Ranch House BBQ & Steakhouse

Where: 10841 Kennedy Creek Rd SW (off Hwy 8 West) Olympia, 360.866.8704, www.ranchhousebbq.net

Hours: Daily 11 a.m. to 9 p.m.

Cuisine: Award-winning Southern barbecue

Scene: Relaxed, very casual, not much talking due to full mouths

Drinkies: Full bar, specialty cocktails, non-alcoholic beverages

Damage: $1.49-$24.99



ANNOUNCER: Some may say the lush green rainforest, the sparkling ocean or Mount Rainier are must-visit destinations in the Puget Sound. Olympia’s Ranch House BBQ and Steakhouse should be added to the list. The red siding and white trim are certainly not flashy or attention grabbing; the restaurant looks like someone’s home off a side road in the woods. The structure had a bad run-in with Mother Nature in the form of a wall of mud in the winter of 2007. Temporarily relocating so business could continue while salvage efforts commenced and repairs were done, co-owners Amy Anderson and Melanie Tapie reopened in February in their original location off Highway 8 West. Who would have imagined award-winning barbeque could be found in the outskirts of Washington state’s capitol. For those that think great barbeque can only be found south of the Mason-Dixon, Chef Amy has something for you.



JAKE: Is a man crying in public still unacceptable? What if it’s from joy? Before the door of Ranch House even closed behind us, a friendly-faced guy in a red T-shirt greeted us with “Welcome, we’re glad you’re here.” Man, how often do you hear that, uh, anywhere these days? Yeah, nowhere. Our eight-minute wait for a table was passed easily looking at the copious number of trophies in a chicken wire enclosed display case at the front counter. Reminded me of the movie The Blues Brothers with the band playing behind chicken wire in the raucous bar scene.



JASON: We could have had a table immediately if you hadn’t insisted on a table that sat four, but hey, I do know how we eat and a two-seater truly would not hold our imminent spread of gluttony. Our server was a big bear of a guy with a jolly face and excellent hospitality training. Smoked drumettes, the appetizer special of the evening, were delightfully moist, with tiny specs of herb clinging to the skin. Softly sweet strawberry lemonade made me think of summer. Awwwww. Grated cheddar- and mozzarella-topped award-winning chili showed hardly any oil indicating high quality ground beef had been used; beans were exactly right — firm outside and soft inside without being mushy.



JAKE: Toot toot, it’s the Jason Express. I was relieved the cornbread was moist. It’s such a letdown when it crumbles like Styrofoam in your mouth. The side Caesar salad was overly large, a portent of things to come. The barbeque sampler platter was massive horizontally and vertically. A juicy smoked chicken quarter with amazing lightly glazed skin lay half under a tender three-bone pork riblet. A mound of tawny pulled pork nestled against beef brisket. All had minimal barbeque sauce on them. Chef Amy obviously believes in letting flavors shine and not drowning meats, even if the sauce packed much “wow” factor. To add or not to add? Once it hits the table, it’s up to you. I see why there are awards, plaques, ribbons and certificates absolutely everywhere. They’re well earned.



JASON: Chef Amy came through the restaurant’s two dining rooms visiting the tables personally. I love it when chefs do that. All entrees come with choice of side dishes consisting of rich red, tangy and sweet baked beans, an ultra light shredded coleslaw that tasted like it was tossed in sweet vinegar and had zero mayo anywhere near it, and very yellow potato salad. The potato salad didn’t knock my socks off, but it wasn’t inedible either. And of course, more corn bread. I passed on the black peppercorn and chose Caribbean rub as topping for my 10-ounce Top Sirloin, ordering it medium rare. Braced for disappointment as my knife pierced the seared outer edge, I watched as blood flowed. We have lift off, Captain. The spices were a dynamic compliment to the sirloin’s natural flavor and smell. A skewer of three baby lobsters, that’s what I call prawns, sat on top of a mountain of garlic fries. The wiggly hand-cut fries were brown and gold with liberal garlic chunks. Heaven.



JAKE: And instantly your breath is kickin’. Yee-haw. A slice of Ranch House mud pie big enough to split between four adults floated through my carnivore vision and landed in the middle of the table. Vanilla ice cream, Oreo crust, whipped cream, drizzled fudge and nuts, it was five inches long and three inches high, a clear danger to my health. I prayed Chef Amy had a cot in back for when I collapsed.



JASON: You’re a wuss. I ate half and was fine. I got a kick out of the female servers sporting Best Rack In Town T-shirts. I can say that eating barbeque should not be a same-sex excursion. Sitting across from Jake watching him dreamily slurp sauce and meat juices from his fingers had me a little creeped out. If it was my hot wife, that would be a different story.