Plenty of Smoke, No Mirrors...

by Kay West ~ Nashville Scene

Hook 'em Horns! Tending to the smoker, or inside the one-roomed restaurant, you will find one Aubrey Bean, whose credentials as a Texan are unassailable and extensive... He is from Austin, he is a sports-crazy jock, he has a degree in petroleum engineering and he learned to cook barbecue from his granddaddy. He wears a Texas Longhorns cap, and his Suburban (the standard Lone Star vehicle long before it became the preferred ride of Nashville soccer moms) sports the Longhorn logo on the back windows. For crying out loud, to be any more Texan, he would have to be the reincarnation of Tom Landry himself.

For years, Bean was in the athletic clothing manufacturing business, with enough vendors and clients in the Middle Tennessee area to require frequent travel to Nashville, of which he became quite fond, but for one thing: the unfortunate regional inclination for pork barbecue. He moved here in 1992, hauling his smoker with him. As favors to friends and associates, he did some occasional catering, spreading the gospel of Texas barbecue through Music City. Coming up on a milestone birthday this year, Bean decided there was no time like the present to take a new path down the career trail. After some exterior work on a building that has most recently housed a meat-and-three, he opened Judge Beans BBQ in early May.

Texans know just what to expect when they cross the tin-roofed front porch and enter the sparsely decorated room outfitted with long wooden picnic tables. Locals, on the other hand, are a bit skeptical at first, presenting a twist on the 'Where's the beef?' query: 'They come in and look at my menu and ask where's the pork?' Bean says. 'I tell 'em I don't do pork, I do brisket. They look sorta disappointed at first, but then I give them a sample. I haven't had anybody not order a sandwich after they taste my brisket.'

And for good reason. Though Judge Beans lacks some of the flavor depth of Texas' landmark barbecue joints--acquired though years and years of accumulated smoke and grease--his brisket, smoked for at least 16 hours, is still pink in the center, with a full-bodied smoky taste. A regular sandwich piles about half a dozen quarter-inch slices on a sesame seed bun, the large nearly twice that. A plate gets you two sides as well from a trio of choices: baked beans, fresh-cut french fries or coleslaw. Bean says everything else gets smoked one way or the other, and that includes the tangy barbecue sauce, the robust salsa, the meaty ribs, the plump chicken drummettes, the amazing tamales and the succulent, heat-infused Shrimp Diablo.

The ribs are baby back, with very little fat, cooked to meaty tenderness but not falling off the bone, and spiced just so. Spread on a little of the homemade sauce if you like them wetter. Bean says he deep-fries his drummettes for about three minutes, then coats them in a dry rub and smokes them another four hours; my first order was perfect, the second a tad dry, but both carried a good, swift kick of heat. The most distinct items on the menu, and worth the trip even if your barbecue loyalties lie solidly in Tennessee, are the tamales and the Shrimp Diablo. The former is a rounded length of moist, unsweetened masa dough with brisket ends tucked inside, wrapped in a dampened corn husk, then put in the smoker. The cooking method prevents the dough from drying out; the roasted-tomato smoked salsa is the perfect dipping sauce. The Shrimp Diablo, a creation Bean re-created from a favorite Austin restaurant, begins with a jumbo shrimp, which is then topped with a bit of Monterey Jack cheese, laid atop a whole jalapeño pepper, wrapped in a slice of bacon, then put in the smoker just until the shrimp cooks and the cheese melts. They come three to an order, and even the utterly selfless Mother Teresa would have had a tough time sharing these spicy delectables.

Judge Beans may be all about Texas, but the restaurant is in the heart of Music City, so the proprietor has been coerced by some Lone Star State musicians to allow them to set up on Thursday and Friday evenings, when they'll be singing for your supper. Texas and Tennessee may be on opposite sides of the beef-vs.-pork divide, but when it comes time to sit down over a cold beer and a plate of brisket, Judge Beans presents a damned good argument for beef.