Aug. 8 (Bloomberg) -- Texas Hill Country, just outside Austin, is rugged, appealing and frequently dry. The same can be said for Hill Country barbecue, famous though it may be.

This style of barbecue has come to Chelsea, a Manhattan neighborhood that seems to have been waiting for little else, so popular is a new, two-story restaurant named Hill Country. It features big stacks of post oak, iced tea in jars and meats served on butcher paper.

The owners have modeled their 250-seat emporium after Kreuz Market, a once revered spot now considerably commercialized. Still, Hill Country looks fine, even if a guest of mine just in from Paris squealed with delight because it reminded her of the Hard Rock Cafe in her hometown.

Many of the meats, overseen by Queens native and barbecue- contest devotee Robbie Richter, are admirable -- as well as astonishingly moist. An oversized painting just inside the door depicting longhorn cattle fording a stream nicely illustrates what Hill Country does best.

On the other hand, when it comes time to choose among the multitude of desserts and side dishes, I'd suggest running for the hills.

Barbecue isn't easy, although it sure looks it, since the men who make it -- there aren't many gals in the business -- seem not to do much but sit on folding chairs sipping beer while smoke curls around the meat. Great barbecue, whether it's beef, pork or chicken (the big three of the genre), is smoky, tender and never dried-out.

Too Much Salt

The meats at Hill Country are somewhat smoky, although post oak doesn't impart the sweetest flavor. A lot of the zing comes from the dry rub, a mixture of black pepper, cayenne and too much kosher salt.

Never in my life have I encountered such preternaturally moist meat. The soggy-skinned chicken, which I didn't admire, could well have been steamed. I was reminded of broasting, a problematic cooking method that cursed America with wet fried chicken for a good part of the 20th century.

The game hen, however, was superb, the best dish in the house. Tiny birds are almost impossible to barbecue, so quickly do they shrivel, but these were smoky and succulent.

Should you wish meat on the bone, the juicy pork chop takes to the house style of cooking better than either the beef ribs or the pork ribs -- the dry rub dominates these two.

Fickle Brisket

Brisket, the staple of Texas barbecue, comes two ways: moist and lean.

I had moist that was a fatty pile of goo. I had moist that was rich and marbled. I had lean that was exquisitely moist, and I had lean (from the ends) that was dry. If it's any comfort, brisket inconsistency plagues Texas, too. I'd order the lean and insist it come from the center of the slab.

Here's a tip you can take to the meat counter: Skip the prime rib, the most expensive item by far. It's not prime and it's not pleasant.

Your job, as a customer, is to line up, ticket in hand. Foremost is the meat counter, and then there's a second counter for side dishes and desserts and a third for drinks. A few waiters and waitresses are on hand, supposedly to fetch beverages, but for the most part they stand around and admire the ceiling, which has exposed pipes and fluorescent lights. Fascinating, I suppose.

Informality is observed by all, as it should be in an establishment where fatty meats are eaten off greasy paper.

Sad Sides

Of the multitude of side dishes and salads, 14 in all, some cold, some hot, I recommend four: campfire baked beans, potato salad, cucumber salad and farmers market salad. All are well prepared, well balanced and nice foils for the meats.

Most of the others are awful. The yolks of the deviled eggs are trail dust. The sweet-potato-bourbon mash is food for infants with a drinking problem. The corn pudding, pleasant enough to gaze upon before being served, is scooped out and dumped into a paper cup, resulting in a mushy mess.

This plopping style of presentation is utilized for most of the veggies. I'm never pleased when the food you bring to the table looks exactly like the food busboys remove from the table.

Of the desserts, only one is admirable, the peanut-butter- and-jelly cupcakes with Reese's Pieces on top. They're very fresh, and they taste like third grade.

A few menu items are imported from Texas. Big Red soda pop tastes a little like a cherry lollipop and a little like bubble gum. Lone Star beer, made in Texas by Pabst Brewing Co., is a whole lot better than Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, also for sale. Blue Bell ice cream, served in cups, proudly touts its artificial vanilla flavor.

The sausage comes from Kreuz Market, icon of the establishment. It's tasty, spicy, fatty, greasy and overloaded with filler -- the third-best ring sausage sold in Lockhart, Texas. If you're heading for Texas Hill Country, I recommend the City Market in Luling. The ring sausage there is the best you'll ever eat.

The Bloomberg Questions

Cost? Prices range from $3.50 for a wedge of corn bread to $29 per pound for the prime rib.

Sound level? The music is wonderful -- rock, country, bluegrass. Too bad you can't hear it above all the talking, a lot of it from people standing in line.

Date place? Absolutely, if your next stop is the rodeo.

Inside tip? Beware of the custom-made If You Gotta Have It barbecue sauce. Texans rarely put sauce on their meats, and they sure wouldn't change their habits for this one, which tastes like tutti-frutti Worcestershire sauce.

Special feature? Rolls of paper towels in place of napkins. One friend said, ``I love this. It's the way I eat at home.''

Private room? The huge downstairs dining area can be booked.

Lunch? Yes.

Will I be back? Once the vegetable cook is run out of town.

Hill Country is at 30 W. 26th St. Information: +1-212-255-4544; http://www.hillcountryny.com.

(Alan Richman is a restaurant critic for Bloomberg News. The opinions expressed are his own.)

To contact the writer of this story: Alan Richman at thecritic@optonline.net.

Last Updated: August 8, 2007 00:05 EDT