A typical spread from Kirbee’s, which was opened by a duo of Texas barbecue stars. Photo: Matthew Schneier
The Texans are here, and they’ve come bearing briskets. On a recent sunny, cool October Friday, you could smell them a ways off, farther down Greenpoint’s McGuinness Boulevard than you might expect. When I arrived at the streetside ordering window, seven people were lined up ahead of me, one in a cowboy hat. I’d call that a good sign.
Kirbee’s, which touched down in September, is the latest addition to Brooklyn’s resurgent barbecue scene. Bark, in nearby Bushwick, is southern BBQ seen through Dominican eyes — pitmaster Ruben Santana taught himself to smoke in his Queens backyard via YouTube — while Kirbee’s represents the opposite: two Texans teaming up to show the North what’s what. Kirbee’s is a collaboration (a supergroup, more like it) of Jonny White, of Fort Worth’s Goldee’s, and his former protegée Chuck Charnichart, of Barbs B Q. Charnichart’s flavors lean a little more Mexican, based on her family’s recipes (a specialty is the South Texan Instagram staple espagueti verde, or poblano-and-crema green spaghetti), White’s a little more “competition barbecue.” Customers can order a “Jonny’s way” plate with more of his specialties or a “Chuck’s way” plate with more of hers, and the two collaborate on some truly excellent, pink-rimmed brisket, the techniques for which they learned together at Austin’s Franklin Barbecue and further honed at Goldee’s. As for the divided menu? “We have it split up pretty down the middle,” White told me. “We’re doing our own recipes because that’s what we’re good at.”
New York barbecue once got a bad rap, not least when it was made, as it is at Kirbee’s — owing to space and permitting restrictions — in an electric smoker. But White, who uses giant, wood-burning offset smokers in Texas, is a believer in the electric ones. “I honestly feel like they are a little bit better than the offsets, but no one wants to hear that,” he told me. “I’ll cut through all the briskets and be like, ‘This is better food than what I was serving at Goldee’s.’” He added, “The electric ovens have helped me become a better barbecue cook.”
Smoke dynamics are not my specialty (Kirbee’s uses mild post-oak smoking chips ordered from Amazon), but I was reassured to see a Texan couple a table over in the long, skinny, wood-paneled dining room proclaiming this was the real thing. “This beats the pants off our favorite Houston barbecue,” one of the wives told me. The brisket, even on the leaner end, is pillow soft beneath its tarpaper bark, among the best I’ve had in New York. I wanted a bit more bite from the spaghetti — grass green from poblanos, it’s more herbal than spicy thanks in part to the milder pepper and the muting that comes from freehand application of both crema and cream cheese — but the turkey is thin sliced and peppery and the “Molotov” ribs tangy with a final shaving of lime zest.
I came back the following week with a Texan transplant I know, and if anything, he was even more smitten than I was. “This is not your standard gas-station barbecue,” he said, eyes wide. He’d grown up in Magnolia and had a teenage job slicing brisket. The corn pudding reminded him of the slow-cooker version his mother makes for holidays, but most of the rest he proclaimed truly “premium.” Up here, there’s kale in the vinegary cabbage slaw and no Nilla Wafers in the banana pudding: Those are compromises worth making for the mammoth beef rib, orderable only à la carte at $45 a pound. It’s bubbled with fat collecting sweet spices and grease in every ridge of its crust. “This is the best piece of meat I’ve ever had,” my friend said.
So far, Kirbee’s has been doing a brisk business, likely because it’s only open Thursdays through Sundays from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. They’ve rejiggered the portions and ordering style since opening; both the Chuck and the Jonny plates, with two sides and a dessert, are now sold for $65 each, with enough for two to generously share, and the whole menu is available à la carte, sold by the half pound. I imagined a day when Kirbee’s would be open all week long, but White protested. “We’re maxed out on how much we can make,” he said, pointing out that — in classic barbecue fashion — it’s not unusual to sell out before the 4 p.m. closing time. A bigger space, then? Don’t count on it. “I signed the lease here for ten years,” he said, “and I plan on working here for ten years.”
