12 BBQ Spots We’ll Never Go Back To, Plus 3 That Were Total Flavor Failures

BBQ joints promise smoky heaven but sometimes deliver charred disappointment.

My cross-country quest for perfect ribs and brisket has led to some truly spectacular fails.

From dry meat deserts to sauce swimming pools, these 15 BBQ spots left me with nothing but a bad taste and a lighter wallet.

1. Famous Dave’s Smoke-Free Disaster

My first visit to Famous Dave’s had me wondering if they’d forgotten to turn on the smoker. The ribs arrived looking suspiciously pale, like they’d never seen a lick of smoke in their life.

The meat clung desperately to the bone as if afraid of what might happen if it let go. When I finally wrestled a bite free, it tasted like it had been boiled, then painted with a sugary glaze as an afterthought.

Their cornbread was the sole survivor on my plate – a sweet, crumbly island in a sea of mediocrity. The waitress asked if I wanted a to-go box, and I nearly laughed. Why would I want to remember this disappointment tomorrow?

2. Sonny’s BBQ: The Sauce Swamp

Sonny’s BBQ seemed to operate under the philosophy that drowning meat in sauce hides all sins. My pulled pork sandwich arrived swimming in a sticky, ketchup-sweet lake that had turned the bun into a soggy mess before I even picked it up.

Fishing through the sauce swamp, I discovered the pork itself had about as much flavor as wet newspaper. Not a hint of smoke, spice, or that beautiful pork essence you expect from proper BBQ. The meat’s texture suggested it had been pulled apart by someone very angry at it.

The coleslaw tasted like it had been made last week, with a vinegary punch that made my eyes water. When the highlight of your BBQ meal is the paper towel roll on the table, you know you’ve made a terrible choice.

3. Dickey’s Barbecue Pit Of Despair

Walking into Dickey’s, the smell of liquid smoke hit me like a truck – never a promising sign for authentic BBQ. I ordered their brisket, expecting Texas-style perfection but received what looked like gray shoe leather doused in suspiciously bright sauce.

Each bite required Olympic-level jaw strength. The meat had clearly been sitting in a warming tray since the Bush administration, developing a texture similar to beef jerky that’s been left in a hot car.

Their mac and cheese tasted straight from a box, with a powdery aftertaste that no amount of sweet tea could wash away. My dining companion whispered, “Is this what they serve in prison?” I’m pretty sure inmates eat better.

4. Smokey Bones’ Flavorless Wasteland

My buddy swore Smokey Bones would change my BBQ life. He was right – just not in the way he intended. Their St. Louis ribs arrived with a beautiful bark that promised flavor but delivered nothing but sadness and betrayal.

Somehow, they’d managed to create ribs that looked perfect but tasted like they’d been smoked with unscented candles. The meat had the right texture but zero smoke penetration, as if the cook had simply waved the ribs in the general direction of the smoker.

The baked beans tasted straight from the can, and the potato salad had a concerning jelly-like consistency. When I mentioned my disappointment to the server, she shrugged and said, “Yeah, the microwave’s been acting up.” Wait, microwave?!

5. Tony Roma’s Rib Catastrophe

Tony Roma’s bills itself as famous for ribs, which makes about as much sense as being famous for breathing. Their baby backs arrived glistening with what I can only describe as ketchup mixed with corn syrup, sliding right off bones that looked suspiciously pre-cleaned.

The meat itself had that distinctive texture of being boiled before grilling – mushy yet somehow still tough. Each bite left a film of grease on my palate that no amount of their watered-down sweet tea could cut through.

Most insulting was the $26 price tag for what amounted to meat candy on sticks. The onion loaf side dish absorbed so much fryer oil it could have lubricated a car engine. My arteries filed a formal complaint before I even finished my meal.

