Oklahoma barbecue getting Real ID in Idabel

When the smoke clears, you want to be in line for Phat Tabb's BBQ

Seated in the empty dining room of Phat Tabb’s BBQ in Idabel with the trucker caps, newspapered ceiling tiles and nostalgic tin signs, it felt like something was missing.

Not the owner. Tabb Singleton prepped in the tiny kitchen with a crew of three, sister Marilea McCullough among them. Tabb claims Marilea has a Spidey-sense that makes her indispensable whether in the kitchen or steering his bookkeeping. On Wednesday, Marilea Spidey-sensed the void so she spoke up: “Alexa, play Conway Twitty radio.”

Fixed.

With the week’s first service about 24 hours away, Conway Twitty gave Phat Tabb’s the nudge it needed to straighten up and grind. Though it only serves three days a week, Phat Tabb’s BBQ might be the most important smokehouse in Oklahoma. Operating on only four sets of hands, it takes spirit to grind Tabb Singleton’s vision into reality. Marilea found it singing “Tight-Fittin’ Jeans” last Wednesday.

I first met Tabb about a decade ago when he became the first Oklahoma chef to compete on Food Network’s “Chopped.” At the time, he was executive sous chef at Emeril Lagasse’s “NOLA,” but that visit to the first season of “Chopped” was victorious and he had some winnings he was anxious to use to return to Oklahoma.

He’s been back and forth from New Orleans to McCurtain County a couple of times – and on TV – since then. After the pandemic shut down NOLA for good, Singleton opened Phat Tabb’s in his hometown of Idabel. That was three years ago this July.

The smokehouse and the southeast Oklahoma sun keep Tabb Singleton’s pale blue eyes perpetually red, but they land softly on their target. No “hello” is served without a “sir” or “ma’am.”  Barbecue is an easy match for his ready hospitality and quiet drawl. But his bashful nature belies a fierce ambition to use his Big Easy-honed chef’s skills to not only put himself at the tip of the spear in Oklahoma Barbecue but drive it into the Heartland with enough force to send tremors from Idabel to Greater Kansas City, the Texas Hill Country and all points between.

If you don’t believe me, I humbly invite you to pack a bag – make it thermal – and drive down to Idabel on a Thursday, Friday or Saturday and find out. What you’ll find is a foundation of smoked meats second to none in Oklahoma. I’m not writing this to fuel barbecue beef between Tabb and folks like Travis Clark, Levi and David Bouska, Zach Edge, Joe Davidson or any of the other barbecue icons around Oklahoma. If they want to make it one, that only strengthens local barbecue mythology so go for it.

Whether Singleton’s prime fatty brisket or pork ribs are preferable to the unassailable offerings of those pitmasters isn’t what sets him apart. It’s how he uses them to find something every pitmaster and chef in Oklahoma seeks. Tabb Singleton smokes to find Oklahoma’s barbecue identity.

“We’re a melting pot,” he told me Tuesday afternoon. “The whole state is a melting pot with all the different cultures that live here. The barbecue is, too. When I’m thinking up different things to try, I do a lot of studying about what folks are doing down in Texas and up in Kansas City. We’re right between them like a melting pot, too.”

Singleton fortifies his traditional barbecue with repetition and attention to detail. His specials come from the intersection of local culture clash and a chef’s life in The Big Easy to cultivate barbecue where fish sauce is as welcome as vinegar mop. Where the smokehouse is better known for pastrami sandwiches than chopped beef. Where the pitmaster with the mind of a chef gives all his love and affection to the food he makes for you.

Every week he makes burnt ends unlike any place else. Clark Crew and Jo-Bawb’s in Oklahoma City make wonderful burnt ends. Same for Butcher BBQ in Wellston. They all follow the practice of removing the point from the brisket, then following the guidelines set forth by Arthur Bryant many years ago. But Singleton takes prime-grade beef belly and butchers it into blocks that he then smokes into a de facto smokehouse confit of steak. The result is so good it has to be bad for you. So bad for you it will probably be outlawed. My point? Hurry and getcha some.

The other thing Tabb does each week is play. Last week, he made Hawaiian Shoyu Pork Belly. The sweet, moist cotton bound by a sticky black bark and decorated with sesame seeds landed on the palate by angel’s wings and took respite there until as long as I could stand not to swallow.  

A shrine, or at the very least a pickup window, should be erected in its honor. The bright and crunchy Japanese Tomato-Wakame Salad balanced the delicate pork, composing a smokehouse Hula dance in my mouth. Many Aloha-OHH faces were made.

Singleton’s sausage, turkey and bologna game are truly on another level.  His brisket and ribs fall right in line with Oklahoma’s top pitmasters, but his beef sausage tastes like a legend fighting to be born. The smoked turkey is simply the best I’ve ever tasted. But can we please talk about the house bologna?

Oklahoma Barbecue stakes a claim on bologna no others do. Most places just fry it. But here, it’s not uncommon to find smoked bologna sandwiches at barbecue joints, especially older ones. It’s a tradition older than statehood, but those that offer it use bologna processed by a third-party that is then scored and placed in a smoker. No one actually went to the trouble to grind and make their own bologna.

Until now. Tabb grinds prime beef not once, not twice, but three times to get the fine texture needed for bologna. The version he made last week was studded with pepperjack cheese. This bologna is so good it’s almost a disservice to call it bologna for fear of associating it with the sins of Oscar Mayer. He does admit the flavor leans heavy toward summer sausage, which was just fine by me. Tabb also dabbles in salami and other deli favorites.

First thing Thursday morning, Singleton’s nephew, chef Bailey McCullough, fried a slice of bologna to see how it would set up for the bologna sandwich crowd. My old pal chef John Bennett loved few things more than a thick slice of properly “frizzled” bologna, and this was that. Stop-you-in-your-tracks stunning. Once back in the city, I smuggled a couple slices to Nic Nicholas to make sure I wasn’t overly effusive. Nic rapid-texted: “One of the best I’ve had” then “Damn good” and “Love the texture” before he finally called to say a bunch of things but wrapped it up with, “If that was available in town, I’d eat the hell outta of it!”

Perfect, Nic only needed a compound sentence to express what took me a thousand words.

Tabb’s is open Thursday through Saturday and does Sunday Fundays often. This week for example, Mom can pick up and shrimp and crab boil. I plan to be out there again this year; hope to see signs the 405 diningscape has been there when I do.