Growing up in Texas, barbecue isn't just something you eat, it's part of who you are. I've spent a…read morelifetime standing in line at legendary smokehouses, watching pitmasters tend post oak fires through the night, and judging brisket by its bark before I ever take the first bite. So, I'll admit, I approached a barbecue restaurant north of the Mason-Dixon Line with equal parts curiosity and skepticism.
What first caught my eye at Wildwood Barbeque was the stack of firewood out back. That always gets a Texan's attention. I never spotted a traditional offset smoker, though. Walking through the front door, I picked up the unmistakable aroma of hickory, and maybe a touch of apple smoke, which immediately put my senses on high alert. A glance toward the kitchen revealed one of those modern hybrid smoker ovens. Purists may debate them, but at the end of the day the food is what matters.
One look at the menu made it clear Wildwood isn't trying to be a bare-bones barbecue joint. It's a full-fledged Southern restaurant serving burgers, po'boys, salads, sandwiches, Cajun favorites, comfort food, and smoked meats. Before I even ordered, though, my eyes wandered to the dessert case where the cake slices looked big enough to have their own ZIP code. Around Texas, we'd simply say they're as big as a county.
I kicked things off with an order of burnt ends before settling on the sweet tea-brined smoked chicken. The burnt ends arrived carrying a wonderful kiss of hardwood smoke and what tasted like a light coating of barbecue sauce. They were cut into small cubes, and while several pieces were tender and flavorful, others received too much time in the pit.
The smoked chicken, however, was the star of the meal. Every bite carried the subtle sweetness of the tea brine, balanced by a well-seasoned rub that finished with just enough spice to keep things interesting. It was juicy, smoky, and thoughtfully prepared.
The lone disappointment was the potato salad. As someone who's eaten just about every version served from Texas smokehouses, from mustard-based Hill Country recipes to creamy East Texas family traditions, I honestly couldn't figure out what this one was trying to be. It lacked the character and comforting simplicity that make potato salad the perfect barbecue side.
Wildwood may not transport you to Lockhart, Lexington, or Taylor, but it doesn't have to. It carves out its own identity by blending Southern cooking with smoked meats, and the chicken alone is worth coming back for. Just save room for one of those Texas-sized slices of cake.
