When George Marsh, the former head chef and butcher at Parts & Labor, decided to open a restaurant, a barbecue joint seemed like the natural choice. Marsh remembers that when he smoked the meat outside the now-closed Remington restaurant, passersby would frequently call out to him from their cars. “People were constantly yelling out of their windows, ‘When is the barbecue going to be ready?’” says Marsh. “People respond to the smell of smoke. There’s just something about it—they can’t help themselves.”

Where’s there’s smoke, there’s barbecue. And, in this case, it’s coming from Heritage Smokehouse. On a November evening, my dining companions and I followed the smell of smoke to the restaurant that glows in Govans like a beacon along York Road.

Heritage feels very much like a Baltimore version of a classic barbecue joint, which is to say charmingly quirky. Marsh, a midcentury modern fan, modeled it after his own 1950s Lake Walker basement. With walls and booths fashioned from knotty pine and various pieces of taxidermy and photos of musicians (James Brown to Madonna to Dolly Parton) on the walls, the décor channels a Wes Anderson vibe.

And the tiki-forward drinks menu makes the whole experience—from eating with your hands to umbrellas poking out of the drinks—feel festive and eclectic.

Diners place their order at the bar and a runner brings the food to the table. We settled on the Ron Swanson (a nod to the carnivore-loving, “You had me at Meat Tornado” character on Parks and Recreation), and a sort of greatest hits of Heritage—pork spareribs, Käsekrainer, chicken leg and thigh, pork belly, and trout.

Within no time, the heaping platter of protein arrived. As we taste-tested our way through the goods, dipping each one into a variety of sauces, from molasses to mayo-based Alabama White Lightening, we debated the merits of our favorite. Was it the delicate and flavorful smoked trout with a dollop of sour-cream-potato dill sauce? The snappy Käsekrainer Austrian sausage flecked with chunks of cheddar and accompanied by a dab of stone-ground mustard for dipping? Or the butter-tender ribs slathered with a rub of mustard, coriander, cumin, fennel, and other spices, featuring a proper “smoke ring” under the bark of the meat? (We agreed to disagree, but each of us had our favorite.)

We also ordered several sides, including collard greens and smoky green chili pinto beans, but it was the mac-and-cheese, with its oversized elbow noodles, plus a honey dinner roll, which was delivered to our table by accident, that stole the sides show.

Barbecue boss Marsh—who came up with the name “Heritage” to avoid limiting himself to one style of barbecue, be it Texas or Tennessee—is at the top of his craft here. The meats are smoked out back in one of three smokers (ironically, toward the back of the building and adjacent to a dispensary—“they don’t care about all the smoke,” cracks Marsh). Most of the meat is cooked low and slow to allow the smoke to infuse and permeate the meat.

To avoid disappointment, check the menu, updated daily, before you go. In addition to smoked platters, there are composed plates such as stuffed cabbage, chicken and sausage gumbo, and perogies. Plans are in the works to soon smoke heirloom vegetables and seafood, as well.

The signature must-have brisket is available Thursday through Sunday and sometimes sells out online before the place even opens. At a time when good service can be hard to come by, our order arrived impressively fast, and we never felt abandoned at our table.

Several times, various Smokehouse staffers checked in to see how we liked everything (to use the word love would not be hyperbolic here), to find out if we wanted another round of drinks (we did), and to ask if we desired dessert (we didn’t but changed our minds when our charming server, Sheila, suggested a heavenly old-fashioned banana pudding made by Marsh’s wife, Jen).

After several hours, filled to the gills, we disappeared into the night, still glowing from the aftermath of our meal.

“Even my belch tasted good,” I cracked. “My husband will love this,” said my friend, her Ron Swanson leftovers in tow. “I got home and enjoyed a good flossing,” our other dining companion remarked later. “Another sign of a solid barbecue joint.”

There’s always a beautiful moment at Woodrow’s Bar-B-Que—maybe as you’re effortlessly peeling a tender piece of char-encrusted meat from a giant rib bone or savoring a slice of moist brisket that melts in your mouth—when you think to yourself: It just can’t get any better than this. In the South and many other parts of the country, the meat would likely come from a pig—“hog heaven,” as it were—but at this small, general-store-looking Mt. Washington establishment, we’re talking about Texas style barbecue, which means predominantly beef, not pork. And not just any beef—gloriously authentic, deliciously dry- rubbed, wood-fired, and smoked-for-more-hours-than-you-sleep beef.

