The re-creation of fun

House of Q delivers something; just not sure what

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The coleslaw was good. No, the coleslaw was great. The cabbage was crispy and fresh, lathered in sweet, creamy dressing that tasted like watermelon. They’d added some juice or vinegar into the coleslaw, and it was refreshing in the unseasonable warmth we’ve been getting. It was a revelatory side dish, and I’ll wish for the zip that House of Q managed to work into their slaw in every other slaw I have from here on out.

Now if House of Q in Longmont were a coleslaw restaurant, this would be the happy end of the review. (There would also be some major questions about the viability of a coleslaw-only restaurant.) But House of Q makes barbecue. And they threw up a bunch of stuff on the walls to recreate a proper roadside meat house. They give you big old glasses of sweet tea and beer, and they plop down big old plates of meat and fried appetizers. The wood looks weathered and there are squirt bottles of sauce on each table.

For all intents and purposes, all the pieces of a good barbecue joint are there. There’s a paper towel roll on the table! But something’s off.

There’s no music. No Steve Earle or Alabama ripping through the joint and bouncing off the creaky walls. It felt like there should be music.

There’s no vibe. Fellow patrons seemed subdued. The lobby was about two dozen deep at 7 p.m. on Saturday night, and we waited about 45 minutes. Maybe we were all just fatigued.

There’s also just no intention or purpose in the design. The décor walked the very thin line between tacky and authentic. You might swing either way depending on your persuasion. It was mostly hogrelated — no old movie or second-hand sports chotchkies here — but because there was just so much, you’re forced to contemplate: Why has the “crap on the wall” style of interior design become replicated ad nauseum in American restaurants? On one hand you can say, “It’s fun,” on the other you can say, “What are they trying to hide behind that car jutting out of the wall and the clay statue of a pig in overalls?” 

This would all be irrelevant if the mind were able to indulge in the food. But it’s easy to find something else to talk about during the meal, starting with the appetizers: a platter that included fried pickles, onion rings, catfish tenders, potato skins, sliders and chicken wings (that is, most of the appetizers available). I know catfish is no stud to begin with, but it was flavorless here and in the bizarre shape of an effete finger. The wings were overdone and small. The rest, unremarkable.

But come on, we’re in it for the barbecue, aren’t we? A big old plate of beef brisket, pulled pork and Kansas City-style ribs came along on a second wind. A hope, at this point, not a prayer.

And they were good enough, that was clear. The pulled pork was certainly the best, and with the spicy and sweet Carolina mustard sauce, it was tough to stop shoveling in. The brisket had a good smoke on it, but was drier than ideal. The ribs were coated in a delicious traditional barbecue sauce, but the meat was sparse.

All the meat came sitting atop two pieces of soggy Texas toast — a stack of white bread or toast on the side would’ve made the bread actually usable. The fried apples were a bit heavy on sugar and cinnamon; the mashed potatoes passable.

And so what feeling are you left with after a meal at House of Q? The re-creation of something. Of fun. Of serve-nothing-less-than, no-frills barbecue. Of a restaurant that without the square footage and glossy menus and glass-protected merch might just focus more on the food.

You can’t manufacture authenticity. You can’t hide the food behind a chipper waitress. It’s Chili’s versus your neighborhood cantina; Red Lobster versus that one fish shack you go to every vacation.

It’s fun for some, sure, and it’s a cheap meal, but I’m left looking for something else to talk about. Like coleslaw.

Respond: letters@boulderweekly.com