BBQ on TCJ: Pierson & Company Bar-B-Que

By wrapping his brisket in plastic wrap with the fat still attached and holding it at 140 degrees, Pierson & Company keeps it from getting soggy or dried out. The downside is that the tight wrapping gives the meat the same sort of compacted density and artificial shape you associate with canned ham. It looks weird, and there's no crunchy crust, but the meat is perfectly tender and very moist. And it certainly tastes smoky. It's not as good as fresh-sliced brisket, but it's a lot better than steam table or foil-wrapped barbecue. And that's saying a lot.

When I asked Clarence Pierson where he learned to barbecue, he told me he was entirely self-taught. "I have been messing with meat since I was a teenager," he said. He went on to say that he had ruined and thrown away a lot of meat before he hit on the plastic wrap technique. Now he has virtually no waste.

The best meat I ate at Pierson's was the barbecued pork. I had some on white bread with pickles, onions and barbecue sauce. I also took some home, reheated it in a pan with a little oil and garlic and ate it on a Cuban-style sandwich with ­guacamole.

I suppose I departed from barbecue orthodoxy when I tossed some sliced pork with leftover Shanghai noodles and baby bok choy I found in the fridge — the smoky meat brought the Chinese restaurant leftovers back to life. I have also eaten barbecued pork with sweet and sour red cabbage and German potato salad. That's the beauty of Texas barbecue. You aren't forced to eat your smoked meat with the same barbecue sauce all the time.
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Don't get me wrong, Pierson's tangy barbecue sauce is quite good. The sides are homemade, too. The mashed potato salad is flecked with pickle relish, and the "chili beans" are loaded with meat and spices. The bread pudding and a cobbler made with canned peaches are both good examples of the genre. But the sides aren't unusual.

Along with the mesquite-smoked meats, it's the warm atmosphere that makes Pierson & Company unique. You seldom run into barbecue men as talkative as Clarence Pierson. It's easy to stick your head in the window of his little kitchen and strike up a conversation while he slices your meat.

The cashier at the window on the other side of the tiny one-table dining room is equally friendly. Of course, I remember a time when the employees at Thelma's were friendly, too — back before the place got famous. Pierson & Company is getting pretty popular, too. We'll see if the staff stays friendly when they're facing a long line of hungry people griping about slow service.