State Street Eats: Bam Bams BBQ
A culinary adventure
Last week I received a cryptic email from a certain fraternal organization of which I am a member:
Lunch. Utah County. Friday. Noon. Location to be revealed upon acceptance of invitation.
It’s a no-brainer. I always enjoy catching up with the guys. I click accept and await further instructions.
Bam Bams BBQ inhabits a low-ceilinged building next door to Uncle Sam’s Army Navy Outdoor in south Orem, where State Street begins its descent into Provo. The sign sports a “pig and crossbones” logo. On a bench outside the front door, a grotesque bronze statue of a recumbent pig menaces, scaring away any passing children. It is effective, because as I enter there are no children in sight.
It’s no secret that I am not the biggest fan of BBQ restaurants. Due to this fact I am rather famously banned from visiting Texas and the lesser Carolina. This is not to say, of course, that I do not like BBQ. I do. It’s great. But it is the kind of cooking that seems to turn out best on a small scale. My neighbor Mike makes a good brisket on Sundays, but I don’t know that he could make 100 every day.
This is my main beef (sic) with BBQ restaurants. In the year they open, they win a bunch of awards, then either they can’t or won’t maintain quality.
Bam Bams is fairly busy when the guys and I get in line to order. I talk with Jed, a fellow old-timer and poet, about my recent literary successes, while the orange-vested men at the table next to us look up quizzically from their loaded nachos. The nachos look good.
“No, this year was the short story. Last year was the poem.”
“That’s right,” says Jed. “That’s right. The story with the really sad ending.”
“That’s the one. You know, it was actually based on a true…”
“Next!” Comes the shout of the meatmonger behind the counter on the far end.
Suddenly on the spot, I forget about the nachos and go with my default order at such places:
“I’ll have the pulled pork sandwich with a side of mac and cheese.”
The young man gives the slightest acknowledgement before placing a scale on the greasy countertop. He pulls out a bag of meat from the compartment in which it had been secreted and tears off chunks, which he places on the scale. Once the scale is satisfied, the pork goes onto the countertop and the young man massages it apart and places it on a cheddar-laden bun. He sets it on a tray and slides it over to an attractive college-age woman who adds a dish of mac and cheese and then rings me up.
Another thing about BBQ: it’s always so expensive. My two items look lonely on the big tray.
I stake out a table and am soon joined by the rest of my party.
There are three unlabeled bottles of barbecue sauce on the table. I take one at random, give it a smell, and squeeze it over my pork. Still being unaccustomed to taking pictures of my food, I dig in right away. Only after a few bites, do I set the crumbling sandwich down and snap a picture.
The sandwich tastes fine, but the meat and bread are too dry.
The mac and cheese tastes fine, but the sauce is way too runny and pools at the bottom of the paper tray.
Thankfully, the company is good.
We talk about the usual things: work, kids, the cost of housing, BYU football, business ideas. There are familiar faces and a few new ones.
As we finish and are milling about while soda cups are refilled, I talk to Tom—who had been sitting at the other end of the table—about an adventure he had been talking about earlier in the GC.
“Yeah, a few of us are going to try to walk 50 miles tonight. We’re starting in Lehi at 7 and plan on finishing up in Heber in the early afternoon.”
“That sounds awesome. Maybe I’ll meet you tonight once the kids are asleep and walk a couple miles with you. I’ll bring the dog.”
We all go our separate ways, until this evening.
Bam Bams BBQ is located at 1708 South State Street in Orem UT. My neighbor Mike’s location is confidential.