Let me be clear: I love barbecue. I mean, like, deep, abiding, bordering on obsessive love. And, perhaps as a function of my being from the northeast, I’m not really all that picky about the kind of smoked meat I shove into my maw. St. Louis, Texas Hill Country, Memphis, Carolina—whatever style’s on the menu, I’m pretty much in.
So you can only imagine my child-like glee upon learning that our new office is not 5 minutes away from one Wilson’s BBQ, in Fairfield, CT. Don’t scoff. Fairfield’s a big town, populated by a bunch of folks with plenty of money to throw around on McMansions, Range Rovers and food of every denomination. So you’d think that, in order to survive, a restaurant would have to be pretty damn good, right?
Well, Wilson’s pushes the envelope even further: Their hours of operation are—wait for it—Thursday-Sunday, 11:30AM to close. Now, truth be told, I don’t know what ‘close’ time is, but unless it’s 11AM the following day, these people have a pretty sweet gig. I mean, here they are in a pretty competitive suburban restaurant market, and they can afford to be open for lunch and dinner just 4 days a week.
Nice work if you can get it. There’s just one problem: The food ain’t all that good. I mean, it’ll do in a pinch, like when you need some Q so bad you’re ready to hit the Stop & Shop and guzzle a bottle of KC Masterpiece. But other than that, it’s really rather so-so. Not bad, mind you. Just kind of flavorless. (Don’t even get me started on the cornbread.)
And the facilities? Well, I must admit that I was too disheartened by the meal to actually hit the head myself. But Keith popped in for a visit, and here’s what he found…
Neat. Clean. He might even say ‘quaint,’ if he were even remotely inclined to use that word.
Basically, the lavatory equivalent of Wilson’s food, i.e. nothing terribly wrong, but nothing terribly right, either.
Rating of chew: 2 out of 5 (Keith’s number)
Rating of loo: 2 out of 5 (consensus)