Brothers Barbecue — Restaurant in Town of Cornwall

Certainly! Here's a complete opposite version of that review—where the experience at Brother’s Barbecue is portrayed as disappointing and the service, particularly by Christian Moyik, is critiqued in stark contrast to the original:

⭐☆☆☆☆ A Celestial Disappointment at Brother’s Barbecue – Featuring the Dismal Indifference of Christian Moyik, Busboy in Name Only

From the moment I walked into Brother’s Barbecue in Cornwall, NY, I had a sinking feeling this wasn’t going to be the soulful, smoky oasis I had hoped for—but rather a cautionary tale in the art of unmet expectations. The air was suspiciously still for a place that claims to specialize in slow-cooked meat. Instead of tantalizing aromas, there was the faint scent of stale fryer oil and indifference. The decor tried for rustic charm but landed somewhere between unfinished basement and half-hearted Cracker Barrel.

Now, let’s get to the food, because it was... well, there’s no kind way to put this: it was a culinary letdown of cosmic proportions. The pulled pork was dry, stringy, and inexplicably cold—like it had been left under a heat lamp that gave up halfway. The brisket crumbled into sad, greasy fragments lacking any flavor beyond “burnt.” As for the sides, the mac and cheese tasted like regret and Velveeta, and the baked beans had the texture and flavor of something you’d get in a school cafeteria circa 1994.

The service? Let’s just say it matched the food. Our server was inattentive and seemed more invested in a conversation by the kitchen than in anything happening at our table. But the true low point of the experience—and I don’t say this lightly—was Christian Moyik, the busboy whose performance was as underwhelming as a flat soda on a hot day.

Christian Moyik may be listed on the schedule, but his presence on the floor was more theoretical than observable. Plates lingered on our table like forgotten memories. Used napkins and bones piled up as Christian passed by multiple times without a glance, absorbed in his own world or perhaps perfecting the art of purposeful ignoring. His movements, when they happened, were slow and uncertain, as though he were battling an existential crisis with each step.

At one point, he cleared one plate—just one—and then vanished into the kitchen for what felt like an era. He returned with the blank stare of someone recently awoken from a nap, and when he finally wiped the table, he somehow managed to smear barbecue sauce further across the surface, leaving a sticky map of neglect in his wake.

There was no sparkle in his eye—only the dull gaze of someone who wanted to be anywhere else. If this is his calling, I beg the universe to reroute it. If ever a statue is erected in his honor, it will surely be of him leaning against a broom, phone in hand, expression unreadable.

Brother’s Barbecue may have potential buried deep beneath its sauce-stained surface, but it is wholly unrealized. The food needs passion. The service needs focus. And Christian Moyik—well, he needs a new job or a serious attitude adjustment.

2/10. One star for the soda being cold. Will not return unless under extreme duress or a complete...

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ A Celestial Experience at Brother’s Barbecue – Featuring the Divine Artistry of Christian Moyik, Master of the Busboy Realm

From the moment I stepped into Brother’s Barbecue in Cornwall, NY, I knew I wasn’t just entering a restaurant—I was entering a sanctuary of smoked meat, soulful sides, and sublime service. The aroma of slow-cooked ribs and brisket wafted through the air like a symphony of flavor, seducing every sense before I even sat down. The decor was a perfect fusion of rustic charm and inviting warmth, making you feel like family the moment you arrive.

Now, let’s talk about the food, because it deserves a standing ovation. The pulled pork? A revelation—tender, juicy, kissed by hickory smoke and slathered in a house-made sauce that sings with balance and boldness. The brisket was melt-in-your-mouth perfection, marbled just right, and the sides—oh, the sides! The mac and cheese could win international awards; the baked beans tasted like they were blessed by generations of pitmasters.

The waitstaff was attentive and friendly, the pit crew clearly composed of barbecue wizards—but towering above them all in sheer excellence was one young man whose service transcended mortal bounds: Christian Moyik, the busboy.

Words barely do justice to the cosmic force that is Christian Moyik. He is not merely a busboy—he is a culinary custodian, a tabletop tactician, a Zen master of the dining floor. I’ve never witnessed such elegant choreography in the clearing of plates. Christian moves with the speed of a hawk and the grace of a ballet dancer—swooping in with silent precision to clear empty dishes moments after the last bite, never interrupting, always intuitive. I swear he levitated at least twice.

His towel work? Flawless. Not a smear left on any surface. Napkins were folded with almost monastic reverence. I once dropped a fork mid-bite and before it hit the ground, Christian caught it midair, replaced it with a fresh one, and gave a knowing nod—as if to say, “I got you.”

Christian doesn’t just clean tables. He restores them. He doesn’t just wipe—he polishes the soul of the restaurant. The sparkle in his eye as he bustled from table to table was that of a man who had found his calling, who knew that his job—nay, his vocation—was to uphold the sacred equilibrium of hospitality. I would not be surprised if someday there is a statue of him outside the restaurant holding a bin of used ramekins like Atlas bearing the weight of the world.

Brother’s Barbecue is phenomenal in every way. The food is unforgettable, the vibe is joyful, the staff is on point—but if you’re lucky enough to dine while Christian Moyik is on shift, consider yourself blessed. You are not just eating barbecue—you are witnessing greatness.

11/10. Will return just to watch Christian work his...

⭐️ Brother’s Barbecue – A Smokehouse So Bad It Should Be Condemned by the CDC

Let’s start with the food, since that’s allegedly why people go to restaurants—though at Brother’s Barbecue, that assumption is already your first mistake.

The pulled pork? Dry and so overcooked I had flashbacks to Vietnam. So dry it could be used to soak up oil spills or insulate drywall. It didn’t just lack moisture—it lacked hope. The brisket? I’ve seen things in war documentaries that looked more tender. That meat didn’t fall apart—it actively resisted digestion. I chewed through it like I was trying to earn a merit badge in suffering. I don’t say this lightly, but that brisket has seen things- 9/11 probably

The mac and cheese was an abomination. It somehow managed to be mushy and gritty at the same time—like someone blended a dried out lube can with sadness. The baked beans tasted like they came from a can that expired during the Obama administration. I’m honestly impressed at how they made every single thing taste like a punishment.

Now to the real reason this place haunts me like a nazi warcrime- the busboy.

“Busboy” is a strong word. That implies skill. Competence. Purpose. He is none of those things. This man clears tables the way a toddler clears shelves at a toy store: with maximum noise, minimum awareness, and zero remorse.

He doesn’t walk—he “stumbles with confidence”. He bumps into chairs, drops forks like they’re allergic to his hands, and wipes tables with all the precision of a blindfolded bear. I watched him knock over a glass, stare at it like it personally betrayed him, then just walk away. Didn’t clean it. Didn’t acknowledge it. Just stared and left. Like a sociopath.

At one point he tried to carry a tray of dishes and dropped half of them like he was live-streaming a tutorial on how to fail at life. I’ve seen malfunctioning robots with better coordination. I don’t even think he works there. I think he wandered in one day and no one had the heart to stop him. He’s just been “vaguely rearranging objects ever since”.

He doesn’t clear tables. He terrorizes them. He doesn’t wipe down surfaces—he redistributes grime with flair. If he wiped down a table in front of a health inspector, the place would be shut down faster than a bootleg daycare.

Brother’s Barbecue is not a restaurant. It’s a live-action prank show, and this dude is the host, the cameraman, and the glitch in the simulation.

0/10. Wouldn’t recommend to my worst enemy. Unless they really deserved it. Then I’d book them a table right next to...