Flints on San Pablo Avenue is opening June 1st & chicken ecstasy
This was going to be my only short post. I planned just doing EOM. Ive been to Flints a couple of times over the past couple of weeks and everything that needs to be said, has been.
Then I had the chicken tonight.
If theres one thing Ive learned about BBQ on Chowhound, it is that it is inconsistent. Todays juicy perfect ribs can be incinerated and dry tomorrow. Dr. Biggles has the dream of spending a day at a BBQ and sampling the Q every two hours to see how and if it changes.
So the disclaimer is that you might not get this chicken if you go tomorrow. I may never eat so perfect a BBQd bird for the rest of my life. But Ill always have this memory and all other chickens will have this one to measure up to. If I go to Flints again and they duplicate this miracle, I may rent out an apartment next door.
The skin was a beautiful mahogany with flecks of black. The meat was all smoke ring, the prettiest shades of pink I have ever seen down to the bone. Even the bone had touches of pink.
And heres the miracle, the meat was juicy and moist. I cant say it better, so Im putting a quote from a report Jim did on a trip to Flints long ago. Sorry, but I just cant say it any better its that business about the perfect union of smoke and meat. Up to this point, that wasnt happening with the other meats. Today I understand.
Maybe they have the smoke down right now. Even the beans had a nice smoky note that I didnt notice on previous visits.
The chicken was too good to put any sauce on it. It would have been a sin.
Ive tried all three sauces and my favorite is the medium. It has the best balance of the uniqueness of Flints, IMO.
Anyway, most people dont follow links and scroll down, and since I dont have to worry about copywright problems about quoting something on Chowhound from Chowhound, heres what Jim had to say on one trip. Hope you dont mind Jim. I just really thought it captured Flints.
Flint's was born again for the third time about a month ago. The recipes and Berkeley location remain the same. One of the other sons is running the re-opened Flint's.
Jim Leff on Flint's (circa 2000)
I had my first taste of great barbecue at Flints in Emeryville, California (one of several East Bay branches) in 1989. There's a palpable magic about serious food landmarks, and Flints was no exception: the scene inside appeared extra sharp and 3-D, as if you were looking through a Viewmaster. And the chow exceeded all expectations; their 'cue was a revelation to someone whose prior rib experience came mostly from Tony Roma's. My boat was floated, but I never managed to return for a second bite.
Since then, I've visited the standouts in Texas, Memphis, Kansas City, and the Carolinas and Deep South, but Flints continued to hold its own in my memory. With experience, I came to realize that their's was a hybrid version, with Texas-style meat (good cuts long-smoked, with an emphasis on beef and sausage, cooked without seasoning) and Deep South-style sauce (rich, thick, sweetish from molasses -- but not at all cloying -- and generously slathered).
A few years ago, all the Flints branches closed. Their Berkeley storefront was never re-rented; it remained a depressing vestige of past glory. The "coming soon!" sign they left behind was an extra sadistic touch, a dagger through the heart for those of us who'd loved it. But this sign, cursorily nailed to a heavily chained door, also offered a tantalizing absence of closure, the same sort of infinitesimal ray of hope against all odds that had kept so many of us going with Quisp.
Early last year, I surveyed the surviving East Bay barbecue hot spots (see my Chowhound special report), several of which claimed spiritual links to Flints, but failed to find grandeur. I started to question my faith; perhaps, as it was my first-ever taste of good 'cue, I had inflated Flints in my memory to greatness.
Well, it wasn't by any means "soon", but the sign hadn't completely lied after all. They did come back. On December 17, 1999, the Berkeley Flints resurrected, Phoenix-like, from its own aromatic ashes, and when I stopped by a few days after New Year's both the counterwoman and the meat itself proudly declared that the original people are in charge. It's every bit as great as I remember, and I use the word "great" without hesitation; this place ranks among the top tier of American barbecue. Their smoking technique is still a wondrous thing; Flints manages what only the very greatest pits achieve: a seamless unity of smoke and meat. You can't mentally separate the two; the meat doesn't taste "smoky" any more than a great Bordeaux tastes "grapey".
Their sauce remains an enigmatic marvel. Its burntish bitter tang and rich dark-flavored complexity make for an almost chocolaty quality, but meat flavor shines through with pristine clarity, a pretty impressive trick. Links are still coarse-grained and luxuriously flavorful, and pork ribs are somehow both crunchy and tender. But the sliced brisket is even better -- butter tender, and its soft, fat flavor undulates in your mouth. Such is the power of a zillion minuscule touches brilliantly applied by a masterful hand.
The original link
Yowsah yowsah! So where did you get this chicken if the SP branch isn't open (or did I miss something as usual?) At the Berkeley shop on Shattuck? I thought I saw it open last weekend.
Fond memories of the SP Flints. We used to live around the corner and ate there far more than we should have years ago.
Yep, Berkeley on Shattuck across the street from Nomad Cafe.
The East Bay Express reviewed Flint's recently and the exact address and phone are in the review. Flint's has a flyer with the menu and hours.
However, like the review says, the hours are merely a suggestion. I've been there on Sunday when they were supposed to be open and no one was there. Call before you go unless it is prime-time like a Friday or Saturday night.
re: Robert Lauriston
That's what the young woman taking my order said when I asked her what "Under New Management" meant. I assume that a different family member may be running the joint.
Actually I had to ask this question three times. I didn't see anyone with long red nails, but at the time I asked the question, there was some loud hatchet action going on and everytime the lady got to the phrase 'other sons' there would be a loud 'hack, hack, hack'. So, given I was annoying enough at this point, I didn't ask "and which son is that?' Ya'll report back if you find out.