That juicy brisket, those “is this meat even connected to the bone?” ribs, and even the delicious sides of mac-n-cheese, potato salad, French fries, and more come from the imagination of owner Matthew Piron, a 1993 Loyola University graduate who opened the place in 2017, inspired by his wife’s San Antonio roots and his own disillusionment with corporate life after he was laid off from his sales job of 15 years. Is it wrong to say we’re thankful for whomever made that staffing decision? Unemployment lit a classic American entrepreneurial spark in Piron that ultimately ignited the red smoker in Woodrow’s tiny commercial kitchen, which cooks 75 pounds of savory hormone-and antibiotic-free prime black angus brisket and ribs, not to mention pork butts, sausage, and turkey, too.

If you’re a fan of barbecue, and perhaps even if you’re not, you will not leave Woodrow’s disappointed—or hungry. The protein is prepared with a Kosher salt-and-peppered rub, no sauce, and cooked over a white oak fire, making this the only restaurant in the city to follow the mid-Texas tradition. Indeed, while enjoying dinner, my wife and I overheard a couple tell the cashier that they recently moved from McKinney, Texas (which is just north of Dallas) and on this night felt they finally found real barbecue. After their meal, they paid for a pound-and-a-half of beef ribs to go.

Be warned, the physical space of this gem is relatively small; there’s the front door, the counter, the menu on a chalkboard wall, plus 14 seats inside and few out front, but finding an open table on our recent visits was no problem. The atmosphere is comfortable and laid-back, and the service is fast and friendly. Until March, the drinks policy was BYOB, but that’s recently changed with a liquor license in hand. And we’re guessing the food is just as good at home, as most of Woodrow’s business is carry-out.

Interestingly, the man behind the meat candy—a term that can be applied literally and figuratively (it’s pitmaster slang for the crispy, fatty bits from a brisket’s flavorful outer bark)—is from New Jersey. He taught himself the barbecue craft, with a lot of trial and error, plus a little R&D from BBQ hotbeds across the country. “It’s got to be perfect,” Piron says, “or I won’t do it.” After one bite of his goods, there’s no denying the results.

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›› Woodrow’s Bar-B-Que
1607 Sulgrave Ave., 667-212-4436. Tues.-Sat. 11 a.m.-9 p.m.: Sun. 11 a.m.-7 p.m.

A few bites into my first meal at Smoke, the latest restaurant to stick its snout into Baltimore’s barbecue renaissance, I was struck by a somewhat radical thought: Josh White’s new Cockeysville barbecue joint might be the area’s most innovative.

My epiphany was sparked by what I was savoring at the time: a bacon-wrapped stuffed date, one of Smoke’s signature items. Slabs of thick, house-cured bacon engulf the fruit and blue cheese, then are drizzled with honey and slid onto wooden skewers, from which I removed them as quickly as possible to pop into my mouth. They are among the best things I’ve eaten in recent memory. After the initial bite, each one seemed to almost caramelize, releasing a subtly sweet flavor that makes them ideal as a snack (the category in which they’re listed on the menu, $8 for two skewers of four) or even dessert.

Turns out I wasn’t overreacting—the rest of our meal was equally original and tasty. Tossed in house-made hot sauce, the plump chicken wings ($9 for eight) are hickory-smoked then charred. With its combination of aged sharp cheddar, mild cheddar, and smoked gouda, the mac and cheese lives perilously close to—but does not cross—the line of too rich. That’s exactly where the dish should reside.

Smoke offers seven sandwiches, including smoked-then-fried bologna ($8) and a fried green BLT ($9) you’d be hard-pressed to find on other menus. We tried the Boss Dawg ($14), a heaping helping of pulled pork, bacon, crispy onions, pickles (made in-house), cheddar cheese, jalapeño-bacon glaze, and coleslaw somehow stuffed between a grilled bun. White doesn’t serve most of his ’cue slopped with sauce, so we ate half of the sandwich dry, then slathered on some of his house-made jalapeño-pineapple barbecue sauce. Both versions were crunchy, smoky, meaty, and messy—in other words, delicious.

