We don’t know what it is about serious chefs and the urge to go slumming with brisket and burgers—not that we don’t crave them both on occasion. Jason Dady, already noted for swell spots such as The Lodge, has played his populist card with a modest barbecue joint that strives mightily not to be too “cheffy”—and generally succeeds. The majority of the seating is outdoors at picnic tables under sheltering oaks, the barbecue pits, sourced from a defunct Hill Country operation, already have some age on ‘em, and the sauces are only modestly messed with. The early-on, dry-brisket doldrums have been cured, too, so chef fanciers and ’cue fanatics can all feel at home—even with kids in tow, as the well-equipped play area is the city’s finest.

We regret that cabrito is no longer on the menu, but remain amazed that chicken thighs can be so fine. Despite their treading on tony territory, we also like the cherry-glazed baby-back ribs, and tolerate both the pork loin and sausage. The peach-profaned beans we can do without, however. Ditto the too-tangy slaw. We also would avoid the fudge and the almost-too-genuine fried strawberry pies, but are not ashamed to inhale the daily cobbler.