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It's to the best of our knowledge from PRI.

I'm Anne Strain Champs.

And today we're all about mouth-watering, lips-smacking, rib-tickling barbecue.

Where's the guy that's cooking their shoulders?

Well, you're looking at her?

The meat that they're waiting for isn't from a pig, it's from poor old Andrew Jackson. That was you on fire, pal.

I feel something in the air, you know, it smells like a barbecue.

If I had some, I wouldn't care because I'm like a barbecue. Everyone likes barbecue.

Everyone likes barbecue. Super-sized slabs of juicy ribs cooked over a wood fire until the meat slides right off the bone. Smokey pool pork sandwiches with a side of homemade coleslaw. Food doesn't get much more American than barbecue. It's part of our roots, and it's also tangled up in our

racial history. But today, barbecue is undergoing a renaissance. Young people are ditching careers

on Wall Street to become pitmasters. Barbecue fanatics will drive hundreds of miles just to eat smoked

ribs off a paper plate in a shack by the side of the road.

And if you're thinking, well, anyone can stick a chicken on a backyard grill, that's not barbecue.

Barbecue is a marriage of smoke and meat and time and expertise.

It's that simple.

I mean, it's the most elemental of American foods,

and yet it's not a simple food. To cook great barbecue requires great knowledge,

a long time in the pits, and a deep understanding of your clientele as well.

John T. Edge is the director of the Southern Foodways Alliance,

and you notice the one thing he didn't mention? Barbecue sauce. So, okay, I'm a northerner. But when most people up here in the north think about barbecue, they think, yeah, sauce. Well, bless her hearts.

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