Fat, but not phat

Yeah, I know no one says "phat" anymore. I guess that makes me old school. Which no one says.

OK, oh-for-two. Let's make it a hat trick.

See, I love barbecue. So when my parents came to visit for a semi-special occasion, we sought out some 'que. Smoque, a tried-and-loved favorite in Irving Park, was an obvious choice. The problem was, it was the obvious choice for the rest of Chicago as well. A line out to the sidewalk and two hungry parents meant we needed to go elsewhere.

"Elsewhere" turned out to be Fat Willy's, near Western and Diversey. I think they have fine brisket. They were out of brisket. They also made us wait for service (after being seated) for 20 minutes, served us chewy ribs, dry sandwich meat and gave my dad lip for suggesting that maybe onions had been included on his sandwich when he requested they not be.

The barbecue was as blurry as the sign.

Dissing my pops is really the last thing you want to do if you're a barbecue restaurant without good barbecue.

I doubt I'll be making a return trip. If you want good 'que, buy some great meat and do it yourself, or head over to Honey 1, which has never steered me wrong.