Platters come with a small helping of slaw, plus either mac and cheese or smoked beans. The Lazy Yardbird ($14) is a massive half chicken brined with sweet tea then covered with a magnificent rub. The skin pops with crunch while the meat explodes with juiciness. Dryness can be an issue when smoking chicken, but not at Smoke. Smoke is a small but sleek fast-casual restaurant. So grab your sweetie, your bestie, your buddy, your honey, or go it alone and head to Smoke.

Panthers at Ravens, Sunday Sept. 28, 1:00 p.m., M&T Bank Stadium, Fox

Former Panther great Steve Smith, who pulled in the key catch from Joe Flacco in the thrilling win against Cleveland, doesn’t lack in the self-confidence department. “When I line up, I think there’s no better option than myself,” he said after the Browns game. In Week 1 against the Bengals, Smith already had this game against Carolina circled on his calendar. “Hey, if you [expletive] think I can’t play, you’re gonna find out in Week 4, [another expletive]!” he yelled into a TV camera on the sideline after catching a touchdown pass. Well then. Can’t wait to see what he has in store for his former team (and the cameras) on Sunday.

What to Eat: North Carolina is barbecue country, and down south, barbecue equals hog. There are various ways to smoke pig parts at home without a smoker (the easiest being to use a charcoal grill), but truth be told, replicating the process without the right equipment is a hassle, and the results are usually underwhelming. Luckily, Baltimore is undergoing a barbecue renaissance of sorts, and as I wrote about recently, there are several great spots around town to pick up a tender rack of ribs or pulled pork sandwich.

You know about heavyweights like Andy Nelson’s in Cockeysville (11007 York Rd.) and Big Bad Wolf (5713 Harford Rd.), but there are a few other options I didn’t get to discuss in that story that fit Sunday’s bill as well. In Federal Hill, HarborQue (1125 S. Charles St.) offers up “Carolina ‘Que with a Baltimore view.” Its pulled pork sandwich is marinated in an eastern North Carolina sauce of apple cider vinegar, brown sugar and peppers.

The Pig & Rooster Smokehouse in Canton (3242 Foster Ave.) is a newcomer to the scene. It opened this summer, and with some big TVs behind the bar and drink specials it usually posts on its Facebook page, it’s a solid spot to go watch the game. Its small menu includes the intriguing Italian smoked pork sandwich, topped with prosciutto, spinach, roasted red peppers, pesto aioli, and mozzarella.

What to Drink: From the tiny town of Madison, NC, comes Catdaddy Moonshine, an un-aged 80-proof spirit made from corn. It’s available for $23.99 at Total Wine in Towson, and you can use it to make a number of cocktails, including a Smoke Mountain Rickey (recipe from The New Old Bar by Steve McDonagh):

• 2 ounces Catdaddy Moonshine
• 1/2 ounce cranberry juice
• 1/2 ounce fresh lime juice
• club soda

Pour Catdaddy, cranberry juice, and lime juice into a tall Collins glass filled with ice. Top with about 4 ounces of soda and serve garnished with a lime wedge.

If you’re heading out for the game, Myth and Moonshine in Canton (2300 Boston St.) has a full menu of flavored and unflavored moonshines, as well as numerous cocktails that use the beverage. Most appropriate for this week’s opponent is the Black and Blue (the Panthers colors), made using blackberry, blueberry, and cherry moonshines and Sprite. The bar has several Ravens game specials, including $10 pulled pork sliders and $2 Natty Boh cans.

When executive chef Jesse Sandlin sent out word in mid-summer that
the hip, charming wine bar Vino Rosina was closing its doors in Harbor
East after a three-year run, I was saddened by the news but not entirely
surprised. I’ve long been a fan of owner Jim Lancaster, who years ago
brought gourmet Italian deli food to Baltimore with his brilliant
sandwich shop Rosina Gourmet, and I had high hopes for his first venture
into full-blown restaurateurship. And Sandlin, the former Top Chef
competitor who opened Vino Rosina (she subsequently left and came back),
is a talent to be reckoned with. Indeed, the restaurant was lovely, but
the opening of a spate of similar, wine-bar-ish enterprises nearby
proved to be a competitive hurdle too high to surmount, a familiar
scenario in the precarious restaurant world.

