Goode Memories and Pizzitola’s Pit

Houstonians, how many chopped-beef sandwiches have you eaten in your life?

I’ve eaten at least 200 brisket sandwiches from Goode Co. Barbeque in my lifetime, and probably way more. Growing up in Memorial, the Katy Freeway location near Campbell was a regular hangout for our family and neighbors, classmates and teammates after lacrosse games and scout meetings and ballet classes. My dad often picked up barbecue on Sunday afternoons, bringing it home so that my family could feast on sausage, ribs and foil-wrapped chopped-brisket sandwiches on jalapeno cheese bread.

When family visited from out of state, we’d spend an evening showing them Goode Co. with the stuffed bison (that terrified my little brother for a few years), saddles and Western bric-a-brac. When we needed to send a gift to a friend or relative across the country, we’d send them a pecan pie in a wooden box, branded with the famous words of the late Jim Goode: “You Might Give Some Serious Thought to Thanking Your Lucky Stars You’re In Texas.”

We were happy to be the annoying Tex-centric relatives living south of the Mason Dixie line. Even my uncle Shawn, who moved to the Houston area after 26 years serving around the world in the U.S. Air Force, has grown to love Goode Co. barbecue. He’s been unwell this past year, and while he was in the hospital in Cypress, we brought him, yes, chopped-beef sandwiches when we visited to lift his spirits and revive his appetite.

Last week my mom and I attended Jim Goode’s funeral, which was a true celebration of one man’s life. There were several references to his legacy in the Houston restaurant world and to his pioneering efforts in creating quality barbecue before he ever planted the seeds of a Goode Co. empire. While Jim was not well the last several years, his son Levi has directed the maintenance of Goode restaurants — in fact, the Armadillo Palace is in the middle of a big re-model/expansion, and they’ve strenghened the bar’s cocktail program – and kept the brand fresh.

Like Tex-Mex, barbecue is hotly debated amongst Texans. I have learned that I enjoy several styles; however, having grown up with the Goode Co. menu, that’s probably what registers for me as most preferred. I even become sentimental about Goode-style barbecue. After all, often what we love most about the “right” way to prepare food is that it’s reflective of what makes us most comfortable.

Jim Goode’s funeral caused me to think all weekend about a few different things, including what it’s like to try and uphold a brand your successful parent has worked hard to build. I wondered why diners are always so focused on what is new and supposedly better? (This in a world where some of the best food is produced by well-practiced professionals using very old methods that are, ironically, “trendy” again, such as organic – it’s the original way of farming, remember? – and local.) I thought about Houston and how fickle diners can be and how chefs and operators have to strike just the right balance between being original, but not too original (i.e. weird).

We want our restaurants to reflect the “real” Houston, not Los Angeles or New York City or, God forbid, Dallas. We like all the newest, hottest, trendiest places until the morning we wake up and rediscover Houston’s mainstays and mom-and-pop hole-in-the-walls, the successful by-their-bootstrap, family-owned restaurants that we’d briefly forgotten. What were we thinking?

Yesterday Teresa and I attempted to meet Becca, our associate editor, for lunch at very posh new spot. Having not anticipated all of the ladies who lunch, I was cursing the clumsily designed parking lot and felt a panic attack coming on while creeping two mph past double-parked cars and a long line at the valet. Watching beautiful women with handbags that cost more than what I make in a year slide out of leather seats and trot into the restaurant, I thought “This is not what I want right now.” Suddenly, I knew I needed barbecue.

At Pizzitolas Bar-B-Cue, another long-time Houston barbecue empire run by a Houston family, we three shared a sampler platter (photo above). There’s nothing more anti-ladies-who-lunch than telling the waitress, “We may need an additional slab of ribs.” Unless you’re a Houston lady, perhaps.

My mom, Teresa, is constantly well-coiffed. Becca is always accessorized to perfection. I was wearing my best Morticia Addams-meets-Selena black suede bedazzled fringe jacket. There were iced teas and Lone Star beers, and we talked about how Kevin McGowan, one of our talented photographers, captured the spirit of Pizzitola’s in the current issue of My Table. It was a nice, laid-back lunch in a family-owned restaurant where they’re doing everything right, the old school way.

After lunch, Mr. Pizzitola (photo below) caught us as we headed to our cars and even invited us back inside to see the pit, which is reconstructed from the original restaurant that later became Pizzitola’s a lifetime ago. The pit had been transported, brick by brick, from the original location – which I-10 now runs through – and re-built inside the kitchen on Shepherd. It is wood burning and uses weights and pulleys to allow it to be opened and closed without slamming down on anyone.

While the outside is well cleaned, and the grill is free of grit, the flames jumping up and licking the foil-wrapped baked potatoes allow enough light inside to see years of smoke on the inner walls of the bricks. It’s probably held more than a million pounds of meat over the generations, and it’s possibly one of the oldest pits in Houston, with food cooked and served by hardworking people, the old-fashioned way. And it was perfect.

I would like to invite you to tell us what your favorite Houston “old school” restaurants are, and why you love them so much. Is it because the menu hasn’t changed? Or is it because you grew up eating there? Have you known the staff for many years? We always want to know what our readers treasure. Share your thoughts with us at SideDish@My-Table.com.