Adam & Eats: Rivertowne BBQ

Editor’s note: Adam Brandt is a graduate from the Cobra Kai School of Culinary Callousness, where he received their highest award, the Red Apron of Merciless Eating. Aside from eating and talking about eating, he makes pots, paintings, prints, books, photographs, and generally, a big mess. He has been the studio assistant at Mudpuppy Pottery for almost nine years and is attending a local university in a desperate attempt to earn a biology degree.

Imagine the scene, if you will.

You are standing in the street. The town is relatively quiet. The oppressive noonday sun is beating down on you. Your lips are dry and cracking. You step from the street onto the curb. You are seeking refuge from the hot wind that relentlessly blows coarse dust all over your boots. You reach up, grab the iron handle of the heavy wooden door. You pull. A breath of cool air hits your face. The sound of laughter and merriment fills your ears. As your eyes adjust to the relatively cool darkness you see… boating equipment?!

No, you are not in the Wild West. You are, in fact, in Ozark, Arkansas. At this point in the story you are greeted by one of the many cheerful, smiling faces of the waitstaff at Rivertowne BBQ, and escorted to your table.

I have been told that Rivertowne BBQ, on the square in Ozark, has some of the best American food around. I have been told this by many people. Friends, family, unsolicited strangers on the street. Heck, even the Chancellor of Arkansas Tech University-Ozark Campus emailed me to tell me how great they are. With this in mind, I had pretty high expectations for Rivertowne when I stepped in off Third Street a few weeks ago.

Did they meet my expectations? Nope. They exceeded them.

The dark, cozy atmosphere is accentuated with Southern kitsch and the walls  are chock full of relics of dock paraphernalia. The dividers of the room are suspended fence panels covered with wharf nets. It is as if your kooky uncle just happened to be the Skipper from Gilligan’s Island who, after being rescued, opened a barbeque joint in small town Arkansas.

I liked this place, immediately. All of the staff are friendly and attentive. In great barbeque restaurant fashion, the cook and proprietor, still wearing his apron, makes the rounds to ensure that your dining experience is beyond satisfactory.

As far as grub goes, I have to say that Rivertowne is top notch. They manage to balance elegant dining with a good ol’ boy mentality. The menu boasts of their being the home of the “Big Porker” and offers such unappetizing sounding, but delicious tasting, items as “bean slop” and “creamed possum.”

On the other hand, an item which is not on the regular menu, but happens to be an occasional daily special is the smoked catfish. This is the first time I have ever eaten catfish not breaded in corn meal and deep fried. That’s what we do with catfish — deep fry it. Their smoked catfish is sweet and savory, perfectly flaky, and is breathtakingly scrumptious. I haven’t had a better prepared piece of fish anywhere. You would be lucky to get fish cooked that well in all of the Eastern seaboard.

And it just so happened to be the most unprestigious of fish, the catfish. It was as if they took a banjo-playing hillbilly and awarded him the Nobel Prize for astrophysics. It is amazing. Their chicken salad sandwich is also a show stopper. They manage to give you a perfectly smoky flavor that doesn’t mask the taste of the chicken. All of the sides that I tried are excellent as well. From the subtle addition of white raisins in the cole slaw to the kick of chili powder in their pinto beans, they manage to take simple side dishes up a notch.

If you haven’t eaten at Rivertowne BBQ, you should take the time to drive to Ozark and try it. I think you deserve an extra long lunch break this week. Don’t you?

Feedback
When he’s not beating his eggs, Adam makes time to respond to e-mails that get past his hard-ass spam filter. You can try to reach him at [email protected]

Adam also has this thing called Sandwich Control.