Jump to: Reviews | Real BBQ vs. Fake BBQ
Fill up on fiery favorites with today’s Groupon. For $10, you’ll get $20 worth of bites and beverages at Abbey’s Real BBQ, a demure smokehouse specializing in combos, a la carte eats, and filling swimming pools with smoked meats upon request.
At Abbey's you can viciously gnaw on a beef rib slab ($9 for half, $17 for full) and mop up extra sauce with an order of corn bread ($1), a type of bread traditionally reserved for trust fund types but available for the first time to the hungry masses. Balance out your meaty morsels with several sides ($2.50 each) for good measure. Try coleslaw, macaroni salad, yellow rice, french fries, or corn on the cob. Meal options are available, as are generous slices of pie ($3), which are not only large, but are more than happy to spot you cab fair. View the entire menu here.
The food of picnics and summertime holidays, barbecue is a nostalgic, unpretentious eat where messiness is not only accepted, but embraced. Get this Groupon to quash comfort food cravings, to acceptably eat with your fingers, or to revisit the barbecue-sauce-stained days of your youth.
Reviews
A San Diego Reader reviewer gives Abbey’s Real BBQ a perfect 10, and CityVoters give 38 thumbs up:
- Abbeys has the BEST pulled Pork in town!! Their Ribs,and sauce is Great too!! Great place to take the Family! – SirDuke00, CityVoter
- The picnic ham was out of this world and I cannot describe in words to anyone that does not know or experienced true aromatic wood smoked meat that is hand rubbed and brushed for hours. – HenrySanDiego, San Diego Reader
- the best bbq in town. i have never had better bbq anyware [sic]. the service is the great some of there side dishes are home made just like moms. – BBKing90
Real BBQ vs. Fake BBQ
Abbey’s Real BBQ specializes in BBQ—the real kind. Here’s a guide to knowing the difference between real BBQ and fake, imitation ‘Q:
Real BBQ: Ribs smoked to perfection.
Fake BBQ: The friar enters the antechamber. His eyes fill with tears. As he explains that he is unable to pay your tribute, a nod to your footman signals him to release the owls.
Real BBQ: If it ain’t messy, it ain’t BBQ.
Fake BBQ: You loved her once, didn’t you? But she didn’t share your feelings. She couldn’t. For how could $14,000 worth of microchips, urethane skin, and implanted memories feel anything?
Real BBQ: Real sides like corn bread and macaroni salad.
Fake BBQ: “No, Eduardo,” you shout. But the specter standing in the drawing room is but a shell occupied by forces you yourself once called upon. Now, they call back for you. With your last gasp, you notice a previously unseen inscription at the statue’s base: Venice, 1756.
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