The Best Barbecue in the United States

This Pearland outpost of a Houston barbecue mini-empire started small in Acres Homes and picked up an Anthony Bourdain nod on the way to four locations. It's a casual counter-service joint where the baked potato can weigh ten pounds and feed fifteen, which is less a side dish than a group project. Ribs, links, and chicken round out the plates, and you can also buy the stuff at Kroger, in case a drive feels like too much.

Anthony Bourdain ate here, which tells you more than a star ever could. Burns Original BBQ is an old-school Houston institution serving smoked ribs, links, chicken, and sides in portions sized for people who skipped lunch and possibly breakfast. The 10-pound baked potato feeds 15, which is either absurd or inspired depending on your group. Multiple locations around the city, and somehow you can also grab it at Kroger.

This barbecue joint grew out of a small operation in Acres Homes and now has several locations, this Katy one included. Anthony Bourdain gave it his approval, and the menu is built for groups, with a baked potato the size of a toddler that feeds fifteen and a rib-and-link special named for the Astros. Chicken is there for anyone dodging red meat, and Kroger sells the stuff too, in case a drive feels like too much commitment.

Memphis barbecue leans on the dry rub and long hickory-and-pecan smoke times rather than the sauce-forward styles that get more press elsewhere, and Central BBQ is where you go to understand why that matters. It's a lively, counter-order barbecue joint with four locations around town; the owner tends to post up at this Poplar Avenue spot, handing out plates of smoked meat like a man who never tires of the job. The smoked chicken wings are the sleeper move.

Cryin' Coyote is a casual Cave Creek smokehouse that took over from a longtime local barbecue joint, and the ribs are the order, with good char and fat rendered down to something rich. The sides lean Southwest, so a chile relleno-style rice casserole fills in for the mac and cheese. Save room for the Texas sheet cake, which sneaks in cinnamon and ginger, a small act of rebellion in a state that takes its brisket seriously.

This is a casino-adjacent barbecue counter where the menu is ribs and chicken and nothing is trying to be anything else. The ribs come tender but still holding together, glazed in a sticky root beer sauce with a little char. A half-rack with half a chicken runs $17.99 if you sign up for the free player's card, which counts as the closest thing to gambling here. The sides are fine. The housemade root beer is thick and creamy.

The general store shelves stocked with local goods are the first thing you notice, and then the smell hits you. Henderson & Kane is a barbecue joint embedded inside a working grocery, slinging peppery brisket, smoked boudin, pulled pork, and ribs alongside Frito pie and loaded potatoes. The Pitmaster Plate exists for the indecisive, which in a lineup this long describes most people. Cash-and-tray Texas barbecue, done in a room full of surprises.

Hongdae 33 is an all-you-can-eat Korean barbecue spot in a Bellaire Boulevard strip center, where $36 buys a tabletop gas grill and a 90-minute clock. You cook the brisket, pork jowl, and baby octopus yourself, so the work is shared and the smoke follows you home. Kimchi and pancakes arrive free, while soju costs extra. It stays busy late, with groups racing the timer between flips.

This is a Korean barbecue spot on West Sahara, part of a small local chain, where a tabletop grill is the main event and you're the line cook. After 10 p.m. there's an all-you-can-eat run until 3 a.m. at a price that feels like a clerical error. The bibimbap tends to arrive as a side and quietly become the meal. It's loud, smoky, and full of people who skipped the casino buffet on purpose.

Hickory smoke has been drifting off this Lexington-style barbecue shop long enough that the drive-thru feels like a recent innovation, which it more or less is. Chopped barbecue and fried chicken are the main event, but the crispy pork skins sell out early and reward the punctual. Greek-style green beans turn up on a menu that could easily ignore them, and don't. Cash in, order heavy, and don't count on the pork skins if you're rolling in at noon.

Dim sum without the trolleys or the tea, served out of a red tent at the Maui Sunday Market and the Maika'i Market on weekdays. Only Ono is a to-go dim sum and BBQ counter from a chef whose roast pork has no business being this good outside of Hong Kong. Pre-ordering is less a suggestion than a survival strategy; the line fills fast. Save a pineapple bun for breakfast the next morning and you'll feel very clever about it.

A chalkboard behind the counter maps exactly which farm each cut of meat came from, which tells you most of what you need to know about this counter-service BBQ shop tucked inside a Corte Madera mall. The ribs arrive with an obsidian crust and pink flesh underneath, the pulled pork is rich and salty, and a lineup of ten house condiments covers everything from Alabama white sauce to chow chow relish. It holds a Michelin Bib Gourmand, suburban strip mall and all.

The banana pudding has its own billing, which tells you something about the confidence level at this old-school Houston barbecue joint. Brisket shows up in everything from enchiladas to queso to mac and cheese, which is either inspired or a hint that someone really, really loves brisket. The room has been around forever, passed through several hands, and still draws the kind of crowd that doesn't need to see a menu.

The sauce arrives on the side at this Houston barbecue joint, which tells you something about the confidence in the pit. Brisket, jalapeño cheddar sausage, and smoked turkey anchor the menu, but a "Something Different" section runs brisket mac and cheese and loaded fries that could pass for a full meal. The rotating sandwich specials are worth checking before you order anything else, especially the pastrami Reuben.

This is an all-you-can-eat barbecue joint on Spring Mountain Road that keeps late-night pub hours and a soft spot for the '80s, complete with live music. You grill brisket, pork belly, and teriyaki chicken at the table, then alternate with kimchi fried rice and tteokbokki. Drinks arrive in shareable pitchers of blueberry lemon drop and pina colada, so nobody here is pretending to be on a diet. Prices stay friendly.

