I stopped going to Phil’s BBQ in Mission Hills a few years ago because I felt suffocated by the chronic long lines and cramped interior. Yet a feeling of self-deprivation always prevailed when I hankered for Phil’s mesquite-grilled ribs, which for most card-carrying carnivores in this town rank as king of the hill.

To my delight, a long-overdue expansion occurred recently in the form of a second 7,000-square-foot location on Sports Arena Boulevard, a well-deserved success for entrepreneur Phil Pace, who started out meagerly in 1998 and soon afterward battled dozens of complaints filed through Air Pollution Control. His neighbors along Goldfinch Street hated the billows of smoke his busy grill emitted, forcing him to take costly measures to reign in the fumes.

Setting out for the new shop last week – a commodious structure that formerly housed the Home Fire Grill – I banked on easier parking and more wiggle room compared to the Mission Hills location. But my party of three was instead greeted by a barbecue frenzy that deserves forewarning and a double dose of aspirin, at least on Saturday nights.

After jostling for a parking space, we slithered into a lengthy line that extended out the front door. It took 20 minutes before we’d arrive to the order counter, and another 20 minutes before the device we were given would light up to signal that our food was ready. We actually lucked out because the cashier told us our order would take 30 minutes.

Then came the monumental challenge of snatching an empty table within a noisy dining room riddled with overactive kids that seats nearly 250 people. In this dog-eat-dog system, you compete with throngs of customers vying aggressively for dining space, and then ignore the watchful eyes of those lusting after your table once you start getting your fingers messy. It’s a chaotic setup that cries for full wait service.

Frayed nerves aside, the baby back ribs are worth drooling over. The meat hangs loosely from the bones, and it’s singed black in places by mesquite flames for a carcinogenic flavor blast that teams well with Phil’s thin and savory barbecue sauce – a tightly-guarded recipe that is both sweet and tangy. The pork ribs are free of membranes and gristle, due to high-heat cooking. And I’d venture to guess the same for the beef ribs, which temporarily sold out upon our arrival.

The menu at Sports Arena is exactly the same as the one in Mission Hills. There are burgers (including a veggie patty for herbivores who would dare be seen eating here), plus sandwiches, a couple of salads and picnic-style side dishes. We tried nearly everything while yanking constantly at the roll of paper towels on the table.

The full slab of ribs yielded about 12 bones that went down in a flash. A sandwich called El Toro came generously piled with thinly sliced beef that was char grilled and smothered in barbecue sauce that tasted a tad sweeter than the rib sauce. It was very good.

We also ordered a half-chicken dinner, which includes two small side dishes or one large portion of fries, potato salad, macaroni salad, corn on the cob, steamed veggies, baked beans or coleslaw. Priced at $8.75, it’s a bargain compared to the rib options, which quickly climb above $10 when you look beyond the three-bone “rib tickler.” The bird was plump and juicy right down to the center of the breast section.

A half-pound cheeseburger topped with melted sharp cheddar was also satisfying; however, I’d order it next time sans the barbecue sauce, which started getting redundant after partaking in the aforementioned entrees.

Phil’s onion rings are fat and heavily battered, though sweet and acceptably a little greasy. The baked beans are smoky, with that familiar background taste of all-American pork-and-beans. And I’ve always liked the coleslaw at Phil’s because the cabbage is reliably bright and crisp rather than soggy from being made too far ahead of time; it’s mayo-based with no gourmet surprises – just good old-fashioned, hoe-down slaw.

By the time we exited this three-ring barbecue circus, the line outside had doubled, as had the number of restless stomachs seeking entry into the limited restrooms. (For a place this size, there are only two single johns for each gender.)

Yes, we came away with sated palates, although we dismissed the notion of counting ourselves among the drooling crowds ever again for a sit-in dinner here. When the craving for Phil’s ribs strikes again, I’ll simply phone in my order ahead of time and tear out fast with my bagged meat in tow.