Tab v Food: Red’s BBQ feast

Walking into Red’s, it felt like we were venturing into a macabre Urban Outfitters dedicated to animal carcasses and raw manhood.

But instead of sullen sales assistants trying to flog you pricey T-shirts with Jimmy Hendrix on, we were greeted by USDA Beef, a huge wood fueled smoker and a clusterfuck of americana and custom made neon.

They’ve got their own neon guys and everything

Coupled with a bar that looked like it had been snuck from the Coco-Tang basement, Red’s is a place that knows its audience.

As we sat in the waiting area, the true scale of what we were to undertake finally hit us.

Taken before they realised what they were in for

The BBQ feasting platter, served in a genuine dustbin lid was billed as a cornucopia of Deep South Treats.

Two different types of pork ribs, rib tips, a barbecue chicken, house-made spicy sausages, 14 hour smoked pulled pork, beef brisket and house made cornbread were lovingly placed next to 4 portions of chips as well as 5 different house-made sides.

From smoky barbecue beans to deep south steamed greens, every mouthful promised an almost spiritual experience for mind and body.

And fuck me, it delivered.

Brought forth from the kitchen, adorned with pipettes filled with aged bourbon, it was a sight to behold.

We immediately dove in, and with every bite could taste the authentic flavours of North Carolina, aged wood chips and pure masculinity.

Getting a pep talk from one of the owners before we started

A la Man V Food, various tactics were used to ease the torment of the never ending flow of meat.

We began to suffer about halfway in

My team-mates tried varying their meats, diverting into sides and even unbuttoning trousers with differing levels of success.

After an immense 20 minute slog, the vast majority of the delicious meat was vanquished, dustbin lid held high, we prepared to celebrate.

Our hearts, mouths and plates then dropped as we realised that we had neglected the sides.

Two huge pieces of gut clogging cornbread, the steamed greens and creamy mash remained.

Thoroughly demoralised, it wasn’t long before our stomachs and our hearts decided they wanted out, and we waved the white flag.

Food had won.

But in the wise words of someone incredibly profound, “it’s not about where you get to, it’s about the journey”, and this journey was sweaty, sticky and full of delicious animal flesh.