Black · Gold · Meat · Est. 2026
Welcome to the Palace.
San Diego's most famous barbecue joint has a new name, a new attitude, and an owner who finally has the paperwork to do whatever he wants with it.
Owner · Mitch
San Diego's most famous barbecue joint has a new name, a new attitude, and an owner who finally has the paperwork to do whatever he wants with it.
Owner · Mitch
Alright. Let's get this over with.
A few months ago I watched the new movie about that famous Navy pilot. You know, the one who sang in my dining room forty years ago. Okay, I watched the trailer. Twice. Then I read the plot summary, the spoilers, and a lot of reviews, which is basically the same thing as watching it.
And based on that extensive research, I can tell you with total confidence: that man has gone soft. Honestly, I'm not sure he was ever hard. Maybe in the eighties. I only saw the trailer for the eighties. Multiple reviewers mentioned a shirtless beach scene. I didn't need to see it. I know what moisturized looks like. Barbecue deserves a face that doesn't moisturize. Barbecue deserves feet like mine.
Also, I officially bought out my uncle. He's still here most days, parked at the end of the bar making sure nothing ever changes. Want to fire the guy who's been showing up late since 1997? Uncle says he's "family." He is not family. He's drunk, and he can't run the register. Meanwhile, my aunt handles strategy. Her big idea this year: an inflatable leprechaun on the roof for St. Patrick's Day, because otherwise how would anyone know we celebrate it. Who the fuck goes to a barbecue joint for St. Patty's Day? We get the drunks every day, 365 days a year. They don't know what day it is. Uncle, Auntie, I love you both. The paperwork is signed and the new sign is up. Neither of them has been in since. I honestly can't tell if they're disappointed in me or just can't find the place anymore.
So here it is: Kansas City Barbeque is now Mitch's Meat Palace. Is it a lot? Yes. Did I name it after myself around beer sixteen? Also yes. Am I changing it back? Absolutely not.
That's what 1,158 people on Tripadvisor gave the old name, including 263 who went with "Poor" or "Terrible." We had two options: fix the brisket, or change the name, get a brand-new listing, and start fresh at zero reviews. Guess which one doesn't require effort.
One reviewer titled theirs "Worst BBQ ever!" They said there was no smoker in sight, and the brisket and pulled pork came out grey and flavorless.
Grey is a neutral. It goes with everything.
Several visitors who are actually from Kansas City say it's nothing like Kansas City barbecue, and one called the name an insult.
Great news, it's not called Kansas City anymore. You're free to go back. Take my aunt and uncle with you. Uncle went to school there, which is the closest this place has ever come to actual Kansas City barbecue, and between the two of them they own enough Jayhawks gear to blend right in.
A guest said the brisket ran a little on the dry side.
It's not dry. It's aged. Like me. Like my feet. Next.
Someone was upset the place ran out of burnt ends, given the name.
You walked past forty nice restaurants in the Gaslamp to eat here. You're the burnt end.
One diner compared the chicken quarter, unfavorably, to a quail.
Have you seen a quail? Those things are adorable. Show some respect.
A local food guide said the place is more famous for a movie than for its pork, and better for a souvenir T-shirt than serious barbecue.
You went to a restaurant famous for one movie scene, named after a city 1,600 miles away, in Southern California, and expected serious barbecue? Who's the fucking idiot here? Buy a tank top and get out.
One reviewer suggested skipping it and eating at one of San Diego's seafood restaurants instead.
Enjoy your $38 fish taco, champ.
Feedback paraphrased from real public reviews of the former Kansas City Barbeque. Read them yourself on Tripadvisor. We read every single one. Out loud. At beer eleven. Some of us cried.
Great Balls Night · Dress rehearsal
Once a month, a guy who sort of looks like that pilot (from across the room, if you're drunk) sits at that piano and plays that song.
Let's be honest: it's the only reason any of you come here. Nobody's flying across the country for the coleslaw. So we're leaning in. Cover is $40. The piano is out of tune. The look-alike is a guy named Gary.
Sandals required for piano-adjacent seating. Mitch will check. Mitch will smell.
Rainbow sandals, 365 days a year, including four Seattle winters at UW. The result is a pair of heels you could strike a match on. The health department says they "aren't technically a violation." We framed the letter.
Introducing the 18-Beer Standard. All staff are trained to keep pace with the owner. Nobody has passed. One guy from the spring cohort is still in the bathroom.
Three kidneys. That's not a medical history, that's an unfair advantage. While you're on beer four pissing every ten minutes, Mitch is running triple-redundant plumbing.
Mitch could spend all day in Point Loma, wearing sandals and judging other people's boats. Instead, he drives all the way downtown. Eleven minutes. Every. Damn. Day.
Uncle built it. Mitch bought it. Uncle still thinks he runs it. That's what we call a family business.
"I was supposed to be the backup. The other two quit years ago. He didn't notice. I'm doing all of it now. Send help."
— Mitch's third kidney"I've treated Clydesdales with softer heels. I stopped returning his calls."
— Mitch's former podiatrist"We've survived four Seattle winters, a wedding, and a funeral. We are not a shoe. We are a cry for help."
— Mitch's Rainbows"He calls it 'one beer.' I served him eleven 'one beers' before noon. He tipped me in drink tickets from 2014."
— Every bartender who has ever served him"He gave me a twenty-minute review of the new movie. Turns out he'd watched the trailer for a different movie."
— A friend who has actually seen the movie"I sold him the bar so I could finally relax. Now I come in every day to watch him ruin it. Best retirement ever."
— Mitch's uncle, former owner, current owner in his own mind"Love the new sign. Where does the leprechaun go?"
— Mitch's aunt, head of strategy"I flew 1,600 miles for this. The Cinnabon at the airport had more smoke flavor."
— An actual person from Kansas City"I get paid forty bucks a night to look like a movie star. Standing next to Mitch, I finally do."
— Gary, the look-alike"We can hear his heels on the sidewalk from three houses away. Sounds like someone dragging a saddle."
— His Point Loma neighbors"Stole a whole rib off his plate. He didn't notice. Honestly? Best meal I've had there."
— A seagull on the patio, verified customerJoin the waitlist for opening-night access, founding-member merch, and a personal voice memo from Mitch, recorded after beer nine and mostly burping.
lol. Nothing's changing. It's still Kansas City Barbeque, and Uncle would never allow it anyway. Go get a brisket and tell Mitch to put on some damn socks.