Hank "The Scumbag" Lihn — June 09, 2009
Land of the Free, Home of the Brave. This is my Country.
Pig. Barbecue.
If those words did not arouse you in some way (in their myriad meanings and connotations), I’d prefer if you stopped reading here. I am about to discuss them in level of intimacy that you will fail to comprehend. Pig isn’t just any animal. And barbecue, with its different regional styles and myriad variations, isn’t just any style of cooking. No, no, this is about nothing less than a torrid tryst, a life-altering affair that we have with meat. If your olfactory senses have never been assaulted by the smoky, seductive properties of barbecued pig, to the point that your breathing is no longer autonomic but a passionate inhaling of the very essence of life into your lungs, if you don’t relish with ecstasy the textures unleashed on your palate be they created by baking, smoking, pulling, frying, grilling, or sautéing, salty first, and sweet to the last, if this sounds like hyperbole, then I advise you to do one of two things: either grab a handle of Jack and feed your fat kid or score an eightball, call a few strippers, charge waves, re-enroll in college, and quit whatever commitment to mediocrity that has prevented you from living your LIFE.
Hill Country is where we all belong.
It’s our favorite BBQ place in New York. Period. We at AlwaysHungryNY make allotments for every type of class, genre, type, region, and style of food. Then there is Hill Country.
Hill Country is an homage to Kruez Market from which it proudly admits taking a “cue.” It prides itself on Texas BBQ, a style that centers around the dry rubbed, slow smoking of meat (be it brisket, shoulder, chop, chicken, sausage, rib, or hen) over Texas oak. The interior is best suited toward lunch in my opinion as everything is served on butcher paper, and you wait in line to get your meat by the pound (sides, deserts and drinks have their own lines). The wood interior is faux barn and reminds me of that old western-themed ride at Disney World, the Matterhorn, not merely for the décor, but the sense of wonderment that once accompanied the former and now only holds true at the Hill.
