Rib joints are here today, gone tomorrow. They open when they want to and close when they feel like it.
Sometimes they just disappear, as is the case with Big G's Ribs & Chicken Shack in Swissvale, where Munch recently called to place an order and was greeted by the sad "this number has been disconnected" recording. Big G left not a whiff of a cayenne/vinegar scent trail to follow. Too bad.
The world needs more indie rib competition to take down those soulless corporate rib operations -- as the devotees of Clem's, in Blairsville, can testify. Only the independent rib entrepreneur, with their age-old family sauce recipes, hand-built backyard fire pit and secret wood smoking techniques, can fight the spread of Damon's, which seems to be bringing bad trivia and scorched onions to every new-construction corner.
Luckily, Kid Brother of Munch, with his keen internal radar tuned to tasty meats, cheap pitchers and hot-lipped babes, noticed a new rib joint in town, in the Strip: Aussom Aussie Boomerang BBQ.
Boomerang's concept is half corporate gleam and half gritty indie. It's Australian, and its "Sauceroo" is no hammy/peppery/tomatoey/ vinegary concoction: it's fruit-based. The meat is flavored in a way not common to the American smokemeister: using apple and cherry woods instead of mesquite or hickory.
Boomerang defies the usual rib joint stereotypes; it's clean, bright and downright cheery, not a smoke-hazy shack. Its hours are dependable. You won't find plastic sporks or red-checkered vinyl tablecloths there.
The coppery ceiling, punched tin kookaburra sconces, knotty pine woodwork and picture windows -- not much altered since Vermont Flatbread cleared out -- make a space that's almost too sunny to feel serious about ribs.
Munch is accustomed to performing the extraordinarily sloppy consumption of gutbomb good ribs, dripping with spices and sauces and juices, in the dark. Munch likes it like that. So Munch and KBOM decided on takeout, and to scarf down an order of grilled shrimp off the barbie ($6.25) and beer at the bar, where we could stare at Boomerang's giant trophies (it's won dozens of national barbecue awards).
Munch tried a light, fruity Coopers Sparkling Ale ($3.50), which had a flavor like barleyed hard cider, and KBOM had a round, frothy draft Fosters ($3.50). Boomerang's also stocks beers from Anderson Valley, Dogfish, Sierra Nevada, Penn Pilsner, Czechvar, Victory and Newcastle; and Great Lakes, Erie Brewing and Arrogant Bastard on draft.
Hankering for meat, we decided against a wood-fired pizza ($7.95-$10.50), like the weird Moroccan, with hummus, spinach, smoked gouda and artichokes, and the B.L.T, topped with bacon, oven-roasted tomatoes and ranch-dressed salad.
Instead we went for the Drover's plate ($15.95): a half chicken, half a rack of pork ribs and two sides. Even though the bartender who took our order warned us that the food would smell so tempting we'd eat it in the car, we also ordered the pulled pork sandwich ($6.50) and the barbecue beef brisket sandwich ($6.95) for the salivating Munch relations.
The food did make it home, and we fought over the pulled pork sandwich, which was hands-down delicious. The meat was perfectly piquant, smoky and rough-textured, cradled in soft bread, like a wonderful Aussie Sloppy Joe.
The beef brisket, though tasty, was not as zesty, and a tad dry. The ribs were falling-off-the-bone tender, but weren't spicy enough for Munch, and weren't dripping with sauce, as Munch likes them to be.
Munch wishes the chicken didn't need a mention here, because Munch hates to rag on food (really!). It went mostly uneaten, it was very dry, and there was barely a blush of sauce on the bird.
Boomerang's sides are uniquely good. The corn salad is crunchy and shot through with fresh cilantro. The baked beans are soft and spicy and the pineapple slaw, full of carrots and fruit, is surprising and salty-sweet, a refreshing accompaniment to the meat.
Munch made it through the whole trip to Boomerang without hearing a "g'day" or being referred to as "mate." Munch will return. There's something on the menu called a wattle seed cake, and it's calling Munch's name.
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