Well, okay, technically this meal took place on Tuesday, my Night of Shame this week, and therefore does not merit a Saturday review. But today we ate leftover steak taco filling with scrambled eggs (I told you!) and then had lunch/dinner at Tijuana Flats. For my non-Floridian friends, TF is a bit like the Bennigan's of Mexican food--a few half-steps up from Taco Bell, but nothing to write home (or a blog) about. So let's just pretend it was tacos on Tuesday and Hickory Hollow today. Fine? Fine.
Hickory Hollow is located, like most stellar 'cue joints, in a foodie's No Man's Land: Ellenton, FL, across the street from an outlet mall and a few doors down from a Wendy's, an Applebee's, and a Hungry Howie's. There is no reason to go there, ever. Still, the Hollow never has less than a half-hour wait, even on weeknights, so you know they're good.
The Hollow offers Texas-style 'cue, but I've never bothered with it. The number of protein choices alone would make Gordon Ramsay apoplectic, and there are so many fresh-made sides that they have a separate menu for them--a wooden, pig-shaped menu, I might add, with the selection Velcro-ed on in little laminated strips. Classy. (1)
The tackiness of the Hollow is part of its charm, sure, but it also makes it easy to concentrate on your food instead. I've heard the smoked catfish, fresh ham, and brisket are good, but I've never been able to tear myself away from the pulled pork long enough to care. They have ribs and shrimp and sausage, too, but again--don't care. The pulled pork is PERFECT: tender and juicy, kissed with a spicy Carolina vinegar sauce, arriving on a plastic plate and pretending to be a sandwich. There's a bun there, sure--and it's a good one, buttered and grilled--but you can barely see it under the glossy meat. And you don't even have to ask for their slightly creamy, mostly vinegary slaw, because it's already there.
It's hard to choose 2 sides from the Pig Board--unless you're me. Their fried okra is about the best I've ever had, crisp and flavorful outside, full of crunchy okra whose seeds still pop between my teeth, and their sugar snaps swim happily in melted butter, bursting with tiny peas. Dorian swoons over their black-eyed peas, but I'm weirded out by their slightly minty flavor; he also reliably chooses the summer squash, which hides under some seriously sharp melted Cheddar.
Best of all, the Hollow offers corn fritters--ENORMOUS (baseball-sized) corn fritters, 4 for $2, a little extra if you want them dusted with powdered sugar. (2) You will not have room in your stomach for a fritter after you house your pork sandwich...so eat it first.
If there is any room at all left in your belly, or if, like me, you have a medical condition that requires you to eat dessert (3), go ahead and order that fruit cobbler you've been eyeing up at the other guy's table. They talk up their bread pudding, but it is the Stephen Baldwin to the cobbler's Alec: the latter is not only better looking, but far more talented. They change up the fruit several times a year to pretend that Florida has seasons, but it matters not what's under that flaky, sugar-studded crust: it's all eye-rollingly good. Get it or regret it.
Unless they have strawberry shortcake. Real berries, sliced and simply macerated in a tiny bit of sugar, spooned over a fresh, hot, VERY short cake that rivals the cobbler topping, nearly buried under a pile of homemade whipped cream: this is the dessert that dreams are made of. You can keep your chocolate. I want the shortcake from Hickory Hollow.
Really, though, I want everything from Hickory Hollow, and I want it all for under $30. Unless I also indulge in a beer from their prodigious selection (over 100 bottled brews--again, separate menu), I can make that happen. But remember to bring cash: they refuse all credit cards or personal checks, and their ATM charges like forty dollars in convenience fees.
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(1) The Pig Board is a good vignette of Hickory Hollow's decor; outside, it looks like any road-side 'cue shack, complete with a live goat and friendly turkeys, but inside...dear god. Chairs clad in a vivid turquoise vinyl, hideous pine paneling, strands of plastic flowers, tulle butterflies, and tiny white Christmas lights: horrors. Periodically, the butterflies give way to snowmen and ornaments, hearts and Cupids, or shamrocks and leprechauns, as the holiday calendar dictates.
(2) You do. You really, really do.
(3) It's called gluttony; look it up on WebMD.
Oh, you and Dorian should go out with Jeremy and I to Ceviche in either S. Tampa or St. Pete, and then you can review it. As one related to dozens of authentic Spaniards, I can tell you it is the best Spanish tapas in FL. I promise. I go there way more often than I care to admit in public.
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