Digital subscribers can listen to this article.
Subscribe today for unlimited access to Texas Monthly. Already a subscriber? Log in.
The huge tables at Jasmine Asian Cuisine, in Houston, were built for sharing. I sat at one of them with Don and Theo Nguyen, the founders of local Khói Barbecue, and their parents, Thuc and Tiffany. A huge lazy Susan in the center barely held all the platters and side dishes that came with the “bò 7 món,” a seven-course beef feast that had influenced the brothers’ own menu, including their bò lá lốt sausage. I had visited Khói the day before, and Don was describing bò lá lốt to me before deciding he’d rather show me, so there I was, chopsticks in hand, as Tiffany carefully constructed my third summer roll.
The coarsely ground beef mixture was seasoned with lemongrass, fish sauce, and sugar and wrapped in lolot leaves (often incorrectly called betel leaves), which had turned brown on the grill. They looked like seared dolmas. Even though they were slightly larger than bite-size, they were still easy to put away, and I’m sure I ate more than my fair share. The flavor memory of the sausage I’d eaten the day prior clicked immediately. At Khói, Theo grinds and stuffs the links by hand with fellow cook Omar Lopez. Savory and sweet flavors come together with the earthiness of the leaves—grown, picked, and packaged by the brothers’ grandmother Trang Nguyen—inside a snappy casing to create one of the most unique meats in Texas barbecue. That’s just one of the treasures on the menu.
Khói Barbecue started as a monthly pop-up nine years ago, serving from an empty lot in the Near Northside neighborhood set up with smokers, a tent, and several long tables. Recently, the operation has moved to more frequent service—every Saturday and Sunday—and to a new location, inside hip cocktail bar Trash Panda Drinking Club. It’s just a mile and a half from the previous location, but now there’s air-conditioned indoor seating, a full bar, and a bigger menu.
I last covered Khói in 2020, and since then, the joint has only grown in notoriety. Don was named a runner-up on the Food Network show BBQ Brawl; the restaurant was featured on The Drew Barrymore Show; and Khói produced bottled curry sauce and jarred chili jam, found in Central Market stores. What’s helped the business the most, however, is Theo taking a more prominent role. Don is still the creative force and the face of Khói, which means “smoke” in Vietnamese, but Theo became its first salaried employee earlier this year. Along with Ethan Villasana, he runs the various smokers and direct-heat cookers and handles deliveries and grocery runs.
“I couldn’t do this without him,” Don told me over the phone. He was in a car headed to the Boston airport from a power plant site on Cape Cod. During the week, Don is a senior director at green-energy producer FirstLight Power. It’s a great position at a company whose mission Don believes in, and it has kept him from making the big jump to full-time pitmaster. You’ll still find him in the kitchen with Theo and the rest of the crew at Khói on weekends. “When it comes to Saturday and Sunday service, we’re all in the trenches together to push this dream forward,” Theo said.
Don and Theo Nguyen.Courtesy of Don and Theo Nguyen
The dream, as Don explains, is to have their own permanent location. They’re in the midst of a frustrating search for the right property, but rather than thinking of their current situation as a prolonged pop-up, Don tells his team, “Let’s get really good at this and treat it like the real thing.” That starts with Julie Nong, who exudes personality when interacting with customers at the counter and explains the vast menu with a few names that may be unfamiliar to the typical barbecue crowd, like bò lá lốt sausage, whole hog bánh xèo, and Saigon spares. The relative quiet of the dining room is pierced by Nong’s voice yelling “Pork chop!” or “Beef rib!” to the kitchen.
The dishes are enhanced by being served on colorful plates and platters that feature the “boundless longevity” pattern the Nguyens remember from the Chinese and Vietnamese restaurants of their youth. “It’s a powerful backdrop and kind of a visual culinary juxtaposition to present Central Texas barbecue,” Don said. The melamine plates are also far more vibrant than trays lined with butcher paper. On them, stir-fried basil garnishes the half chicken nestled up against chive-sprinkled beef back ribs and a sliced pork chop with fried shallots. House-made pickles and onions rest on the edges with lime wedges and pickled bean sprouts. It’s a stunning collection of colors and textures.
I started with a bite from one of the Saigon spares, which are Wagyu beef back ribs. The ribs are smoked indirectly first and then finished over coals while getting a drizzle of fish sauce and lime juice. The bark is stout, and I love the chew. Back ribs don’t come off the bone as cleanly as baby backs or pork spareribs. Your bottom teeth scrape the meat out of an indentation along the length of the bone as the juice and fat collect in your bottom lip. It’s a carnivore’s heaven. A beef back rib forces you to work, but the seasoning on these makes it worth the effort.
The smoked half chicken might have spent too long in the fryer, as the outer layer of meat was a bit tough, but there were plenty of juicy, tender strands as well. The more distracting element was the sauce it sat in—a sweet, fish-sauce-heavy glaze poured over the double-cut smoked pork chop ended up resting on the bottom of my tray, touching most everything else. The pork itself had taken on a gummy texture from sitting too long in the salt brine. Don said Khói has since changed up the plating and cut the 24-hour brine down to 8 hours.
