A sprawling barbecue joint that opened less than a year ago, Hill Country could justifiably describe itself as "All Texas All The Time." Everything at Hill Country, from the wine to the firewood, comes from the Lone Star State. The hot sauce next to the rolls of paper towels on each table is called Texas Pete. The restaurant's southern pine, limestone, black iron interior originated around Austin. The sausage links, both the mild ones and those laced with jalapeno and cheese are flown in from the fabled Kreuz Market in Lockhart, Texas.Yet, more important than Hill Country's geographic origins is its glorious, rustic, moist, salt, pepper and cayenne dry rubbed meat that emerges from the big black smokers at the rear of the restaurant. It boasts a slow smoked, pit cooked, fall-off-the-bone quality unavailable elsewhere in New York, a city that until a few years ago was bypassed by the barbecue boom sweeping the country.
Hill Country changes all of that. It sets the standard for big city barbecue. At this outpost of good down-home eating, the mainstay, the moist Texas brisket, was so terrific it had our table virtually talking in tongues. The Flintstones-size beef and even better pork ribs - bursting with flavor and midway between firm and fall away - make you want to throw stones at pit bosses who turn out mediocre versions.
The smooth, velvety flesh of the beer can game hen (it's grilled with a beer can in the bird's cavity) is alive with juices. Those loosely packed links, especially the jalape�±o cheese version, produce more snap than a pair of new suspenders. There's nothing wrong with the lean brisket, beef shoulder, or mild links but the moist brisket, gargantuan ribs and spicy links are the better bets.
So are some of the sides. I observed a table of vegetarians happily chowing down on sides sans barbecue in this meat-centered milieu - the smoky campfire baked beans, chipolte-touched deviled eggs, the smooth white corn pudding, the luxuriant Longhorn cheddar Mac and cheese, and a cooling cucumber salad.
The Dali Lama of desserts is the delicious, fruit-studded banana cream pudding, while the interesting ancho chile cherry brownies and warm bourbon pecan pie had their supporters. The no-pretense Hill Country, with its bare tables and floors, isn't an elegant dining venue, nor should it be. Long tables and live music fill the very loud, low ceilinged downstairs.The esthetics are authentic while the shadow play of smoke and flame deliver the real thing to barbecue connoisseurs.
30 W. 26th St. (5-6 Aves.), 212-255-4544
Richard Jay Scholem was a restaurant critic for the New York Times Long Island Section for 14 years. His A La Carte Column appeared from 1990 to 2004. For more "Taste of the Town" reviews click here.
