Rudy's Barbecue (Leon Springs)

As I am married to a man that never says no to a pile of brisket, I have tried my share of barbecue joints over the years. I'm convinced that the wrong place to eat this Texas favorite is in a restaurant that serves it up on a plate, with a fork and knife close by.

If good barbecue can be judged by atmophere and lack of place settings, Rudy's barbecue in Leon Springs must be the best.

Rudy's is the first barbecue place that I remember visiting. We drove from Denver once a year to visit our San Antonio relatives, and no trip was complete without visiting Rudy's. This was when anything north of 1604 and I10 was considered "the country", and you certainly didn't find Ducati dealerships and Sonic fast food along the way. There was nothing convenient about going, so the journey up the interstate was for the sole purpose of visiting this Brisket Mecca.

Driving up to the glorified shack that Rudy's is, you pass several fuel pumps, and become a believer that the smell of gasoline and meat is an essential component to authentic barbecue. You are a little concerned by their sign, claiming that they are "The Worst BBQ in Texas." However, your eyes tell a different story as you see a line far out of the building, even hours after lunchtime.

You join the line, inhaling the smoky, spicy air. All around you are people of every class and every race sharing an insatiable hunger for meat. Who knew that Leon Springs, Texas, could be a mini United Nations? I think it is safe to say that the small town will not host any PETA conventions anytime soon, though.

A map is hung atop the doorway, with pins showcasing where all their visitors are from. There is not a state in this great country that is not represented by a barbecue-eating visitor. To the right, you see plastic cups with plastic forks and knives. Only when you look up do you realize that there are no napkins here. That would be too dainty. No, at Rudy's, you must clean up with solid, sturdy paper towels, being distributed by the same kind of metal dispensers that you have only seen in restrooms. Being December, the dispenser is covered in snowman wrapping paper.

You've studied every detail, observed every ravenous diner, and finally enter The Room - this is where all the magic happens. Once inside, you are hit with the intensity of heat and smoke and noise as workers cook and cut and serve. It is chaotic, but exciting. You have a bit more time in line to deliberate over creamed corn, corn slaw, potatoes, etc. And that's just the sides. The meat line offers brisket, turkey, ribs, sausage, and more.

You pick a drink from the icy tubs, and make your selection. You order is thrown into a plastic box and lined with pages of shiny, waxy paper sheets. Later, when you are looking for plates, you realize that these ARE your plates. The Chinet salesman may want to consider a housecall.

Slices of white bread are pulled out of a bag, and placed with your food as you move along the assembly line to the registers. A military ID card will get you an extra 10% off, and a sincere "thank you" for your service.

Your next decision is where to eat. It is tempting to sit outside and enjoy the weather, but flies are trying to be diners, too, and you choose the indoors.

Deja vu hits as you look at the tables inside and remember your school cafeteria days. You will not be sitting privately with your party here - no, this is one big happy family. Pull up a metal folding chair, and make some friends.

Everyone digs in, putting meat and sides on their paper, adding sauce, swigging root beer. Conversation is temporarily stunted, as everyone is occupied with the tender and savory food in front of them. The only words you might speak or hear are, "Does anyone have more napkins?"

The walls are worth looking at. They proudly point out water stains, and indicate the years and the floods that created each mark. A sign reminds you to mind your manners, saying, "You're mother isn't here, so clean up after yourself."

(Today, in fact, my mother was with me, but I ended up clearing away my own trash, anyway. I guess she didn't read the sign.)

If you're not full, a near impossibility, you are tempted with Bluebell ice cream desserts and locally made peanut brittle.

When you're finished, you exit Rudy's with a smile on your face, a lump in your belly, and the echo of a friendly "Good-bye" from the cashier in your head. The screen door of this humble 78-year-old building slams behind you, and you see the million dollar mansions of the Dominion on the hill in front of you.

This is the glory of Texas, and the glory of Rudy's - the intersection of the spectrum of people, as they speak together the common language of barbecue.

Visit Rudy's Website!
210-698-2141

NOTE: If you are facing Rudy's, look to your right. You will see a small, white-stone building with an Alamo-arch facade. This was once the home of the original Macaroni Grill. Now with locations nation-wide, this little building started it all. I used to come here with my family to enjoy the delicious pasta and the opera-singing waitstaff. A major flood just a few years ago sealed its fate, and now you can only enjoy Macaroni's in one of their many chains. Rudy's is now a chain, too, with branches in Texas and the Southwest. The Rudy's at Leon Springs is the original, and still the best.