Category Archives: Southern

American, Canadian, Casual, Southern

InterJew #7: Doug Stephen (co-owner; DownLow Chicken Shack, Vennie’s Sub Shop, and The Drive Canteen)

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By Michael White

Much like another recent InterJew interviewee, Claire from Livia, Doug Stephen is a former Torontonian who found his true home in Vancouver, and the Commercial Drive neighbourhood in particular.

Doug met his wife, Lindsey Mann, when they both were working at the Drive’s now-defunct Merchant’s Oyster Bar (Doug was a co-owner). The couple now co-owns three beloved Drive businesses: the astoundingly successful DownLow Chicken Shack, Vennie’s Sub Shop, and The Drive Canteen, the latter a meticulously curated convenience store best known for stocking one of Vancouver’s largest selections of faux-alcoholic zero-proof beverages. Each business is, to varying degrees, autobiographical, inspired by Doug’s favourite childhood foods.

This interview has been edited for brevity and clarity.

What’s your earliest memory of being taken to a restaurant?
There was a place in Toronto called the Organ Grinder. It was kind of like the very first iteration of an arcade in conjunction with a solid pizza program. Imagine Chuck E. Cheese but without the scary animals. and instead with a higher level of food. I can’t remember whether it was my birthday party or somebody else’s, but the idea of a dining experience that included this whole multimedia sensory situation was pretty popular.

Are you originally from Toronto?
Born in Winnipeg, raised in Toronto my entire life, and then the first go-round in Vancouver was 2005 and 2006, and then the second go-round in 2010.

What compelled you to move to Vancouver and why did it take a couple of tries to stick?
Both times I was following my heart with regards to a partner at the time, as well as a desire for a change of scenery. It stuck the second time around because I ended up being both a dog owner — a pit bull, which was banned from my other home provinces — and I was a business owner, so suddenly I didn’t have a choice but to remain in B.C., and very happily so. I very much love the west coast — the lifestyle and being close to nature.

I was working at a place in Gastown called Cork & Fin, and my boss at the time asked me if I’d like to become partners in his next venture, which was on Commercial Drive, called Merchant’s Oyster Bar. I jumped at the opportunity, because being a restaurant owner has always been something I wanted to do. It was our second day of [soft opening], and somebody who’s now a dear friend turned to me and said, “The most important part about being on the Drive is taking care of the locals.”

I was living in Toronto in 2003 and ’04, around the time of the SARS[-CoV-1 virus]. I was working two jobs at the time, one of which was driven by tourism and the businesspeople who were coming downtown, and the other was entirely neighbourhood focused. The first business lost everything, because suddenly people weren’t coming to the office and there was no tourism, and the other one flourishedbecause the neighbours wanted to take care of their neighbourhood space. So, hearing my pal, Sarah, say, “Take care of your neighbours and they will take care of you” resonated on a number of levels. I love all of Vancouver, but I’ve felt most at home on the Drive, where the idea of saying hello to your neighbour — whether you know them or not — as you walk down the street is not treated in such a weird way as it might in some other neighbourhoods.

How important was your tenure at Merchant’s in terms of teaching you how to be a restaurant owner?
I think that every experience I’ve ever had has been a learning opportunity — some of them in terms of what to do and some in terms of what not to do. With Merchant’s, it was my first opportunity at ownership. It was an overreaching space and I understand now that there was more that I didn’t know than I did know. And that led to Lindsey and I really rethinking how we wanted to do things when it came time for Downlow. We started with the idea that our lifestyle with Merchant’s was not sustainable for anybody, and the resulting challenges — looking back at it and who I was, I wasn’t happy. And so we wanted to change this life for ourselves. We started with the idea of trying to remove a lot of the challenges that we felt with Merchant’s. It’s been really positive. There are still stumbling blocks and there’s still so much learning for us to do, but I’m really happy with what we’ve been able to build.

How was the lifestyle at Merchant’s unsustainable?
I was an alcoholic, and part of it was self-medicating to deal with the stress, the anxiety, the rush of service and getting through a 16-hour day. It wasn’t until a few years after we opened Downlow that I really started to see the impacts it was having on me. I wasn’t participating in some of the more difficult challenges our industry presents, but it was still enough that I wasn’t happy with who I was. Sobriety, for me, has been a really, really positive change.