SMKD is a casual Henderson barbecue joint whose name is an anagram, a bit of wordplay that tells you the owners also like puzzles. You order at a plate-and-sides counter, and the meat runs from brisket and burnt ends to smoked pastrami, with a barbecue head of cauliflower for the vegetarian at the table. The sides lean ambitious, potato kugel and sweet potato hush puppies included, so wear something forgiving.

Sweet Magnolia is a counter-service barbecue spot in an Ahwatukee strip mall, and the smoke announces it from the parking lot before you've found the door. It cooks Mississippi-style, so the sauce runs sweet and pork gets its due in a Valley otherwise devoted to Texas brisket. It started as a food truck, which explains the order-at-the-counter, grab-a-tray ease, and the mac and cheese is a side that behaves like a main.

The Thumb is a north Scottsdale gas station where you pump gas outside and order brisket by the platter inside, under a chandelier that looks lost. Counter service, cash-register prices, and a gift shop and coffee bar to browse while your number comes up. The beans are so meaty they flirt with chili. Phoenix New Times has named it one of the Valley's top barbecue spots, which is a sentence about a place with a fish tank.

Wild Barbecue is a counter-service Texas smokehouse near ASU, run by two Jordanian brothers who picked up the craft in Dallas and then slipped their own history onto the tray. Beef ribs and brisket are there if you want to stay in your lane. The tandoori turkey, lamb chops, and Mediterranean rice suggest you shouldn't. It started as a food truck, and the Phoenix New Times put it on its list of the Valley's top smokehouses.

Word of Mouth Grill is a counter-service barbecue joint in a Tempe strip mall, smoking its meats over mesquite and offering eight housemade sauces ranging from sweet honey to habanero, which is more sauce decisions than most people want to make while hungry. Brisket and pulled pork come by the pound, on a combo plate, or in a brioche bun, and the rib tips are the crisp, craggy move. Order the four-cheese mac and grab napkins.

The pork hits the grill frozen, just as it would in Seoul, and that detail tells you everything about where K Team's priorities lie. This is a Korean barbecue restaurant on Vermont with a pork-forward menu, thick collar and belly cuts caramelizing over tallow-slicked grates. The beef tongue curls beautifully too, and the pollack roe paste alongside is the move. Named to Eater's 38 best restaurants in Los Angeles.

The Fattened Caf is a casual counter-order spot that happens to be St. Louis's only Filipino barbecue joint, which means a pitmaster and a Filipina chef got married and the rest of us got smoked chicken rubbed with burnt coconut. The pork steak, a local obsession, comes marinated in Filipino spices over java rice. Grab a rattan couch up front and share the room with strangers, or bring a crew to the big tables in back.

A whole leg of jamón ibérico mounted on a carving stand anchors the room, which tells you most of what you need to know. This is Jose Andres's live-fire steak counter inside Mercado Little Spain at Hudson Yards, built around a wood-burning Basque-style grill. The steaks are the point, though the carnivorous atmosphere is half the meal. Somehow it also manages to be family-friendly without feeling like a concession, which in Manhattan is its own quiet trick.

A Turkish American tech worker turned pitmaster drives an hour a day just to source the right bread for his chopped beef sandwiches, which tells you everything about the commitment level here. This is a Texas-style BBQ beer bar in Fremont where the brisket, salt-and-pepper only, runs through the smoker for upward of twelve hours and comes out glossy and dark-edged. The sweet pickles in the potato salad are made in-house purely to be an ingredient, not a garnish.

A dry-aged rib-eye on a tabletop grill is a good start, but Seoul Prime is doing considerably more than that. This Korean barbecue steakhouse in Falls Church layers fine-dining ambition onto the tableside format, with a kimchi vinaigrette on burrata and a croissant pressed in a waffle iron for dessert. The beef tours give the meal a shape; the à la carte menu lets you freelance. Dressy enough to feel like a night out, smoky enough to remind you it's still barbecue.

The pitmaster works the smoker outside and greets the sidewalk with a Polish sausage in his tongs and "We ain't playing, Jack." This small barbecue spot with food-truck roots in northwest Kansas City keeps the turkey leg as its centerpiece, dark meat staying moist under taut, browned skin. The turkey leg stuffed with mac and cheese makes the menu very on-brand. The New York Times put it on their 2025 Restaurant List, which feels about right for a place this committed to one idea.

Counter service Hawaiian barbecue tucked into the shipping container courtyard at the Churchill, just off Roosevelt Row. The move is a mixed plate piled with kalbi short ribs, kalua pork, and teriyaki chicken, everything sitting on rice with a scoop of mac salad alongside. It's the kind of meal that's better shared, partly for variety and partly because the portions don't encourage restraint. Phoenix New Times named it the city's top Hawaiian restaurant in 2025.

The rotating sausage of the week pulls from global flavor traditions, which is either a bold move or a perfectly normal Tuesday at this RiNo barbecue spot. Brisket and pulled pork anchor the menu, but jackfruit and mushrooms hold their own alongside smoked confit duck, so vegetarians aren't left staring at sides. The D&D-themed name prepares you for the crowd, in the best possible, genuinely unsurprising way.

The dry-rubbed brisket here comes out with a coffee-dark bark and a pink smoke ring earned over post oak and hickory, the way Texas pitmasters do it. Wayne's is a casual BBQ shack in Superior that regulars mourned loudly when a 2021 wildfire took out most of the kitchen. It came back in 2023, candied pork belly and St. Louis ribs and all. Bring your own patience and a decent appetite; the sauces are housemade, but the brisket doesn't need them.