6. Jim ‘N Nick’s Smoke And Mirrors

The complimentary cheese biscuits at Jim ‘N Nick’s created false hope. Those warm, cheesy puffs of heaven tricked me into believing greatness awaited. Then my sampler platter arrived – a sad array of meats that looked like they’d been prepared by someone who’d only seen BBQ in magazines.

The pulled chicken had the consistency of wet cotton balls. The sausage tasted like it had been injected with liquid salt. But the real heartbreaker was the brisket – sliced so thin you could read through it, yet somehow still chewy enough to give my jaw a workout.

Their famous white sauce had separated into an oily puddle that resembled something you’d drain from your car. When I asked the server about the lack of smoke flavor, he proudly announced, “We use liquid smoke – it’s cleaner!” Barbecue sacrilege at its finest.

7. RibCrib’s Meat Mirage

RibCrib’s name suggested rib expertise, but what I got was more like “RibFib.” Their signature ribs had a peculiar pink hue that wasn’t from smoke but rather from what I suspect was food coloring trying to imitate smoke ring.

The meat had that unmistakable texture of being cooked too fast at too high a temperature – tough on the outside, undercooked near the bone. Each bite required a tug-of-war that left sauce splattered across my shirt like a Jackson Pollock painting.

Their famous “Rib Rub” tasted primarily of salt and brown sugar, with perhaps a whispered rumor of paprika. The fries were so limp they couldn’t even stand up to the weak sauce. My dining companion summed it up perfectly: “This is what happens when someone learns BBQ from a frozen dinner.”

8. Moe’s Original BBQ’s Originality Crisis

Moe should be less original and more traditional if this Alabama-style BBQ joint is any indication. My pulled pork plate arrived with meat that had been shredded to within an inch of its life, creating a texture reminiscent of wet confetti.

The white sauce – supposedly a North Alabama specialty – tasted like someone had mixed mayonnaise with vinegar and called it a day. Not a hint of horseradish or spice to be found. Their cornbread had the density and moisture level of a brick, requiring dunking in water just to swallow.

Most puzzling were the banana pudding sides served with the meal rather than as dessert. Who starts a BBQ feast with lukewarm banana pudding? The whole experience felt like someone had read about BBQ in a foreign language, then had that description poorly translated back to English.

9. Shane’s Rib Shack’s Flavor Bankruptcy

Shane should be ashamed of what passes for BBQ at his rib shack. My half-rack arrived looking promising but delivered a flavor experience similar to licking a telephone pole – woody, vaguely chemical, with hints of disappointment.

The sauce had that distinctive high fructose corn syrup sweetness that coats your mouth like cheap candy. Beneath this sticky mask lurked ribs that had clearly been boiled, then briefly introduced to heat just long enough to apply sauce. The meat had that distinctive gray pallor of something that’s never seen actual smoke.

Their Brunswick stew side dish contained mysterious vegetable chunks floating in what tasted like diluted ketchup. When I asked what made their ribs special, the teenager behind the counter replied, “I dunno, they come in these bags we heat up.” At least they were honest about the microwaved mediocrity.

10. Red Hot & Blue’s Lukewarm & Bland Reality

Red Hot & Blue claims Memphis-style barbecue mastery, but what they served me would make Elvis weep. Their dry-rubbed ribs arrived with a coating of spices that seemed to have been applied approximately three seconds before serving – not a hint had penetrated the meat.

The ribs themselves had that distinctive pre-cooked, reheated quality that no amount of sauce could disguise. Speaking of sauce, their signature blues-themed offerings tasted like different ratios of corn syrup to liquid smoke, with occasional pepper flakes for “character.”

The mac and cheese side had formed a skin so thick you could bounce a quarter off it. When I asked for extra napkins, the server brought me one – singular – as if participating in a napkin conservation program. Perhaps they knew deep down that their food wasn’t worth cleaning up after.