It’s interesting that you were able to initiate that lifestyle change when you were at Downlow, because from the very first day, it was busier than Merchant’s had ever been, wasn’t it?
Yup. There were still incredibly long days, but they were very different and they were very… I don’t wanna say fulfilling, but it was a very different space and it was very different in the way that it operated. The daytime versus the late nights, the liquor license versus no liquor license — all of these things amounted to this dramatic shift in lifestyle for me.

How surprising was it that Downlow was so popular from the beginning? I’m sure you were optimistic and you had reasonably positive expectations, but it was a juggernaut from day one.
We were incredibly surprised, and then we also were petrified about being able to maintain expectations, especially because the hype just continued to grow. We try, every single day, to be better today than we were yesterday, and to make sure that tomorrow we’re gonna be better than today. I feel so, so lucky that we were received the way we were, and I also feel very blessed that this is what I do for a living. I get to revisit the foods of my childhood and do them through a slightly better lens and use [higher-quality] proteins. And more importantly for Lindsey and I, we get to try to shift the conversation within our industry in terms of how we take care of the people around us — because, to be honest, we’re nothing without them.  

You said in an interview with the Vancouver Sun that a lot of the foods you like cooking most are based in nostalgia. So, how does fried chicken figure within that context? What makes it so nostalgic for you?
Chicken fingers. (laughs)

From anywhere in particular?
Yes and no. I’ve always been somebody who just genuinely enjoys the product. I probably don’t eat KFC nearly as much as I used to. To be honest, it’s only if they release a new product that I go to check it out. But I still get the cravings for that neon-green coleslaw. I was talking about the Organ Grinder: They had a freaking bangin’ garlic-cheesy bread and, surprisingly, what really evokes that memory for me is Pepino’s. Dramatically different, significantly higher-quality bread at Pepino’s. But holy moly, does food ever bring back a lot of positive memories for me. So many positive moments in my life have been shared at a table, and I think that’s why nostalgic food is so key to me.

As a former Ontarian myself, I have to ask: Was Vennie’s inspired by Mr. Sub [an Ontario institution that opened its first location in Toronto in 1968]?
I call it “east coast sandwich culture.” There are elements of Mr. Sub, and also of St. Lawrence Market [in Toronto], and having experienced Jewish delis in New York. When we launched Vennie’s, the few places in Vancouver that I thought were really paying homage to this east coast thing — none of them were really open. Say Hey had closed and it didn’t look like it was coming back, and La Grotta had closed for renovations, if I’m not mistaken. We had originally taken on the Vennie’s space so that we could store enough chicken to operate Downlow, so we were carrying this second lease and we thought, “If we can at least contribute some of the lease value, it’ll be better than nothing.” That’s what Vennie’s was born out of, and it’s kind of taken on a life of its own. We’ve recently been doing some renos there to increase seating and make it a more hospitable space, instead of this kind of pseudo construction zone.

I just love [sandwiches]; I love what you can do between two pieces of bread. I love anything I can hold in my hand. Don’t get me wrong — cutlery is great. But if I can just pick it up and crush it, I’m stoked. 

Which do you think is the most underrated restaurant in Metro Vancouver?
I think what Justin [Song-Ell, chef] is doing at Elephant… I’m just a huge fan of his, of his cooking and his food. And I know he’s getting recognition, but I just wanna scream it from the rafters.

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American, Barbecue, Southern

Review: Slim’s BBQ (formerly Dixie’s BBQ)

Watch the video review here!

By Michael White

The gutted, dark, seemingly unmanned former dining room onto which I open the door of Dixie’s BBQ suggests this is yet one more Vancouver restaurant in its death throes as a result of COVID-19. A table strategically positioned across the threshold prevents me from entering, and so I stand on the sidewalk and curiously survey this unexpected scene. At first glance, I can’t determine where the sombre desolation of East Hastings ends and the storefront from which I’ve been instructed to fetch dinner begins.

