This Memphis Barbecue Joint Is The Best Spot To Break The Fast For Ramadan

Ramadan iftars at Tom’s Barbecue are a Memphis thing.

My stomach rumbles as I sit in the school cafeteria watching the other 14-year-olds in my class eat their sloppy joe sandwiches. An overwhelming craving for saucy brisket takes hold as my friends relish this week’s lunch special, their hands getting messier with each bite. Tearing my eyes away, I look up at the clock—only six more hours till I can stuff my face too.

When you live in Memphis, cravings for barbecue are hard to ignore on any given day. But during Ramadan, the holy month when observing Muslims fast from sunrise to sundown, the mere thought of fall-off-the-bone beef ribs coated in sweet, tangy sauce compels families like mine to trek 20 minutes south of downtown before the sun sets for iftar, the meal to break the fast.

Although Memphis-style ’cue is usually synonymous with pork, Tom’s Barbecue offers expert halal alternatives—like beef baby back ribs, smoked sausages, and brisket—that often end up on my family’s table for the evening feast. (“Halal” means “permissible” in Arabic and is used to describe various elements of Muslims’ lifestyle, including food.)

As the only barbecue restaurant serving halal meats in Memphis, this spot is beloved by the regional Muslim community, not only for its food but also for the man in the kitchen, Adam Itayem. What sets this Palestinian Muslim-owned place apart from others in town is Itayem’s menu, featuring halal meats smoked separately in the two extra pits he built. He still serves pork but prepares it offsite nearby.

On the billboard visible from the intersection of Getwell and East Raines Roads, the visage of chef and TV host Guy Fieri beckons locals, groups of travelers, lone truckers, and our clan into the yellow brick building “where friends meat,” as the sign notes. Tom’s got its name from Tom Stergios, who turned the property into a barbecue restaurant and deli in 1982.

Itayem’s booming voice rises above the noise of the fryers and grills. His Islamic greeting of “assalamu alaikum” (peace be unto you) reaches the back, where my dad and I are standing. The line moves quickly enough, but my teenage self remains impatient. Itayem notices.

“Someone’s ready for iftar—best to get extra ribs for this one,” he tells my dad with a laugh.

He takes Itayem’s advice and orders two racks of beef ribs, brisket sandwiches, gooey mac and cheese, and sweet coleslaw for our family of four to share. Holding the platters of food, we walk back to the tables that are covered in red-and-white checkered cloth. I’m eager to dig in as the adhan, or call to prayer, signals the end of the fast, but my mother’s whispered prayers tell me to wait just a minute longer.

After a nod from her, we dig in.

As I polish off a sweet, tender rib, I notice other families just like mine in traditional garb devouring Southern classics. A girl my age in a hijab takes her first bite. Our eyes meet, and we smile—feasting on halal barbecue after a 16-hour fast is very much a Memphis thing.

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