11. Sticky Fingers’ Unsticky Disappointment

Ironically, nothing at Sticky Fingers was worth getting my fingers sticky for. Their Memphis Baby Back Ribs arrived looking like they’d been painted with a single coat of watery sauce, then forgotten about. The meat clung to the bone with the determination of a squatter refusing eviction.

Each bite tasted like it had been smoked next to a BBQ pit rather than in one – just close enough to pick up the vague suggestion of smoke. The sweet potato casserole side dish was an unholy concoction topped with what appeared to be crushed breakfast cereal.

The final insult came when I asked about their smoking process, and the manager proudly explained their state-of-the-art electric smoker with wood chip box. Not exactly the traditional pit I’d envisioned. My southern grandmother would have marched straight into their kitchen with a switch if she’d tasted this mockery of BBQ tradition.

12. Billy Sims BBQ’s Fumbled Flavors

Former football star Billy Sims should stick to sports commentary and leave BBQ to the pros. My three-meat platter looked promising until I took my first bite of brisket that had the moisture content of the Sahara and the flavor profile of cardboard.

The pulled pork had been chopped rather than pulled, creating tiny meat pebbles swimming in a sea of overly sweet sauce. Their hot links had that distinctive pre-packaged quality – uniform in shape and size, with an artificial smoke flavor that hit the back of your throat like cheap perfume.

The restaurant’s football-themed decor couldn’t distract from the fact that this BBQ was playing in the minor leagues. When I mentioned the dryness to my server, she cheerfully offered more sauce – as if drowning the evidence would solve the crime against BBQ that had been committed.

13. Boston Market’s Rib Impersonation

Boston Market should stick to rotisserie chicken and leave BBQ to the experts. Their “St. Louis Style Ribs” looked like they’d never been introduced to a smoker – or St. Louis, for that matter. The sauce had a disturbing shine that reminded me of furniture polish.

Biting into these ribs was like chewing on sweet ketchup-flavored leather. The meat had clearly been baked, not smoked, with that distinctive oven-dried texture that no amount of sauce could rehabilitate. Each bite required the jaw strength of a crocodile and left behind an artificial smoke flavor that lingered like an unwelcome houseguest.

Their cornbread was the only edible item – a sweet, cake-like distraction from the meat catastrophe. When I asked if these were really smoked, the cashier gave me a blank stare before admitting, “They come pre-cooked in bags we heat up.” At least truth in advertising still exists somewhere.

14. TGI Fridays’ BBQ Chicken Charade

TGI Fridays’ BBQ chicken arrived at my table looking like it had been dunked in a vat of suspiciously glossy sauce. The chicken itself had the distinctive texture of being microwaved after grilling – somehow both dry and soggy simultaneously, a culinary achievement I didn’t think possible.

The sauce tasted like someone had emptied a sugar canister into ketchup and called it BBQ. Not a hint of smoke, spice, or complexity to be found. Just sweet, sticky disappointment coating factory-farmed chicken that had been cooked to the consistency of old newspaper.

The accompanying fries were limp and lukewarm, as if they too had given up on this meal. When I mentioned to the server that this wasn’t real BBQ, she cheerfully replied, “Yeah, but it’s, like, our version of it!” Their version apparently involves skipping every step that makes BBQ special in the first place.

15. Applebee’s Riblet Ridiculousness

Applebee’s riblets aren’t actually ribs at all – a fact I discovered after ordering their “famous” riblet basket. What arrived were thin strips of meat-adjacent material coated in a sauce that tasted like it was formulated in a lab to appeal to people who hate actual BBQ.

The meat itself had a processed quality, with a uniform shape suggesting it had been extruded rather than cut from an animal. Each bite left an artificial smoke flavor and a sweetness that lingered unpleasantly. The texture was simultaneously mushy and tough – a paradox wrapped in bad sauce.

When I asked the server what part of the pig riblets come from, she confidently informed me they were “the little ribs under the big ribs.” Anatomically creative, but completely fictional. These meat strips had as much in common with real BBQ as a plastic plant has with a redwood.