Published: June 12, 2008 08:56 am         

Forget the name, the place is great

It’s just too hot to look through about 800 past columns, but I’m pretty sure that in all of them I’ve never done a bona-fide restaurant review. There are great places to eat around here, and not-so-great, too; but you don’t need me to sort them out. The not-so-great don’t last that long, anyway.

Well, this column’s not a restaurant review. Instead, it’s some well-intended marketing advice to the owner of a great place that is unwittingly turning away local business. And it’s advice to you, too: Don’t let this place’s name turn you away from some fine food. Much of it is locally grown; all of it is delicious. You may have guessed the place. I’m talking about Redneck Barbecue on Route 28. You’ve driven by it hundreds of times, and maybe as often have dismissed it as a place where you’d like to eat. Why? Well, the deliberately primitive sign is partly to blame, with its hell-fire red motif. But the real turn-off for you is probably the name itself. Most locals are going to translate “redneck” as rowdy.

Along with “redneck” comes images of burly, redfaced bald men at a bar, crushing emptied beer cans on their foreheads. And blaring country music and shouts and raucous laughter and the smell of stale sweat. And people trying to clog dance who probably can’t do it even when they’re sober. And others standing up, only to fall down. And rest rooms that, well, you’d back away from.

That’s stereotyping, of course; but, for reasons unknowable, the founding owner of Redneck Barbecue thought that a stereotyped “redneck” image would really sell up here. She even had a big Confederate flag on the wall. Excuse me, but where did she think she was? The faux red-neckery she tried to market was fake from the get-go, and a blundering insult to the real redneck culture.

When the present owner bought the business, he was stuck with that awful name and image, too. It’s a huge expense to rename a business and retool its marketing, and I’m guessing that there just wasn’t enough money after the purchase to make big changes. So Josh Cassell, known to many of us from his fine work at other local restaurants (notably “The Bean“), went to work on upgrading the menu.

The result has been a tight range of offerings that reflect the southern barbecue tradition, but are prepared with care and served with flair. Pork, beef, and catfish are all slow-smoked right out back of the restaurant. The pork is not chopped but hand-pulled. Then it’s topped, at your choice, with a honey barbecue sauce (local honey, mind you), or with a North Carolina vinegar sauce that matches what’s served in Greenville, Durham, or Raleigh.

Josh’s roast beef is top round, coated with a chili and cumin dry rub, slow smoked, and served with an herbed au jus. And, in a bit of nostalgia, among the sandwiches is “The Elvis,” made with all-natural peanut butter, Paul Lord of Pierstown’s best honey, and a properly soft banana.

Maybe that gives you a sense of the range and quality of Josh’s food. It’s great that he draws steadily on local sources, even sending to Schoharie for the first summer corn. And the ambience is pleasant and casual. The bar is still there, its patrons enjoying drinks, good company, and sports TV. Seating for about 50 diners is in comfortable bentwood chairs and booths. The wait staff is especially attentive to kids, who will love the food.

So, everything’s right about the place except a name that doesn’t do it justice. Josh is well aware of that, and I’ll bet an eventual name change is in the plans. I’m personally hoping that a big semi, making too tight a turn into the parking lot, takes out the hell-fire Redneck sign. Insurance money for a new sign could speed up the name-change, you see. Meanwhile, make yourself drive past the sign and go inside. With Dreams Park back, I’d suggest a five o’clock supper or a leisurely lunch. In fact, I’ll know this column has done some good if I see Cooperstown ladies’ lunch groups in the Redneck, chowing down on smoked-thengrilled catfish (fresh orange juice marinade, herbed tartar sauce.)

Shoot, if I owned a semi, I just might do a tight turn on that sign myself.

Find out about Jim Atwell’s book, “From Fly Creek — Celebrating Life in Leatherstocking Country” at www. JimAtwell.com.