T.C.'s Rib Crib is simply but pleasantly decorated, with arrangements of framed photos and a colorful wall border. Photo by Ralph Fountain.

OK, I'm going to go out on a limb here: T.C.'s Rib Crib has the best barbecue I've tasted in Las Vegas.

Yeah, I put a qualifier on that, because I'm sure I haven't tasted every bit of barbecue that's available across the valley. But I'm still going out on a limb. Barbecue is an intensely personal thing, and the Texas and North Carolina and Memphis and Kansas City camps are all, like fundamentalist preachers, convinced that theirs is the only route to salvation.

As for T.C.'s, its roots are in Louisiana, which probably is why I liked it so much, having been weaned on barbecue from the parts of the South where Cracker is a term of honor. It's in those parts that the best barbecue places are found on two-lane roads lined with live oaks draped with Spanish moss. There's always a huge pile of wood out back, and a tacit competition among 'cue kings to prove that each guy's is bigger than the next.

So how do they smoke up good barbecue in a strip center in the 'burbs of Las Vegas? Simple. Those big piles are -- in an uncanny parallel -- just for show (though for fuel, in some cases); it only takes a few chunks of wood to infuse meat with a haunting hint of hardwood and render it gently crusted, moist and tender.

And infuse and render T.C.'s does. In a refreshing bit of egalitarianism T.C.'s charges the same for spare ribs, beef ribs or baby backs, and a half-slab of the latter ($14.99 with two sides and cornbread, or $18.99 for a full slab) came out of the kitchen so irresistible that we had a tough time putting them down.

Ditto for the pulled pork ($11.99 with two sides and cornbread). The big pile of meat had been lightly drizzled with T.C.'s sauce and was sufficiently flavorful that we didn't touch the bottles on the table.

The sides were very good as well. Fried okra, fried sweet potatoes and onion rings were all perfectly cooked (which means crisp on the exterior, moist within), without a touch of grease. And Aunt Ada's Potato Salad, studded with chunks of hard-cooked egg, really did taste like somebody's aunt had just dropped it off.

Service throughout was excellent. The wait staff was friendly and prompt, and the cooks occasionally came out of the kitchen to greet customers and solicit feedback.

Even the interior of the place was very agreeable -- sparkling clean, with dozens of framed photos (family, we assume) artfully arranged on the walls and a colorful border-and-wainscot treatment. There's food for the soul, too, with a "quote of the day" on the easel where the day's desserts are listed.

Speaking of which: Choices were many (and we had a pile of takeout containers), but the peach cobbler ($4.99) particularly beckoned, and turned out to be moist and fruity, with just enough cinnamon.

We did have a couple of quibbles, but they weren't sufficient to detract from an A grade. The corn muffins -- the old-fashioned fine-textured kind -- were on the dry side; next time we'd ask for butter or use them to mop up some meat and sauce.

As I made my way through the pile of pulled pork, I noticed a slight sheen of grease on my plate. Pulled pork is tricky; in most restaurants it's so dry that only a drenching of sauce will redeem it. But be advised.

And TC's uses disposable plastic plates and flatware. They're a good heavy grade, but again, be advised, if this sort of thing bothers you.

As for us, we'll invoke TC's motto: "The way to a person's heart is through the ribs."

Amen.

Las Vegas Review-Journal reviews are done anonymously at Review-Journal expense. Contact Heidi Knapp Rinella at 383-0474 or e-mail her at hrinella@ reviewjournal.com.