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Virginia Gov. Gerald L. Baliles called the business a "national treasure" in a 1986 speech to Mary Washington College students. The image of the unassuming brick building (with the bathrooms out back) has been put on T-shirts and sold on prints. And plenty of food writers have sung the restaurant's praises.
This writer is about to do the same.
Sitting down at Allman's is like sitting down in the past. Most of the U.S. 1 restaurants of its ilk are long gone, but here, the eight chrome bar stools, upholstered in genuine red vinyl, still spin. Tables for four, eight of them, are squeezed into the one-room establishment.
Peek through the serving window in the back and you'll see the cook, Mary Brown--"Mom" to many locals--slicing, dicing and frying as she has since she took the job in 1960. The restaurant opened in 1954, and Brown still uses the original recipes.
Barbecue-lovers are passion-ate about recipes. Talk barbecue and you'll hear about "North Carolina," "east North Carolina," "west North Caro-lina" and "southeast Virginia," to name a few.
I've tried them all, and they don't beat Allman's.
Here's why:
First, there's the ambiance of the place--the ceramic pig paraphernalia, the calendars from other Fredericksburg businesses, the long-tusked wild boar's head that hangs on the wall and right now is wearing a Santa Claus hat.
Second, there are the customers--hunters in feed caps, granddaughters taking granny out for a low-cost holiday lunch, Yankees who've heard tell of the place and veer off their I-95 trajectories to do some anthropological and culinary research.
Third, and most importantly, there's the short menu of simple food cooked up right--every time.
The star of this show is the pig.
Lean pork shoulder is cooked slow, sliced into toothsome chunks or chopped extra fine. Don't expect the tender meat to be dressed with tomato or vinegar when it arrives on the plate. The sauce is in a plastic squirt bottle on the table--you put on as much or as little of the sweet, viscous, vinegary sauce as you like.
You can order a (gut-buster) platter of the pork with fries, coleslaw and a roll, or you can do as restrained regulars do: Order a deluxe sandwich (sliced or minced) plate.
Cole slaw comes on the side. It's a home-style recipe that's got hearty threads of sliced--not grated--cabbage bathed in lots of sweet, creamy dressing. It adds a nice crunch to the barbecue sandwich.
Fries are golden, crisp and served hot. For my money, they are the best around.
Allman's shakes are the real deal, big and thick with scoops of ice cream blended with fresh milk in the old- fashioned way. The friendly waitress delivers the dessert-drink hybrid to the table in a tall metal tumbler direct from the milkshake machine. There's enough shake to share, but that doesn't mean you'll want to.
If you don't like barbecue, you can get a decent hamburger or cheeseburger at Allman's.
Children like the grilled cheese sandwich (made on a hamburger bun) or the funky hot dog, slit around the edges before grilling so that the dog obediently curls to fit on--you guessed it--a hamburger bun. Unconventional, perhaps, but tasty and a real draw for some kids.
No beer here: There's lemonade, ice tea and soft drinks. If you fancy something sweet after your sweet barbecue and sweet cole slaw, you can have ice cream with or without Hershey's chocolate syrup.
Allman's is open for lunch six days a week and stays open until 7:30 every business night but Wednesday. Unlike in the "old days," the restaurant is closed on Sunday; Brown says she needs the break.
Expect a wait when you come to Allman's, even during "off-hours." This is a place that Fredericksburg loves.