Smoke & Mires

REVIEW: Back Bay Barbeque & Grill

by Adam Erace

Three-and-a-half miles through marsh and bay, the road from Longport to Somers Point runs. Tall grass and short boats fringe the narrow causeway as it crests into a bridge, hovering over heron sanctuaries like a concrete graybow, casting shadows on the leatherback turtles and leather-faced clammers below. Water, water everywhere — but smoked meats thrive here, too. "Can't Miss Bar-B-Que," proclaims a sign in ketchup-red letters, just off the side of the road.

The braggadocio looks like the work of the Chick-Fil-A cow, but its rightful authors are Len and John Dagit. The Berwyn-bred brothers own Back Bay Barbeque & Grill, located just a flash ahead on the finger of land known as Anchorage Poynte. The air around here usually smells like salt and fish, but the atmosphere above Back Bay's lot is thick with apple and cherrywood perfume, billowing from three smokers situated under a pop-up tent lined with locals.

On the nearby stone patio, mismatched lawn chairs surround tables furnished with rolls of Bounty, prepackaged plastic flatware, Citronella candles and the kind of fancy foil-wrapped potted petunias Washington Avenue hawkers sell on Easter. I ordered one of everything from a boy no more than 15, who rebuffed my requests for pulled pork and Texas sausage. It was around 6 p.m., and Back Bay had been open since 11. Their Carolina-style 'cue goes fast around these parts, and once you taste these articles of the confederacy, you won't be surprised why.

Smoked three hours then slow-roasted an additional 12, the brisket brought a mix of crunchy burnt ends, tender rags and fatty lace. It arrived piled high on a kaiser from AC's famous Formica Bros. Bakery, sopping with a sassy triple-apple (juice, sauce and cider vinegar) sauce — though a squirt of Back Bay's ketchup-based, vanilla- and-chili-injected barbecue sauce certainly didn't hurt.

The 20-spice-rubbed chicken, on the other hand, needed the extra moisture. It came off the smoker a smidge dry, but once sauced as a Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce exec, the bird was the word, served in quarters alongside a half-rack of ribs in one featured combo. Rubbed the night before and cooked that morning, the baby-backs bore a blackish, brackish bark, the calling card of proper barbecue; beneath, the pork was so soft and supple, the bones slid out like dowels from a wedding cake.

All meats can be made into a two-sides-and-a-soda platter for an additional $4. Might I recommend the chunky potato salad, crunchy with celery, easy-on-the-mayo coleslaw and sweet, all-day-smoked baked beans? Another reason to get to Back Bay early: The Dagits use canned Bush's when their homemade batch starts running low. (Don't tell Duke.)

In a few weeks, Back Bay will turn its adjacent shed into a sit-down affair, adding seafood platters to its barbecue bag. For now, you can sit in there, but why? The indoor seats don't boast views like the Belle Miracle Ann, a genuine circa-1925 New Orleans riverboat the Dagits restored last year and docked in Back Bay's lagoon.

Pulling out of the crushed shell-lined lot, you'll find another sign on the opposite side of the road. "Thank you. Come again," reads the message, written in the same red scrawl. Whether you read it with a Kwik-E-Mart lilt or Southern drawl, know it's legit: You will come again. Multiple times.

(adam.erace@citypaper.net)