2012 'Cue Awards: The South's Best Barbecue

Photo: Robbie Caponetto

Rodney Scott

Scott's Bar-B-Que in Hemingway, South Carolina

"Charcoal is good if you're lazy," says whole-hog maestro Rodney Scott, who started working his family's pits when he was 11. Rodney isn't lazy. He and his father cut trees weekly, salvaging the cords of hickory, oak, and pecan needed to power and perfume their concrete bunker pits. Those pits yield gorgeously crisp-skinned meat, mopped with a vinegar-pepper sauce that Rodney's never been tempted to tweak. His adherence to tradition has won him the respect of fellow Southern chefs, such as Husk's Sean Brock, who rates Scott's as his "most favorite place to eat in the entire world." Rodney says trading secrets with Sean and cooking with other pitmasters have solidified his passion for a hard, greasy job. "We have different styles, but we all have love for pork," he says. thescottsbbq.com

Photo: Robbie Caponetto

Francisca Andrin

Old Brick Pit Barbeque in Chamblee, Georgia

Francisca Andrin—who's in charge of the pit at this barn-shaped joint in north Atlanta—isn't the obvious choice to safeguard the city's dwindling vinegar tradition. She grew up in Indonesia, where the cuisine-defining meat dish is slathered with molasses and brown sugar. But she's shelved her sweet meat instincts and produces 'cue true to a local vinegar style that's lately been roughed up by ketchup. Acolytes proclaim her ribs to be Dekalb County's most tender. oldbrickpitbbq.com

Photo: Robbie Caponetto

Sam Jones

The Skylight Inn in Ayden, North Carolina

Sam Jones, 31, says he doesn't intend to change anything at the restaurant his grandfather Pete Jones opened in 1947. "My granddaddy would turn over in his casket two times," he says. In fact, Sam, heir to a 180-year-old family tradition of selling whole-hog barbecue, is working on a Skylight Inn T-shirt whose design features a meat cleaver and the phrase "Our idea of cutting edge." He became an apprentice after trying to shortcut his way through a college research paper by writing about barbecue. "That's when I put on a different set of spectacles as to how I look at it." He recalls long hours spent learning how to cook split hogs and hand chop meat and skin. "At 75, he would work me in the ground," Sam says of Skylight's patriarch. 252/746-4113

Photo: Robbie Caponetto

Aaron Franklin

Franklin Barbecue in Austin, Texas

Hundreds of people line up every day to sample brisket from Aaron Franklin, a young Austinite who's nursed pitmaster dreams since age 12. But Aaron's popularity hasn't left him assuming there's nothing left to learn. "Anybody who thinks they've perfected barbecue should probably reassess," he says. His distinctive meat—heralded for its slinky marbling, flavorful bark, and whiff of white-oak smoke—keeps Aaron tied to the pit. He firmly believes the pitmaster adds to the flavor. "An old dude hands off the reins and it's never the same," he says. "It's safe to say I'm stuck." franklinbarbecue.com

Photo: Robbie Caponetto

Jack Easley

Marion Pit Bar-B-Que in Marion, Kentucky

Nearly 40 years ago, Jack Easley was paying too much rent on his sit-down restaurant, so he went looking for a more affordable avocation. There aren't any tables or chairs in the vinyl-sided hut known as Marion Pit Bar-B-Q, but out back there's a hickory-fired pit in which Jack smokes pork for 17 unhurried hours. When the shoulders are quivering on the cusp of fracture, he pulls them apart and soaks the meat with an exceptional tomato-based sauce, orange as a robin's breast. "The main thing for me is the sauce," says Jack, who refuses to disclose ingredients. "It's a little bit ketchup, a little bit everything else. So far everybody pretty well likes it." 270/965-3318

