by Andrew C. on Let it be known that this place isn't as good as the Real Deal(TM) in Driftwood (c.f. http://www.rateclubs.com/bi...), but it's reasonably close and the location is unbeatable. I believe everything is made offsite (not sure if it's at Round Rock or Driftwood) and carted in. It is brought in whole and sliced on-site, though. Check out the carving knives tethered to the chopping board, heh. You can get either plates, which come with meat (not sure how much) and two sides, for about $10.50 or the sandwich which contains 5oz of meat for $9. You can also add extra meat to your places for $4 or $5 per 3oz. The brisket here is just what you would expect -- smoky top and perfectly tender center. Make sure to ask for the BBQ sauce on the side as the meat here is good enough even without sauce! The sausage is sliced when you order, so you keep most of the juice and other tasty goodness. A full link is 6oz. I didn't get a chance to try the ribs, but if they're as good as the ones you get in Driftwood, I wouldn't hesitate to get an order. At the end of the day, this is *THE* place to stop in AUS before you fly to your inevitably BBQ-less destination. Solid 4 stars.
by Salvador Cerino on A certain red-headed hottie and I had a date to go dancing. Where better to groove all crazy-like AND to forget an embarrassing evening [ http://flickr.com/phot...] of being auctioned off than at 1984 at the Cat Club! I'd never been before, so I was SO thankful that my companions for the evening knew the ins and outs. Upon arrival, $6 cover. Coat check - $2. Bag check - $4. Next time, I'm bringing a less bulky coat or a bigger bag. We're in the front area. Cheesy 80's pop. It's perfect. Dance. Dance. Out of nowhere, we are whisked away by these French Guys ("FGs") in wigs and peculiar eyewear. There are quite a few of them, and they all know how to lead. Lots of dancing - fun, fun dancing. We head to the back area. The Smiths and the like. It's perfect. More dancing with the FGs. More twirling and whirling. It's definitely more spacious than the front area. Perhaps more people are into the cheese. Finally, we part ways with the FGs, heading back to the front area for some air. There's a fan overhead. Thank goodness for that. There's an outdoor smoking area too. I meet someone named Delanie with "ie" instead of "ey." We bond over the strange spelling of names. I end up smelling like smoke, and I'm only there for 5 minutes. Somehow one of my companions for the evening has disappeared. I take on the "I'm going to find her, and bring her back!" mission. I'm in the back area again. She's dancing with the FGs. Their wigs and eyewear are hard to resist. I keep messing up this one guy's name. Our friends from the front area finally make their way to the back to "rescue" us, and the rest of the 1984 experience is spent bopping to cheesy 80's again. On our way out, we grab our coats and bags. We run into the FGs again. Convenient, right? One insists that I take his friend's number. He puts it into my phone. He then proceeds to take my phone and call himself. He already has my red-headed companion's number, so we make it out of there. What SHOULD'VE happened - Leaving with an air of mystery. Disappearing into the night. Memories of a great time. What ACTUALLY happened - At 4:30am, a text message to both of our phones: "Hey! I don't even know your name, but somehow I got your number! Let's see where that leads us!" Yeah, no thanks. But I still have memories of a fantastic time, and I do plan on returning. Hooray 1984! Hooray Cat Club! Will try other nights if I can find dancing buddies. Let's go!
by Javier M. on I was 8 years old when my Mom took me to the Dept. Store for my B-Day to pick up a toy. I went straight to the "Masters of the Universe" rack, Oh! that blessed feeling in the gut; the glorious sight of the all-colorful package with the action figure inside; a heart throb would inmediately ensue "I just gotta have 'em!" -an urge inside you cried out. Oh yes! Those were our humble beginnings in capitalistic greed. I picked a brand new one called "Stratos" http://www.finalfronti...it announced itself as a "winged warrior", and thus, as soon as we got to the car, I was in my own universe, smelling that smell of new plastic and frisking the sculpted little figure with all my fingers might; even to the last letter in the action figure's foot that read "Made in Malaysia" 20 years later it was payback time. First in the literal sense (the cover was 20 bucks) then, I was in the line to enter Strata (I assume this the land were Stratos came from) and the big, bad bouncer looked at me and perhaps bent on redeeming his lord Stratos tainted pride, decided to frisk me like no one ever had (at least no man, ever has), down to the last imprint on my foot (not made in Malaysia)... not content with not finding any hidden glock or XVI century one-shot flintlock, the Strata's henchman decided to check upon my "winged warrior" to see if I was concealing something beneath it. Oh, but by the power of Grayskull I wasn't, and thus I stumbled inside, heading for the bar to forget this frisky incident; but as if I wasn't violated enough, I got charged $7.00 bucks for a Corona and in a fuckin plastic glass to boot!!!! The crowds were bizarre looking birds, complete with goggles like their master, and me and my fellow rateclubsers, not only felt out of place, but on the verge of puking. Pushed, tossed and ultimately relegated; the hideous music was not welcome... not my kind of place; but if you like guetto style parties (meaning this stereotype http://www.simbosound....no offense attached, I just happen to dislike it, okay?) with old hip-hop and rap, paying an overpriced cover (considering venue and circumstances), getting frisked to the bone, and paying 7 bucks for a beer, then this is your kind of place. Strata. Just south of Skeletor's hood. 1 star for making me remember my beloved childhood.
