Tom Jenkins' rib shack isn't open on Sundays, because it isn't nice to worship with messy hands or bibs. The menu's motto -- "Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift" -- doesn't immediately call to mind good eatin', but don't let the proprietor's inarticulate speech of the heart dissuade you from trying the food. Instead heed the other phrase used to trumpet the restaurant's fare: "A taste you'll never forget." The smell emanating from the place permeates the air for blocks, and the down-home bonhomie cuts through socioeconomic strata, as businessmen mingle with construction workers, young with old, white with black, rich with poor -- in other words, anyone with an appreciation for good victuals can be found standing in line to place an order or hunched over the big communal picnic tables. Highly recommended: the ribs. There's a swell selection of other Southern specialties, too, like catfish with hushpuppies, barbecued chicken, and salty-sweet greens. Beer and barbecue is always a good combo, but TJ's doesn't cotton to swillin', so there's homemade lemonade on hand instead. And make a valiant attempt to save space for dessert: sweet potato pie and, on Fridays and Saturdays, peach cobbler and apple dumplings. Stay on the straight and narrow, follow your nose to Tom Jenkins', and reward your taste buds. Religiously.