Telephone: 020 7287 7575
Address: 10 Poland Street, London W1
Meal for two, including drinks and service, £45
I was 16 when I started going to restaurants without my parents. I got it into my head that if I invited girls out to dinner I would look a) very sophisticated and therefore b) totally irresistible. The restaurant was Joe Allen's, an American bistro down a dark side street in London's theatreland, advertised, in those days, by only a brass plaque. You had to know it was there to know it was there which, again, could only add to my allure. What's more, the piano player knew my name. That he knew my name because I'd been the annoying brat who'd been coming with his mum and dad since I was a pre-pubescent endomorph was neither here nor there. Jimmy is a very kind man and was more than willing to play along with my stab at maturity by chatting to me over the keys.
The problem was that, having crafted my great 'seduction by sophistication' plan, appetite would take over. I would always order Joe Allen's very moreish, sticky spare ribs and within minutes there would be sauce dripping off my ears and smearing my cheeks. Sexy. And so, while I had lots of charming dinners, I never did get a good squeeze.
So anyway, I've found some sap willing to marry me and no longer have to worry about the sauce thing. Which is good because I still adore spare ribs: the chunks of spice-rubbed meat pulling away from the bone; the sticky bits that cling to the ends; the whole caveman physicality of the wrench and the hold and the chew. Which should make Bodean's in Soho my kind of place. It describes itself as the first restaurant in the capital specialising in real American barbecue, which is not strictly true because there's the Arkansas Cafe at Spitalfields. But it is a spirited attempt to introduce to us some of the finer points of what is an intense culinary subculture in the US.
I went with Mr Majumdar, an expert on southern states barbecue and a man for whom many animals have died. He knows things. He knows that in Texas the speciality is beef, while in Kentucky it's pork; that in the west of the Carolinas the sauces are tomato based, and in the east vinegar based. And so on. Where southern barbecue is concerned, Majumdar is a total trainspotter.
Which could also make him a total nightmare in a place like this, but he was clearly feeling generous. After looking at the menu, he accepted that it was bound to be a kind of barbecue Esperanto, and said that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
Bodean's is divided in two. Upstairs is a retro-Americana diner space, full of counters and bar stools and bright lights. Downstairs is the wood-lined rib room, with high-walled booths, and that's where we ate, our brains shaken by the diet of Tom Petty on the sound system. And the verdict: ignore starters, which are neither relevant or inspiring. (A crab cake was still chilly in the middle, for example.) Avoid the pulled pork, which was dry. And steer clear of the chicken, which was also less than moist.
Stick with the ribs, and they will stick to you. Three huge, chunky beef ribs - a half slab at £6 - showed the benefit of long cooking and good spice rubbing. They were gorgeous and chewy. The pork spare ribs were sweeter and denser, and both came with bottles of a hickory smoke and a chipolte sauce, both big-knuckled concoctions that earnt their place on the table.
Bowls of beans, in a fiery piquant sauce with tender little lumps of pork, were also welcome. And that's pretty much all you need know. Service is friendly, efficient and eager to please - they improvised mint tea for us, for example, at the end - and the ribs are good. The great Majumdar even said he might go back. There can be no finer compliment.
