"You’ll probably smell David Carter’s barbecue joint well before you see it; while the signage is discreet, the tang of smoke meets you halfway up the street. Behind two heavy, metal-riveted doors, it’s a temple to certain ideas of masculinity and to meat—all concrete walls, steel paneling, and rough-planked tables and banquettes (subtext: real men don’t need cushions). The meat comes in many forms here: 15-hour smoked brisket, superb pastrami, and generous portions of ribs." - Elizabeth Winding, Sonya Barber
Courtesy Smokestak