentary about him. Well, it turns out the Daddy Bruce is the subject of not one, but two documentaries, as well as countless print articles. The documentaries are both great pieces, suffused with the love and spirit that Daddy Bruce inspires in people.
Daddy Bruce’s Bar-B-Que
2000 Arapahoe Ave
Boulder, CO
(303) 449-8890
The best part is being armed only with a plastic fork, presented protruding from the giant pile of meat, a stack of napkins an inch think and all the guile one can muster as to not end up with bar-b-que all over one’s self.
Oh, the plastic fork. I remember how we tried to be polite, and then just started grabbing ribs with our hands. Neither of us ended up entirely covered in bar-be-que, did we? Of course, neither of us was wearing white, either.
I think the picnic table took the brunt of any gravitational mishaps, although I am sure those tables have seen worse.