A Taste of Tyrannosaur Meat

Tyrannosaurus Rex

"Cleva girl..."

I was passing the Cotton Club in Harlem, NY when I first smelled it: the undeniable aroma of dinosaur flesh, slathered in pungent, sticky sweet sauce ready for devouring.  I could even hear the T. Rex’s roaring, curdling my blood with fear and ravenous hunger.  Did John Hammond’s cargo ship run aground in the Hudson? Did I severely disregard what Connecticut’s Dinosaur State Park really was all about?

No, Michael Crichton’s most popular work did not come true.  I was a mere block away from the Dinosaur Bar-B-Que in NYC, and I couldn’t wait to enter.  Quite familiar with their scintillating sauces and robust and powerful beer selection during my time in college, I was extremely excited to get a long awaited taste of carnivorous fare.

One Dogfish Head 90 Minute down, it was time to get seated and choose my meal.  This place had so much good stuff on the menu it was hard to pick, but once I saw that they served six packs of ice cold Genesee Cream Ale by the bucket, decisions were made quickly. (Genesee Cream Ale, by the way, recently won a silver medal at the 2005 Great American Beer Festival, Category 2: American Cream Ale or Lager.  Take that you dirty PBR slugging hipsters. And yes, I consider awards in the last decade recent.)

First up was a sampler plate, where perfectly fried green tomatoes and really top notch spiced shrimp in a shell really stood out.  The best of the bunch was their Creole Spiced Deviled Eggs, which would make the most fervent vegan do a double take.

Next, I ordered six chicken wings, covered with their hottest wing sauce, the homemade Devil’s Duel.  These were the best wings I’ve ever eaten in my life.  Full of flavor and meat, they tasted smoked and grilled, not fried and crappy like most other joints.  And hoooeeey their sauce had some serious flavor and kick to it.  Not the hottest I’ve ever had, but that’s for a future Sweet n’ Heat post.

The entree was the Traditional Sampler, a spectacular mix of 1/4th Bar-B-Que chicken, 1/4th rack of pork ribs, and a (1/4th?) portion of signature 14 hour (not 1/4th hour) pit smoked Texas brisket, the absolute highlight of the meal.  You could cut every serving with a fork, and it melted in your mouth like un-shelled M & M’s. Oh yeah, there were some BBQ baked beans and creole style potato salad to round out the meat extravaganza.

Chugging the last of the Genny Cream, I meandered through the restaurant and stumbled out of the place to train my way to a nice Manhattan bar, familiarly dominated by some idiot pool players invading the spots of paying patrons trying to enjoy a simple cocktail.  Yet extreme stomach inflation was too much to keep Esteban in whiskey mode, and I had to retire to a night of extreme digestive pleasure.  Next time you drive through Syracuse, Troy, Rochester, or want to test your mettle in Harlem, order some takeout and dine on the feast of cavemen at the Dinosaur Bar-B-Que.

About: Esteban

Esteban is the Editor in Chief of RantingEsteban.com. Check out his page on Facebook, follow him on Twitter @RantingEsteban, or send him an email.

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