B.B. King’s Blues Restaurant & Club

I haven't been to B.B. King's original Memphis location on Beale Street, but I've been to several storied barbecue joints in Memphis, a couple of which serve what I consider the best barbecued ribs in the country. B.B. King's at The Mirage has the look pretty well down pat -- funky decor, lots of pictures of the man himself, the illusion of low ceilings evoking those of the basement-level landmark the Rendezvous, which is close to the Peabody Hotel. It's clear that Memphis is the model here; the only things missing are the clouds of smoke, years of accumulated grease and big security searchlights.

My daughter, on the other hand, has eaten at the Memphis B.B. King's. She definitely knows her barbecue, and when she came home and proclaimed those ribs the best, you can imagine that I was somewhat intrigued about our own branch of the chainlet. And she was understandably eager to join me on this mission.

The verdict? Yeah, I don't know if it's the water or the air or the way they breed their pitmasters in Memphis, but here it is: close, but no cigar.

The sauce was heaven, tomato-based with a decent amount of heft, neither too sweet nor too smoky. But underneath it all, the ribs ($19 for a half-rack, which we had, or $27 for a full) were dry, as though they'd spent too long in the smoker. Baked beans and coleslaw on the side were just fine, the beans imbued with some of that superlative sauce, the mayonnaise-based slaw mild and crunchy, even if they were served in those nasty little plastic cups that shouldn't be used outside a takeout shop.

Chicken-fried chicken ($17) -- a play on words that is, basically, fried chicken breast -- was crisp-crusted and meaty, in a generous portion. But here we were again: The meat was dry. Served on the side was a mellow concoction that the menu called caramelized-onion gravy but that to us seemed like traditional cream gravy with some sauteed onions in the mix. Whatever, it was delicious (the nasty little plastic cup notwithstanding) and did much to counteract the dryness of the chicken.

The gravy couldn't, however, do anything about the fact that the quite decent white-cheddar macaroni on the side was cold. (What is it with cold food lately? I'm not one of those people who likes their food to be scalding hot, but all of a sudden, in the past couple of months, I've encountered more cold food than I have in years. It's a mystery to me.)

But back to the beginning, and the fried pickles ($9). They aren't much of an oddity anymore, available in several places around town, and if you haven't had them, you're missing out. These were an exemplary example, a huge pile, hot and crisp, with a horseradish dipping sauce that was definitely on the timid end of the horseradish-as-an-ingredient scale, more like a somewhat spirited ranch. But tasty nonetheless.

There was some confusion about who actually would be serving us. A server had initially told us that our server was busy, but that she would take our drink orders. Then she came back and said that she'd actually be our server, because the designated person was serving the table of The President of the Resort! Well, la-ti-da!

Here's a lesson: We know the man signs your paychecks, either directly or not, but your customers aren't likely to care very much. If B.B. King -- who we'd missed by only a few days -- had been the object of attention, well, then never mind.

But as for B.B., we figure he was walkin' in Memphis, walking with his feet 10 feet off of Beale.

And loving those extraordinary -- and apparently, not to be duplicated -- Memphis barbecued ribs.

Las Vegas Review-Journal reviews are done anonymously at Review-Journal expense. Contact Heidi Knapp Rinella at 383-0676 or e-mail her at hrinella@ reviewjournal.com.