But this isn’t at all what it appears to be. A happy dude trots out from the rear kitchen — where, as if providing a metaphor for the business, light still shines — and greets me with all the warmth our surroundings lack. The premises are undergoing extensive renovations, he explains, but takeout and delivery are operating as normal; the masses are confined to their homes, and they want heaping containers of Texas-style barbecue meat transported directly to their mouths. He thanks me sincerely for collecting my order personally — it means a delivery platform isn’t taking a cut of their profits — and showers me with news. Dixie’s, he explains, is expanding its kitchen into what was once the dining room in order to provide commissary space for other local restauranteurs — a much-needed utility at a time when the “ghost kitchen” concept has never been more popular, owing to the impracticality of paying rent for a public seating area that won’t be fully populated again anytime soon. Despite being, at most, a two-minute conversation, I leave in a better mood than when I’d arrived, and I had already been in a good mood. Whereas so many restaurant proprietors and servers can’t help but (perhaps unconsciously) spray their understandable anger and exhaustion into innocent customers’ faces nowadays, this Dixie’s delegate made me feel genuinely welcome and appreciated. That appreciation was reciprocal.

As it happens, Dixie’s closed its front of house long before the pandemic began, in July 2019. Owners Christina Cottell and Shoel Davidson determined that the majority of their business was coming from takeout, delivery and catering, so eliminating the overheads and headaches of a dining room wasn’t a terribly difficult decision. Although they couldn’t have foreseen the events that would swallow the world eight months later, it left them in a favourable position, and now they intend to use that position to lift up others in their industry. So far, so admirable.

My elevated mood continued when Kley and I began tearing into our order at home. We’re admitted latecomers to the party — Dixie’s opened in 2016, and has been the subject of rave reviews and word-of-mouth from the beginning. It’s understandable that it was so warmly received, if for no other reason than Vancouver has long suffered from a dearth of good barbecue. (I’ve never been convinced by a local chainlet, which I won’t name, that has persisted for almost two decades.) This is in part because, despite its reputation as humble blue-collar cuisine, proper barbecue is the result of exacting techniques and no small investment. A wood-fired smoker (as opposed to an electric one) is expensive to acquire and install, and it burns — literally — through an exceptional amount of costly lumber. And once the myriad nuances of smoking animal flesh have been mastered, the fruits of your labour have to be served in a timely manner. Barbecue meat eaten either before or after its time (which can be a matter of as little as an hour) is a tragedy that no amount of sauce can disguise.

Although our bounty of exactingly prepared beast had to travel from the Downtown Eastside to the West End and was then reheated in a garden-variety apartment oven, we immediately understood the fuss about Dixie’s. Our smoked brisket had lost some of its juices in transit but none of its flavour and tenderness, while gorgeously crusted pork ribs, imbued down to the bone with a subtle peach-chipotle glaze (in accordance with Central Texas tradition, Dixie’s doesn’t slather its meats in sauce), left us grasping for superlatives and second helpings. Smoked hot links, made with both brisket and pork, surprised us with their senses-filling melange of spices, dominated by curry powder that led these sausages far astray from the Southern U.S. and into Middle Eastern territory. Is this typical? Is it correct? Don’t know, don’t care.

We would have loved to also try the twice-fried chicken and the smoked pork and the cornbread and the mac & cheese and perhaps one of the sandwiches, but we’re only two people, and at least one of us lives in fear of a metabolism that hasn’t so much slowed with age as laid down and pressed its Life Alert button.

That cordial guy who rung up my order also disclosed during our brief transaction that Dixie’s would soon be consolidating somehow with Main Street’s perennially popular Rumpus Room, and that a rebranding might be imminent. And so it proved: Less than 24 hours before this review was to be published, it was announced that Dixie’s is soon becoming Slim’s BBQ, which will in fact outright replace the Rumpus Room beginning the week of January 25; a weeklong soft opening precedes the official launch on February 1. Much, if not all, of the Dixie’s menu will live on at Slim’s, as will many of the interior fixtures from the original dining room. No matter what the location or what it calls itself, I’ll pursue these smoke signals wherever they come from.

Slim’s BBQ
2301 Main St.
604-708-0881
Instagram: @meatatslimsbbq (Website coming soon)
Delivery and takeout info forthcoming

(Photo: Kley Klemens)

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