This installment of Food FAQ heads to Wardlaw’s Lucky Eye-Q in LaFayette, Georgia, for what many claim is the region’s best barbecue. Spoiler alert: I agree.
Did you say LaFayette, Georgia? I thought this was a local food column.
“Local” is a fluid concept when it comes to food. The greater the buzz around a restaurant and the better the quality of its offerings, the less its distance from Chattanooga matters. By that measure, Lucky Eye-Q feels as local as Taco Mamacita and Main Street Meats, despite being a 45-minute drive from downtown.
I’ve grabbed my car keys. What should I order?
Whoa, Bessie. In order for you to fully appreciate how incredible Lucky Eye-Q is, I need to set the stage. So grab some string cheese or a granola bar and hang tight.
Founder Robert Wardlaw has been feeding the masses from his smokers it since the 1980s. That’s a long time to do one thing, which says more about his talent than any food column can. In a nutshell, Wardlaw is the Beethoven of brisket, the Cézanne of sausage and the Picasso of pork ribs – among other honors.
Pulling into the gravel lot behind Lucky Eye-Q’s 103 Chattanooga St. address, the aroma from the smokers wrapped around me like a warm embrace from Wardlaw himself. The air we normally breathe – 78% nitrogen and 21% oxygen – is replaced here by a local blend I’d estimate to be 40% wood smoke, 25% seared meat, 20% rendered fat and just enough oxygen to keep everyone upright.
Walking toward the building, my wife and I passed a plastic-covered picnic pavilion filled with laughter. Every table was packed with folks gathered over trays of brisket, smoked sausage, pork ribs, beef ribs and chicken, alongside bowls of potato salad, slaw and banana pudding.
Food was doing what it does best – bringing people together.
That spirit continued inside, where a woman named Pookie greeted us with a wide smile and a pair of menus. They were mostly ceremonial, as we already knew we were ordering the brisket. One thing gave me pause, though: Wardlaw wasn’t at his usual post behind the counter, where the brisket is sliced. If he wasn’t cutting it, who was?
It all sounds great. But you’re killing me. Get to the food.
I’m getting there. Stay with me.
As it turns out, no one slices the brisket except Wardlaw. “He’d be mad if we tried,” one employee told me, her expression suggesting she might be joking – or completely serious.
Moments later, Wardlaw appeared – short in stature, ball cap on, a kind smile lifting weathered cheeks. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, as though I was an old friend rather than a first-time customer.
Then came the show.
After my wife ordered – brisket, juicy, not dry – Wardlaw pulled a fresh slab from the warmer and peeled back the foil, releasing a cloud of steam. He set it gently on the cutting board, pressed it lightly with his hand and began slicing. Each half-inch piece barely held together as he worked.
He inspected each slice, poked and prodded, then used his knife to gather up the juices and drizzle them back over the meat. After several slices, he scooped the glistening pile onto a parchment-lined tray and moved on my order.
Down the line, I chose potato salad and slaw from a spread that also included baked beans, mac and cheese, cheesy grits, collard greens and more. The portions were generous, the bowls barely containing their contents. When my wife ordered green beans, the juices sloshed over the edge and joined the growing mess created by the brisket. It was, in its own way, beautiful.
So, how was the brisket?
Outstanding. Slow-smoked to perfection, with dark, flavorful edges and a tender interior that pulled apart with ease. Each bite carried a deep smokiness without crossing into bitterness. My wife called it the kind of brisket that doesn’t need anything added. I held out for a while, then gave in and tried one of the house-made sauces – but the bun didn’t survive the experience. Next time, I’m skipping it and ordering the brisket by the pile, like she did.
I know you like to nitpick. So what didn’t you like?
Do I? I’ll have to work on that.
That said, the potato salad and slaw leaned a little too heavy on the mayo for my taste. That seems to be a regional preference, but it’s not mine. Fortunately, the line moves quickly, and I was able to swap them out for a bowl of mac and cheese, which was every bit as comforting and satisfying as homemade.
I’ve still got my keys in hand. When are they open?
Lucky Eye-Q keeps limited hours, likely because most of the time is spent tending those smokers. They’re open Thursday through Saturday from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. and again from 5 p.m. to 8 p.m.
Any final thoughts?
I was going to say, “Run, don’t walk, to Lucky Eye-Q,” but that feels about as cheesy as the mac and cheese – or as corny as the corn on the cob. So I’ll just say this: don’t worry about the drive. It’s a short haul, and every bite is worth every mile.