A Close Call at Barbecue Shrine

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Let us pause now and give thanks. A blaze in the 54-year-old pit at Louie Mueller Barbecue in downtown Taylor was contained before it could do any serious damage to this venerable institution — except to the pit, which was destroyed. According to the Taylor Daily Press, the cause was “the byproducts of cooking in the pit that just overheated and took off.”

In other words, spontaneous combustion.

The fire erupted the first time at 4:45 a.m. last Saturday. Firefighters put out the blaze with little difficulty. But it flared up again the next morning, while Taylor firefighters were busy with a house fire, so they had to get some help from the Thrall Volunteer Fire Department. The restaurant had to close for a few days but is now back in business.

According to the newspaper report, Wayne Mueller said the main brick pit — built in 1959 — is a total loss, but the restaurant has other pits to use while it rebuilds. The challenge is seasoning and curing the new brick pit, so that it continues to produce the succulent, fall-apart, don’t-need-a knife-barbecue for which Louie Mueller is famous.

I stopped in for lunch at Louie Mueller’s about a month ago on a Saturday morning, after finishing up an interview up the road in Circleville for a book project. It was just after 11 a.m., so I barely beat the lunch crowd. The folks have their priorities straight. First, you order meat. Lots of meat. The side dishes are an afterthought. I haven’t been here in a couple years, so I kept watching others to figure out how many slices of brisket to order. Four slices looked sufficient without being gluttonous. I added a jalapeño sausage link as dessert and sides of potato salad and barracho beans. By the time I paid my bill, which was about $9, the line snaked past the soda fountain and ice bin. I had to wheedle my way through to get a heaping glass of unsweet iced tea to wash down this feast.

Here’s a bit of haberdashery advice. Don’t wear your Sunday best to Louie Mueller’s, unless it’s headed to the dry cleaners the next day. Your clothes are going to smell like that now-deceased barbecue pit, even if you leave them outside for a week. In the rain, no less. No wonder that pit caught fire. It probably couldn’t stand itself any longer and self-immolated.

Winter — which consists in Central Texas of that all-too-brief time when it isn’t 100 degrees with a drought threatening the cotton and maize crops — is the best time to head to Louie Mueller’s. The wooden screen doors keep out the dumb flies that haven’t figured out where the gaps are between the frame and the door. Square, picnic-style tables make up most of the seating on the worn wooden floor. Large exhaust fans, like the ones seen in commercial poultry houses, are mounted above the doors to hopefully pull the smoke out of the air. The fans were silent the morning I was there, but no matter. A gentle rain had cooled things off, though it did nothing for the drought.

I searched in vain for a column I wrote 20 years ago about Louie Mueller’s, extolling its virtues. For years, it was taped to the wall near where I was seated. I tried to look inconspicuous as I wandered around, pretending to admire the photos of Darryl Royal and Willie, the many plaques won in barbecue contests, the framed tributes from other writers. My modest piece was gone. I always meant to frame one and send it to the restaurant but never did. Somebody probably needed a paper towel in a hurry and couldn’t find one.

Four slices of brisket plus one jalapeño sausage proved to be a perfect combination. As usual, the brisket was flawless, presented on white butcher paper, just a tiny ribbon of fat along one edge, juicy and smoky to the last bite. The sausage was exquisite, a guilty treat I only allow myself once every few years. I mopped up the plate with the last piece of white bread, belched as quietly as possible and waddled out the door.

It was time to head home.

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