Bone Daddy's House of Smoke (Dallas, TX)
Based on other reviews I've read, I was expecting a long wait at dinner. That might be true for bigger groups, but since I was solo, I was able to climb right up onto a barstool with no wait at all. Looking around, there wasn't a single female customer in sight, which wasn't entirely surprising. I do in fact possess a Y chromosome, so I'm not going to sit here and pretend that I didn't enjoy the scandalous, half-naked waitresses. That being said, the bartender's massive thigh and torso tattoos and partially-visible birth control patch were a little unappealing and also slightly unappetizing. But I came here for the meat candy, not the eye candy, so on we go.
I started with an order of the Smokin' Tailpipes, which are listed as "smoked brisket, onion, jalapenos, corn, and peppers all wrapped up and deep fried."
Visibly, the Smokin' Tailpipes looked a lot like Chili's Southwest Eggrolls. The batter was nice and crisp, and the flavor was amazing! I could definitely pinpoint the brisket, but the other ingredients held their own just fine too. Given the menu description, I was a little disappointed with the lack of heat. You might expect something called a "smokin' tailpipe" to have some serious spiciness to it, but they had none at all. They tasted great nonetheless, and I guess I should be grateful that I made it out with my tailpipe unscathed.
Next, I ordered up a Flying Pig sandwich: pulled pork, link sausage, maple-glazed ham, and bacon on all one bun. They were slated to come with beans and fries on the side, but I decided to just double up on the fries.
I had to take a few minutes just to marvel at the pork-tastic masterpiece that sat before me. The sandwich was a little hard to eat, with various pork products spilling out left and right. This turned out to be a blessing in disguise though, since then I could sample each of the meats individually too. They were all great on their own, but the collective was phenomenal! There was a little kick to the sandwich too. Upon closer inspection, I think the heat emanated from the sausage. The Flying Pig also had just the right amount of barbecue sauce on it, which had a sweet and smoky flavor that enhanced the meat quite nicely.
The food was terrific, but the *cough* scenery could have been better. If Bone Daddy's wants to hire sexy jailbait waitresses, far be it from me to tell them no. Just make sure that they don't look like they're dancing at some trashy strip club after their shift is over. I do applaud their ability to wait tables in six-inch heels though.
I would probably go back to Bone Daddy's, either on my own or with a group of guys, but this definitely isn't a place my wife and I will be dining at for our upcoming wedding anniversary.
With a mandatory giggle, servers employed at this restaurant wear Daisy Duke’s & half shirts, as well as 2 – 4 inch heels.
Quests aren’t usually as exciting until dining in a handful of sex sells establishments. Certain places become offended at the very thought of not receiving automatic respect from consumers. I’m sorry. If you dress like a lady of the night, people will remain skeptical until brains, skills and less than scandalous thrills are a proven fact.
To update all on this adventure thus far, Hooters was a dirty sloppy mess. One server left with one nasty carcass filled knife, only to return with an even dirtier knife. Um, Wolfies. Holy moly. The Woodlands location is a massacre of unacceptable dirtiness. Not repressing the experience is enough to make you throw up in your mouth — just a little.
Stepping into Bone Daddy’s was refreshing in the cleanest way. Were they dressed like almost ten dollar hookers? Yes. Were they doing their job, providing well above average service? Yes. A clean atmosphere with great service is just what every superior male belly needs.
Arriving with bells on, our server’s first words of wonder: “Hi. My name is Blossom.”
Blossom? Really? Um, I’m sorry. There is no way your name is Blossom. You may be selling, but this table is not buying. Nope. Not happening. As we began discussing name necessity, one theory emerged.
Maybe, just maybe, her name is Martha. Martha takes un-sexy to the next level of un-sexy name extreme. Not sexy for even one single second. Business lunchers probably fancy a kind of Betty Boop-ish moment upon hearing the name of their Bone Daddy babe for the day. “Blossom” rings in a manner fitting their forte. Martha? Not so much.
Eww. This guy ordered an 8 ounce chicken fried chicken breast smothered in creamy gravy and served with creamed corn, a cheese roll and garlic & chive whipped potatoes.
There were a total of 984 croutons in this salad. A full blown crouton massacre. So many croutons, a massive crouton hunt ensued.
Goal: Get rid of all croutons and ask for saltine crackers. Crunching up saltine crackers as a substitute for hardcore fattening butter crusted croutons is a clear win against the battle of the bulge.
