Being a Grandson of the Southland, I love barbecue joints. Notice, I did not say “barbecue restaurants.” In this corner of the world, establishments that serve barbecue are not “restaurants.” They are “joints.” I always preferred the small, hole in the wall places, usually located in rural settings and small towns. This is where you will find the best barbecue. The franchise chain places are not “joints.” These are “restaurants” and they usually serve alcohol. Serving alcohol of any kind in a barbecue place is just plain wrong. In my humble opinion, the strongest thing a barbecue place should serve is the house wine of the South. If you don’t know what the house wine of the South is, I suggest you watch the movie Steel Magnolias.
Barbecue joints usually have great names, too. Aside from the ones bearing the family name, such as Sprayberry’s, Harold’s, Pippin’s, Dave Poe’s and Melear’s, there are also the ones that usually involve a pig somehow, although Fresh Air in Jackson stands above all. There’s The Blind Pig, The Flying Pig, The Speedi-Pig and The Oink Joint, which is my personal favorite as far as names. I saw a sign for a place in Anderson, S.C. called The Pompous Pig. The signs for these places usually depict happy pigs in chef’s attire. I always wondered if the pigs knew what went on inside of the place if they would be so happy or pompous. But, that’s beside the point.
And then there is the Old Hickory House. The Old Hickory House was a chain of barbecue places that at one point in time consisted of about twenty locations in three southern states. The first one I remember was on Candler Road. The restaurants closed one by one until finally there was only one left. That location is in Tucker, Ga., off of Lavista Road on Northlake Parkway. And it is not only still standing, it is thriving.
The Old Hickory House was part of an office complex known as The Northlake Quadrangle, named so because of its geometric design around a large open courtyard. I worked in a satellite office for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution through the 1980s. Our office was on the same level as the Old Hickory House about six or eight doors down. We ate there quite often, not only because of the convenience but also because the food was great. A group of women from the office went down to the restaurant for lunch one day. There was a young lady from New York named Diane with them. She ordered a “wee-nuh.” The server didn’t understand her. The lead lady behind the counter came to the table. Diane told her she wanted a “wee-nuh.” These two southern ladies had no idea what a “wee-nuh” was, until someone in the group translated that she wanted a hot dog.
One morning in 1982, I was in the shower getting ready for work when my wife stuck her head in the bathroom and said, “The Old Hickory House burned down.” “What?” I asked. “What do you mean it burned down?” “I mean it burned down. It’s all over the news.” I jumped out of the shower, ran into the bedroom and sure enough, there on our little black and white TV were the smoldering remains of the Old Hickory House. I couldn’t believe it. We lived in Tucker at the time and when I pulled into the parking lot about thirty minutes later, the fire trucks and police cars were still there. Because of the firewalls incorporated into the design of the complex, the fire was contained to the restaurant, although there was significant water damage to a few of the offices below due to the sprinklers and the fire engines. They rebuilt the restaurant, quite quickly as I recall, and when they were finished you never would have know that the place had been destroyed.
The Old Hickory House’s Brunswick stew is the stuff of legend and to die for. It is the best Brunswick stew I have ever eaten outside of my Uncle Jim’s. Around a year or so ago, a dear friend’s mom passed away and her service was in Duluth. As everyone knows, when someone in the South passes, you bring food. Jackie said, “Why don’t we stop at the Old Hickory House, pick up some Brunswick stew and take that?” When we pulled in, the parking lot was full. I walked in and the place was packed. I placed my order at the take-out counter and looked around. The restaurant looked exactly the same as it had thirty years earlier.
Like the Old Hickory House chain, the businesses in The Quadrangle began to close. Eventually the complex was empty and derelict. The only thing left that was still open was the Old Hickory House. One morning recently I was heading to work up I-285 when suddenly my fuel alarm went off. I was lost in thought and had forgotten that I needed to gas up before leaving Conyers. I was right at Lavista Road, so I got off, pulled into the Chevron station and filled up. When I left, I took a left on Northlake Parkway to get back on the expressway. I looked over to the left and almost ran off the road. The Quadrangle was gone. Leveled. Flattened. The only thing left standing was the Old Hickory House. I couldn’t believe it and rode back by on the way home that evening. Sure enough, the Old Hickory House stood proud, a lone soldier in a pile of rubble. Cars were parked outside of it and there was a sign at the road announcing that the Old Hickory House was still open during construction and that they had a great breakfast. I’ve lived a long time and seen a lot of things, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen an instance where an entire complex is torn down save for one business and a new complex built around it. Thank goodness it was the Old Hickory House.
A month or so before The Quadrangle was demolished, we met our friends Jesse and Julie for dinner at the Old Hickory House. It was very nostalgic and the food was still great. I had the ribs, Jackie and Julie had the chicken plate and Jesse had country fried steak. There were pictures of Burt Reynolds, Jackie Gleason and the black Trans-Am in the main dining area. The bus stop scene in Smokey And The Bandit was filmed at the Old Hickory House in Forest Park. That restaurant is long gone, but the scene is part of Old Hickory House history. As we were leaving, I saw a special on a chalkboard that made me laugh out loud. It was a Diablo sandwich and a Dr. Pepper. I thought about going back inside and getting one to go. I didn’t. I wish now I would have. Oh well, at least I have an excuse to go back. Like I really need one.