That’s always a great excuse to dine at Jocko’s Steak House, the go-to BBQ spot here on the California central coast since the 1940s.
Shit, my daddy started taking me to Jocko’s for their smoky spareribs when I was just 11, back when you could buy a rack a lot cheaper than the 23 bucks it runs you now.
Anyway, we had a fantastic meal at Jocko’s earlier this week.
The place ain’t fancy. It’s a cowboy hangout with make-do curtains, mismatched silverware, and paper placemats featuring a cartoon steer picking his teeth.
The small Spencer steak is maybe 18 ounces. The small filet is twice the size of my fist.
Jocko’s is really about one thing and one thing only — meat.
LOTS of meat.
People don’t drive 300 miles or more for the relish tray at Jocko’s.
They don’t wait two hours for its simple green salad, baked potatoes, or garlic bread.
And they sure don’t squeeze into this tightly packed restaurant for its wine menu, which amounts to unnamed reds and whites probably poured out of a box.
They come for the gigantic steaks, chops, and ribs, all of them grilled perfectly to order.
Jocko’s does meat better’n any other steak house in the state.
That’s their unique selling point.
Everybody knows that, and if they argue that point, they don’t know what the hell they’re talking about.
So what’s your unique selling point?
If you can’t say it in a single sentence, then you’ve got some work to do.