There’s an art to eating the Jambo Texan at Jambo’s BBQ Shack (1724 W Division Rd, Arlington, 817-275-7881). The six-layered goliath is a sandwich only by the strictest definition –– kind of like the way an ocean liner is less a boat and more of a floating city. The bread-and-meat feast weighs about as much as a newborn elephant and could probably feed three people.
I’m not sure what possessed me to order the JT. I’m not a particularly big eater, and I’m not into competitive scarfing, except when I am (“Training Table,” August 22, 2012).
My guest and I recently visited the third head of the Jambo’s Cerberus, a location on the offensively named Division Street that used to house The Arlington Steakhouse. The Weekly’s in-house Arlington historian, Jeff Prince, said the place was the cat’s meow back in the ’70s. If you wanted to impress your date, he said, you either went to the Arlington Steakhouse or the Candlelight Inn, which reopened a couple of years ago.
Now, the exterior is decorated in colorfully painted scenes of gangsters gambling on or near a train. It’s thematically confusing. There is a little mural that has men in menacing-looking hats gambling, and there’s a train next to them. Maybe the two aren’t connected at all, but I got the impression that the whole thing was a vague nod to Division Street’s shady past.
The gangster/train theme carries on inside. The walls are lined with framed photos of famous gangsters and movie stars and what I assume are famous trains.
It was at the eatery’s walk-up counter that I caught a glimpse of the Jambo Texan. I had noticed that something on the chalkboard menu cost $15, more than most of the other items, and I wanted to learn more.
The artery smasher contains ribs, sausage, pork, thick-cut bologna, and brisket (chopped and sliced) between two buttered pieces of Texas toast. It’s the sort of entrée that makes everyone in the dining room giggle when it lands in front of you.
You can’t employ the traditional two-handed sandwich-eating strategy, unless you have hands the size of manhole covers and the ability to unhinge your jaw like a shark devouring a mid-sized monk seal.
Think of it like a video game. Every meat is a level. First, forget about the toast. That’s just filler, and it’ll just slow you down. Save it for the end.
The first obstacle on the meat Jenga is the ribs. The crispy-skinned, smoky morsels were served bone-in –– a tricky ingredient for a sandwich. Just eat them as you would normally –– covered in the tangy, dark, thick house ’cue sauce. The same goes for the next two layers. Eat the snappy, zingy sausage and the delicious, moist shredded pork sans carbs.
The three remaining hurdles, the quarter-of-an-inch-cut bologna and the brisket two-ways, are all better with the bread. I took one piece of the toast and folded it over the bologna, slathered it in sauce, and ate bits of it like a stand-alone sandwich. I used the same technique for the briskets. I couldn’t finish either, but I imagine I would have been able to do more damage 20 years ago using that tactic.
The briskets were a little overcooked, although the smoky pecan wood flavor was on point. Besides that, my only complaint was that the proteins were all served lukewarm. I thought maybe that was a product of their being served as sandwich filler, but my guest’s two-meat plate ($12.50) was also on the cool side.
I may not have been able to finish the sandwich, but I feel like I have a pretty good idea of how to down it.
Contact Chow, Baby at chowbaby@fwweekly.com.