Blossom was as sweet as the sugar in my Granny’s iced tea! She said it would be no problem to have grilled shrimp rather than fried, considering some of us aren’t big hungry men with teddy bear bellies, her substitution approval is appreciated.
This salad MUST satisfy every man’s mixed greens dream, having shrimp, loads of cheddar cheese, tomato chunks, homemade croutons and smoked bacon. I begged Blossom for… no bacon.
So exciting to see was a super clean restaurant. CLEAN — CLEAN. Let’s say that one more time — CLEAN. It doesn’t matter what you wear, just keep it clean people.
These girls do not just have a job because of their body. They hold their own, even with the highest heels imaginable. Word on the street is they majorly make bank during every shift.
Even if servers are a shoe-in for strippers, the service was great and the restaurant was obviously well managed. This does not mean the food was all that, because it wasn’t.
NEXT UP: BIKINI’S BAR & GRILL.
Dinner at Bone Daddy’s
Take a moment to reminisce about the first Bone Daddy’s review written a couple of years ago. Comment section guys were foaming at the mouth, angrily commenting like raccoons with rabies. These scary comment section guys did not like the content included in the previous review. Such dislike caused these particular guys to make comments suggesting I’m an old, fat, ugly stripper with clear high heels– maybe the heels weren’t clear– I can’t remember.
The guys possessed by demons in the comment section went completely ballistic because— ready—- wait for it—- I did not believe our server at Bone Daddy’s real name was Blossom. What do these guys do during rush hour if they flip out over a person questioning the validity of a name? Give a little credit before criticism. You walk into a manly man’s world restaurant where a server’s required uniform is consistent with what a lady of the night might wear. Your server walks over to announce her name is— Blossom. Under the circumstances, the odds were not in her birth-name favor.
Blossom seemed like a fake name, in my opinion. And in case the comment trolls have forgotten, it is my right as a citizen of the United States of America to have a name-opinion during lunch. There could have been servers named anything else and maybe, just maybe, it would have been believable. Blossom as the name of our Bone Daddy’s server didn’t seem realistic.
After what seemed like 46 male comment trolls trolling deep beneath the Bone Daddy’s review, Blossom later chimed in. Blossom is positive Blossom is her name and explained the girls at Bone Daddy’s are not strippers, which means they do not have stage names. Point taken with a slight curtsy included. I’ve never forgotten about Blossom and all we’ve been through, which meant dinner at Bone Daddy’s last week was extra special. Our party of twenty-something was seated upstairs, with Blossom nowhere in sight. I asked our server if Blossom was still working at Bone Daddy’s and she said none other than– yes. Just when it seemed like an apology in progress, she said Blossom worked during lunch and had left for the day. Some day the opportunity to personally express sorrow for the heinous name injustice I caused during lunch will happen. Blossom will probably forgive me.
It was really weird when my husband told me there was no bacon in the queso at Bone Daddy’s. There were appetizers all over the place for everyone to share. He volunteered this no-bacon information. How did a piece of bacon appear on the side of the queso bowl when there’s no bacon in the queso? He’s never been wrong in his life. The one time he’s finally wrong has to be about bacon? After a full-blown bacon investigation, the queso at Bone Daddy’s does include— bacon. He must have secretly wanted me to eat bacon because the menu clearly states this app is a smoked bacon and roasted pepper queso. This means I ate bacon at Bone Daddy’s last week, which hurts every feeling having the ability to hurt.
The two girls waiting on our party upstairs were never in the weeds. One girl was wearing glasses with her official Bone Daddy’s uniform. She was like some kind of librarian, which was quickly approved by the male population at our table. The service was excellent the entire time we were there. Everyone made pleasant food faces during dinner, which must mean the food at Bone Daddy’s was a win for each and every meat-eater.
The girls at Bone Daddy’s are not bimbos. People need not assume being pretty means dumb. Wearing a skimpy work uniform does mean a person’s name is not Blossom, OK? This mistake forced the blood pressure of countless men living in the comment section to explode. Since apologizing for not believing Blossom, these guys have not called me a slut since. Please & thanks. Apology is the best policy. Men and women should take a chance on Bone Daddy’s. While you’re there, request to sit in Blossom’s section. She’s an exceptional server with an exceptional name.