Brown-and-orange Bill Miller is like Texas’s barbecue version of a Howard Johnson’s, employing a duo of colors that have been co-opted as a logo, copyright-protected by the fact that no one else is interested in duplicating the hideous palette. And like HoJo, Bill Miller is renowned for a low-priced menu that won’t risk being mistaken for gourmet. A cast of characters grins cartoonishly from its sign: a pig, a chicken, and a steer, all suspiciously cheerful at the prospect of being dinner.

Trust the clucker over the others; it’s amazingly tender and moist, if not particularly smoky. Pork ribs have a suspiciously forceful hickory smell and flavor, but none of the tongue-tickling of a dry rub. It reminds us—and this is perhaps the worst thing you can say—of barbecued ribs we’ve had in California. Cut into a sausage casing, and you get a pool of orange grease choking on salt. Brisket is bland, and the sauce won’t help much; it’s runny and uninteresting. Sides are better, if only because they’re so aggressive: cole slaw with high notes of vinegar, strong caramelized onions in an extra-potatoey hash, and pleasantly soupy and porky pinto beans. In a surprising departure, Bill Miller bakes its own French bread. It’s decent, but not good enough to warrant replacing the typical sliced white. On the other hand, $20 here can feed a family of four.