Photo: Robbie Caponetto

Will Fleischman

Lockhart Smokehouse in Dallas, Texas

Will Fleischman has studied literature and worked as a chef in China, but nothing daunts him like a brisket nearing the end of its run in a smoker. "The question of 'How do you know when it's done?' is where insecurity lives," he says. "You want the wood to speak to you, but the meat sits there in mute defiance." Will rejects the "cowboy wisdom" equating pounds and cook time: "That's like making a sweeping generalization about all redheads." Instead, he relies on instincts he's honed under the tutelage of a cattle rancher who sold beef to Leavenworth prison and a 350-pound man known as Pappy. "People need to humble themselves to the experience," he says. "Success depends on how many mistakes you're willing to make." lockhartsmokehouse.com

Photo: Robbie Caponetto

Helen Turner

Helen's BBQ in Brownsville, Tennessee

Helen Turner's gotten used to customers poking around her modest barbecue shack looking for the man who runs the place. But she's been stacking hickory and hoisting pork shoulders since 1995. Customers who aren't diverted by the idea of a female-run barbecue joint are often equally struck by the thick smoke that clouds the interior of Helen's BBQ. She tried installing fans to clear the air, but the pit's heat melted them. "Some people say sauce makes it special, but the smoke is what makes the flavor," Helen says. 731/779-3255

Photo: Robbie Caponetto

Chris Lilly

Big Bob Gibson Bar-B-Q in Decatur, Alabama

When Amy McLemore, great-granddaughter of Alabama barbecue legend Big Bob Gibson, looked at fellow University of North Alabama student Chris Lilly, she saw a husband. Her father saw a solution to a long-standing business problem. "My father-in-law hired me because he wanted to open a second location," says Chris, who'd never before minded a pit. He has since clinched the art of superlative 'cue—"It's just dry rub, patience, and sauce on the side," he says—and become a legend on the competition circuit. Unlike many professional pitmasters, Chris doesn't sneer at the prospect of smoking for prizes: He's won more than 10 World BBQ Championship titles, including three Memphis in May Grand Championships. Becoming a celebrity hasn't lured him out of Decatur: "My passion is in the pits," he says. "You'll still find me there, taking a turn." bigbobgibson.com

Photo: Robbie Caponetto

Ed Mitchell

The Pitmaster in Raleigh, North Carolina

The gray beard of whole-hog cooking, Ed Mitchell was a relatively late arrival to the barbecue business. After a lifetime of pig pickings at family gatherings, Ed inadvertently became a professional at 44 when his mother, a Wilson County grocer, asked him to smoke a pig for supper. She sold the leftovers at her corner store, which was soon after reinvented as Mitchell's Barbecue. These days, in a field that's made a mantra of low and slow, Ed cooks hot and fast, a technique he believes loosens the pig's juices. He's now plotting to open a chain of restaurants showcasing his signature whole-hog style. "I've tried ribs and butts, but you're missing about three-quarters of the flavors the animal can provide," he says. thepitmasteredmitchell.com

Photo: Robbie Caponetto

Avery Payne

Cook's Barbecue in Lexington, North Carolina

In 1984, when Avery Payne's parents purchased Cook's Barbecue from a childhood friend, millions of American boys were busy slipping quarters into Pac-Man machines. Avery, at 12, was working at Cook's. He recalls starting a few inadvertent fires that first week he learned to cook on the pit. Now more cautious, he is one of two Lexington-style pitmasters who mess with brisket. Cook's "went down to Texas and fell in love with it," he says. And the beef affair was no mere fling. "We thought we'd marry it and bring it back." What the Paynes didn't bring home was the Texan skepticism of sauce: "Sauce makes it good," says Avery, who builds his from ketchup, vinegar, and crushed red pepper. "Only way I can eat barbecue without sauce is off the chopping block or the pit." cooksbbq.com

The Smokin' Hot List

Rodney Scott

Francisca Andrin

Sam Jones

Aaron Franklin

Jack Easley

Will Fleischman

Helen Turner

Chris Lilly

Ed Mitchell

Avery Payne