As I progressed through my meal, I realized Khói’s dishes shouldn’t be evaluated like most modern Texas barbecue. At a more conventional joint, much of the meat is seasoned similarly and served in portions that I can taste and assess quickly. This meal deserved a bit more planning. If you’re aiming to try a large assortment of items, I’d suggest getting up to order a few times, if the line allows, so the dishes can be delivered in courses. I wished I had tried bites of the fried chicken and sliced brisket as soon as they hit the table—the latter dried out as it sat neglected on the edge of a four-meat platter. I especially want to linger over a bowl of Khói’s signature smoked brisket pho.
The broth is made using Tiffany’s recipe—she often visits the kitchen to taste test and make sure the boys remain on target. Theo delivered a bowl to the table as I was clutching a beef rib, so I didn’t get to try it until the end of my meal. The broth’s aroma is alluring, and the garnishes of thinly sliced green onion, chili jam, basil, and bean sprouts added to the symphony of flavors. As it sat, though, the noodles and the thick slice of brisket soaked up too much of the broth. The pho deserves more reverence than I gave it, and I’d like to return to Khói for just that bowl.
Thankfully, I got to the bánh xèo right away. It looks like an open-faced barbecue taco, but the “tortilla” is a Vietnamese crepe made from rice flour and water that, thanks to turmeric, takes on the color of scrambled eggs. The edges are crisp, and the center is stout enough to carry juicy strands from the whole hog along with bean sprouts, basil, chili jam, and fish sauce. Don encourages diners to pick up the lettuce leaf it rests on and eat the whole thing like a double-decker taco. More than any other item, this one marries Vietnamese cuisine seamlessly with barbecue, and it was my favorite of the day.
“My goal is to represent our family through our business and our food,” Theo told me, and that bánh xèo shows off their heritage and is made from their mother’s recipe. The smoked bò lá lốt sausage starts in their grandmother’s garden, where she grows the key ingredient, the lolot leaves. The leftover brisket trim that doesn’t make it into the sausages is coarsely ground for Khói’s lemongrass beef dish, derived from the Vietnamese street food the family enjoys on trips back home. It’s not smoked but rather hit with high heat in the wok with plenty of lemongrass, basil, and garlic and served with broken rice. Talk about a hearty side dish.
After many years of eating it at Texas Monthly BBQ Fest, Khói’s beef-rib curry seems like an old standard. Medallions of tender, boneless beef short rib are laid like dominoes atop a circle of garlic rice, and the cooks pour a pool of warm coconut curry over the top. It’s a reminder that more Texas-style smoked meats should find their way into curries.
The sides of wok-seared baby bok choy and miso mac and cheese were both enjoyable but not as creative as the rest of the menu. I was looking forward to the braised rib tips, but they were quite tough. The Vietnamese coffee tart capping off the meal was perfect. The custard is powerfully sweet and packs an espresso punch, but it’s balanced well with the thin, buttery crust. Lester Hairston is the baker on staff who produces the tarts, as well as another surprising star item.
His sesame-dusted dinner rolls are fluffy, buttery, and great for dipping into the curry or pho. Don said they’re inspired by the rolls the family ate at Golden Corral when he was growing up, and he also mentioned they’re the first step toward a house-made baguette. Since the beginning of Khói, the owners have shied away from offering the national sandwich of Vietnam, the banh mi. “It’s low-hanging fruit,” Don said. If they bought bread and filled it with their smoked meats and vegetables, it wouldn’t offer anything new to the cuisine, he said. He wants the bread to be the star, and he won’t serve the sandwich until they can make their own. Besides, they have a wealth of other options. “The dishes we do, we’re just scratching the surface,” Don said. “Vietnamese food is so deep.”
In February, the Nguyen family took a trip to Vietnam. It was the first time they had all returned together in over a decade. Don and Theo met cousins who are artists, coffee farmers, and bean-to-bar chocolate makers. They talked to restaurateurs who knew of their Texas-barbecue exploits and identified with them as fellow chefs. In Vietnam, they’re famous among their family, friends, and acquaintances for introducing Texans to their native cuisine. “Texas barbecue has allowed me to develop a closer connection to Vietnam,” Don said. That felt ironic to him at first. But when you eat at Khói and you pay attention to the food, and listen to how Don and Theo describe the geneses and development of their dishes, it’s obvious that cooking barbecue is their way of sharing their Vietnamese roots with the rest of Texas.
Khói Barbecue
515 Patton, Houston
Hours: Saturday–Sunday 11–3
Pitmasters: Don and Theo Nguyen and Ethan Villasana
Method: Post oak in an offset smoker and direct-heat cooker
Year opened: 2017
Read Next
Dining and Cooking