But the plucky Lancaster and Sandlin had no intention of folding.
Instead, they had something else up their sleeves, the launch of an
entirely new venture in the same place mere weeks after Rosina had
closed. If upscale New American restaurants were now a dime a dozen in
glitzy Harbor East, they reasoned, why not open a barbecue joint?
Granted, an upscale barbecue joint, but nonetheless an anomaly in this
prime piece of real estate, one that offered something genuinely
different.

Within a few weeks—warp speed in the restaurant world—Rosina was
transformed into a more casual barbecue venue. Enter the newly
christened Oliver Speck’s Eats & Drinks, a name borrowed from
Sandlin’s pet Juliana pig (Speck being the name of a variety of Tyrolean
ham). Not much needed to be done to the décor. The original exposed
brick and warm wood, mixed with industrial touches and chalkboard walls,
lend themselves to a more relaxed vibe. The changes are subtle: There
are two big-screen TVs in the bar now for Ravens’ watching and two big
communal tables in the center of the dining room, along with metal
chairs in primary red, orange, black, and silver, all of which quietly
state that Ollie’s, as it’s dubbed in the mission statement, is for good
times. And the price point is just that much lower—enough to encourage a
regular crowd.

It doesn’t hurt that the cuisine is squarely in Sandlin’s wheelhouse:
southern-style comfort food with decadent ingredients and rich flavors.
There are crunchy, salty pork cracklings and fat fried oysters to snack
on. Smoky bacon studs the egg-laden potato salad and an arugula “BLT”
salad with homemade ranch dressing. The grits are creamy, the cornbread
tastes like dessert, and the biscuits are buttery good. No dieting
allowed.

The first time two companions and I tried Ollie’s back in early
September, these sides and small bites were the highlights of the meal.
We loved the little snacks—excellent deviled eggs and a Mason jar full
of zippy house-pickled vegetables—plus those tender biscuits with
homemade jam. The sides, which come a la carte at $4 each or with
various meat combos, are impossible to stop eating. Case in point: A
little pot of delicately mild macaroni and white cheddar dusted with
porcini mushrooms and breadcrumbs disappeared so quickly we had to order
another one. A spinach salad made us feel more virtuous, although the
topping of fresh late-summer peaches and blue cheese was as irresistible
as the richer dishes.

There are four basic barbecue choices on the menu, and we tried them
all. We were happy with the tender pile of just-vinegary-enough pulled
pork (which you can get piled on a bun or solo) and a beef brisket that
appropriately melted in the mouth. But our Texas-born pal was not
convinced by the pork ribs, specifically by the sauce. I know that civil
wars have broken out over the particulars of barbecue, but my quibble
wasn’t about regional pride but taste—the sauce was just a tad too sweet
and slightly bland. Happily, a sextet of various and delicious
house-made sauces appeared at our table, which we sprinkled on
liberally.

Likewise, the smoked chicken was disappointingly dry.

But a month later we came back to find that these two glitches had
been fixed, the pork ribs gilded with a dry rub that was satisfyingly
peppery and devoid of cloying sweetness. No need for hot sauce. And the
chicken? Juicy, smoky, and flavorful. We were a little sad to see that
lately this item has disappeared from the menu and been replaced by an
herb-rubbed roasted chicken.

Desserts here are, as you’d expect, unfussy and home-style. The
bourbon-laced pecan pie topped with bourbon-vanilla ice cream was a
dizzying delight.

Speaking of bourbon, it shows up in several artisanal cocktails and
is a specialty of the house. As befits a barbecue joint, the emphasis at
Ollie’s is on beer, bourbon, and whiskey; wine lovers have to content
themselves with a list of about a dozen reds and whites. If you want to
get into the down-home mood here, you’ll be wise to forget the old Vino
Rosina and surrender to a more laid-back kind of fun.

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OLIVER SPECK’S EATS & DRINKS: 507 S. Exeter St.,
410-528-8600. HOURS Lunch: 11 a.m.-4 p.m. Mon.-Fri.; dinner: 5-10 p.m.
Mon.-Thurs., 5-11 p.m. Fri.-Sat., 10 a.m.-4 p.m. (brunch) and 4-9 p.m.
Sun. CUISINE Barbecue. PRICE Appetizers and salads: $2-8; entrees:
$8-40; desserts: $4-6. ATMOSPHERE A relaxed vibe with a bar area with a
TV and a dining room with two communal tables as well as individual
tables.