In Oklahoma, it seems the best barbecue often comes from semi-holy pitmasters armed with top-of-the-line equipment, modern dining rooms, ample waitstaff, and a well-stocked meat locker—all blessed by an army of sycophantic Yelpsters who cream their jeans for a free meal and a 4.5-star review.
But on the industrial south side of Oklahoma City, you won’t find any of that fancy shit.
Instead, you’ll discover something better—Kimie’s Store (3900 S. Portland Ave).
Surrounded by rundown apartments, vandalized buildings, and dollar stores begging to be shoplifted, we recently received a tip that this ramshackle little shop slings some of the best barbecue in OKC every Friday and Saturday: fresh and flavorful Laotian-crafted masterpieces that will make any meat lover drool.
That was good enough for me.
This past Friday, I made the smoky pilgrimage down Portland to check it out. At first glance, I thought the place—with its torn signage, blacked-out windows, and stripped gas pumps—was abandoned.
The only soul in sight was a guy on a Rascal Scooter knock-off, sitting in the shade and asking for a cigarette. Sadly, I don’t smoke—but the smoke I was after, the aromatic barbecue kind, was already wafting out the door and into my brain.
With all due credit to David Byrne, I knew this must be the place.
Walking through the door, you'll quickly notice Kimie’s has your standard lo-fi bodega setup—packed with sin-filled goods like beer, cigarettes, and all the scratch-off lottery tickets the heart truly desires.
Although the store was empty when I arrived, within minutes it filled up—shoulder to shoulder—with everyone from hard-scrabble city workers to clean-cut, low-level business types. They were all there for one thing: the barbecue.
That’s when I spotted him—the convenience-store pitmaster. An Asian man in a bandana emblazoned with the name of his company, Lao Chow, he was slinging Laotian-style barbecue with a smoky Oklahoma twist. Mouth watering, I got in line, doing my best to be patient.
After a few minutes, he looked up and asked me what I wanted to order. A glass case at the counter tempted me with standard convenience-store fare—burritos, crispitos, and all the other -itos—but I held firm. I was here for the real stuff.
I went with the meatiest options on the menu: a Smoked Brisket Sandwich ($5.29) and two individually wrapped Smoked Pork Ribs ($3.99 each).
I took my haul back to the car and cranked up the A/C. As the car’s thermometer blinked 104 degrees, I took a swig of Diet Coke and unwrapped the sandwich. With nothing more than a bun and a thick hunk of meat, it looked almost too plain.
But looks can be deceiving.
To my own embarrassment, this hearty sandwich really made me do a double-bite! The meat was smokey, thick and plentiful, with just a little barbecue sauce for rich flavor—I ate the whole thing in a couple of large bites. It was glorious.
My compliments were only compounding, as I unsheathed my pre-portioned rib for all the world to gasp at. This was no fat-based cut of pork, because these smoked ribs were stocked with muscle mass that fell right off the bone, with no sauce needed.
I opened my second rib, making sure it was no anomaly—it was just as flavorful as the first.
Finishing up the rib, I had to go back inside the building because I had to get some of this magic for my wife on her lunch break. Cashing out, the convenience-store pitmaster asked me if I liked beef jerky.
“Sure I do!” I earnestly said.
“Tell me what you think about this!” he said, presenting me with a sliver of his dried beef.
Man, this guy is like the Willy Wonka of barbecue! It was tart and tangy, and, above all, flavorful, and I had to try some more. With the ribs and sandwich for the wife, I snacked on the beef jerky all the way home.
So, it turns out, looks, for the most part, are incredibly deceiving and probably untrue.
Kimie’s Store, with all of its cosmetic deficiencies of a Southside convenience store, has the best barbecue this side of the Red River, and you can take that to the bank check-cashing place.
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Follow Louis Fowler on Instagram at @louisfowler78.
