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" There are two reasons why, in the world of food \u2014 hell, in the world of anything \u2014 no magazine list is as anticipated and debated as Texas Monthly&amp;#039;s quinquennial &amp;quot;50 Best BBQ Joints&amp;quot;: One, rarity. Quinquennial means every five years. What other list comes out only, and every, five years? And two, topic: Mate the craziest Boston Red Sox fan with the most psycho opera diva and you maybe get close to the emotionality of your average barbecue hound. So far we have a list of two, but I&amp;#039;m just getting started. The full TM package doesn&amp;#039;t drop until May 22, but the magazine has begun doling out morsels like burnt ends. It provided a sneak preview online of the 50. But no long essay, as is customary, and no rankings. And except for the snub of Smitty&amp;#039;s Market in Lockhart, no surprise. Surprises, I&amp;#039;m certain, are coming. Until we learn what they are, here&amp;#039;s another list: 8 Predictions about the Texas Monthly Top 50 List \u25BA The essay will celebrate the &amp;quot;craft &amp;#039;cue&amp;quot; movement, which is new guys making barbecue in the old style: no, not a trench in the ground, but wood only, no &amp;quot;gassers.&amp;quot; (See: Franklin Barbecue, Pecan Lodge, food trucks.) \u25BA A discussion of the gassers trend \u2014 set-it-and-forget-it wood-enhanced gas ovens \u2014 which will be regarded simultaneously with praise for their improvement (in 2008, a fifth of the Top 50 were restaurants that used ovens) and angst about authenticity. \u25BA The emergence of the city as a BBQ destination, especially Dallas (long a weak sister, BBQ-wise, but now with some heralded new places) and Austin (sub-par for decades, but, especially with the erasure of Smitty&amp;#039;s, may be proclaimed the new capital of Texas barbecue). \u25BA A dissection of the state&amp;#039;s changing barbecue landscape. There is, for example, the &amp;quot;new &amp;#039;cue&amp;quot; of Smoke in Dallas (coffee-cured brisket, quail with chick peas) and, in Austin, Lamberts Downtown Barbecue&amp;#039;s &amp;quot;fancy barbecue&amp;quot; (their term, not mine; fennel and coriander-rubbed and maple-glazed pork ribs, cold-smoked quail with Mexican rice stuffing). Moreover, more menus are featuring pulled pork, rarely seen in these parts once upon a time; there may or may not be some angst about these two trends indicating a greater homogenization of Texas barbecue. If I had to bet, I&amp;#039;d bet not. \u25BA A swipe at Texas-ey Yankee barbecue (Hill Country in NYC and DC; Delaney in Brooklyn; Smoque in Chicago, among others) as a two-fer: a way to condescend to them while reasserting Texas supremacy. \u25BA Some newcomers that weren&amp;#039;t even operating when the previous list was published, in 2008, will vault over venerable institutions. \u25BA The vulnerable venerables are Kreuz Market in Lockhart, Louie Mueller in Taylor, City Market in Luling.  \u25BA Franklin Barbecue in Austin, which went from barbecue truck to brick-and-mortar restaurant a scant two years ago, will snatch top billing. Hours-long lines form daily for its live-up-to-the-hype brisket. And, to get into a little barbecue Kremlinology, its food was chosen for the magazine&amp;#039;s cover. And about that cover. It, too, was posted online. You want a portrait of classic, iconic Lone Star &amp;#039;cue? Let&amp;#039;s take a closer look: What the Cover Got Right   The three-meat triad \u2014 beef brisket, pork ribs, spicy sausage links. The mandatory three sides \u2014 mashed potatoey potato salad, cole slaw, pinto (God forbid, not baked) beans. The three required condiments \u2014 thinly sliced onion, jalapeno, and dill pickle discs.  What the Cover got Wrong  No cheap white sandwich bread. In Texas, slices of the smushy stuff are de rigueur; you never know when you&amp;#039;ll want to wrap a hunk of brisket or link of sausage for mouthfeel or a dunk in sauce. Those crackers are a relative rarity. The jug of sauce. Even off to the side as it is, the bottle towers above the food, giving it outsized prominence. There was no sauce in sight on the 2008 cover. Or the 2003. Or the first one, in 1997. (Another sign of change.) The &amp;quot;edible logo,&amp;quot; made of sauce. Clever, yes. But misleading in a state long-known for its anti-sauce crowing. (See above.) (There is a fourth, but I&amp;#039;ll give it a pass: the texture of the brisket. It looks dry; I&amp;#039;ll assume that it wasn&amp;#039;t like that when sliced, but spent too many hours under the photographer&amp;#039;s lights.)  Finally, there is the matter of the cover&amp;#039;s kiss to Texas barbecue lovers \u2014 and kiss-off to everybody else: &amp;quot;The 50 Best BBQ Joints in Texas in the WORLD. &amp;quot; (They never tire of saying that; the magazine&amp;#039;s first barbecue story, in 1973, was titled, &amp;quot;The World&amp;#039;s Best Barbecue is in Taylor, Texas. Or is it Lockhart?&amp;quot; Forty years later, its website says, &amp;quot;Texas barbecue\u2026is superior to all other regional varieties of barbecue. This is an incontrovertible fact.&amp;quot;) The jingoism hoists newly hired TM Barbecue Editor Daniel Vaughn on his own petard \u2014 he recently called former Village Voice food critic Robert Sietsema a &amp;quot;cheerleader&amp;quot; for championing New York City barbecue. But it also makes for a third, final list, one that readers will undoubtedly make: A Zillion Ways Texas Monthly&amp;#039;s Top 50 BBQ Joints list Got It Right \u2014 and Wrong. --Jim Shahin is the Smoke Signals barbecue columnist for the Washington Post and also writes for Eat Like a Man. He also contributed to the inaugural Top 50 BBQ Joints list. You can follow him on Twitter. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.esquire.com/food-drink/restaurants/a22651/texas-monthly-50-best-bbq-cover-dissected-15482822/>