Last weekend, I performed one of those duties that everyone in the food writing business finds themselves gifted with from time to time: I judged a cookoff. Fortunately for me, it was a barbecue cookoff, as there is very little on earth I enjoy more than a well-smoked rack of ribs or nicely pulled pork butt.

The Charlotte Shout Blues, Brews & Barbecue event is one of the premier barbecue contests in the Carolinas, drawing the top names in 'cue from all over the East. This year, the featured matchup was between Big Bob Gibson and Jack's Old South, two of the top names in the business.

I didn't pay too much attention to that tussle.

I'm not for a moment knocking the pros. They for the the most part turn out a good product, and introduce folks who have never so much as fired up a grill to the wonders of slowly cooked pork, beef and chicken. I give them a pass when it comes to my usual criticism of chain restaurants simply because there is no way to factory-produce good barbecue. It will always require wood smoke applied with care over a long period of time to turn out true 'cue.

I see fast-food joints in some areas selling barbecue, and it scares me. A drench of sauce over meat does not make barbecue. Good 'cue, in my opinion, shouldn't require sauce at all to taste good. A well-made barbecue sauce is indeed a joy to behold, but if your meat needs sauce, you're not doing it right.

I am in the minority in my opinion, as most folks insist that it's the meat/sauce synergy that makes the barbecue experience. But we 'cue fans don't generally fight about such things. We're too busy eating.

I'm not a certified barbecue judge, so the pros were off-limits to me except for bites I could cadge off the chefs while we discussed their various methods and competition goals. I was there to judge the amateurs: the "Backyard Grillers" competition. Teams of men and women from all over the Carolinas and several other states assembled, turning two parking lots into an ocean of fragrant wood smoke, juicy meat and, of course, plenty of beer. Some teams were actually affiliated with restaurants, others were offshoots of professional teams. Most, however, were just teams made up of friends who get together regularly to cook and decided to try their hand at winning a trophy.

The great thing about the backyard grillers is that they're not in general trying to please a restaurant crowd or come up with something that will hit that "middle ground" on the American palate where financial riches await. They're cooking what they like to eat. Walking through the backyard grillers' lots, you'll get whiffs of such nontraditional ingredients as curry, Greek spices, Cajun peppers and even what I'd swear was Chinese black bean sauce at one booth.

The competitors were as varied as their seasonings. At one booth, a man and woman in chef's whites labored over a hot plate, meticulously pressing garlic and grinding spices into a saucepan. At another, Elks Club members watched college football on a plasma TV they had somehow rigged up in the back of a pickup while monitoring their temperature gauges. In most camps, it seemed as if one or two people were doing the real work while several others provided the vital assistance of making sure the lawn chairs stayed in place.

Of course, it wouldn't have been a profitable tour if I didn't come up with a new taste treat or two for you, and I scored in a big way with Pig Pen's Original Seasoning. Not only does this make a great chicken and rib rub, it's excellent on everything from scrambled eggs to popcorn! It's not too spicy, not too salty ... a near-perfect balance that wakes up the flavor of anything you use it on.

The judging was a true taste journey. Each table samples six competitors' entries, and at my table no two were in any way alike.

The ribs are tasted first. Of the six, three had sauce while the other three relied on a dry rub for their flavor. Two were cooked to what I've always considered to be the proper doneness: where the bone can be pulled from the meat nearly clean. The other four had varying degrees of doneness, with one being so rubbery I'd swear it was microwaved. Each of them, though, showed real care and spirit in the seasonings used in the rubs and sauces. No two were alike, and my personal favorite for taste actually got my lowest score for appearance, with clumps of light brown sugar adhering to the surface of the ribs like blisters.

After the ribs, we had a short break to apply copious wet-naps to our rub-stained fingers and refresh our palates, then the butts came marching in. Some were true pulled pork, some were chopped and one at my table was even sliced, ham-style, showing off a truly noble smoke ring.

With the butts, the saucemakers in the competition truly got competitive. There were Thai chilis in one, and one competitor was so bold as to send one vinegar-based and one tomato-based sauce along, shooting for the widest possible audience. All of them were outstanding, obviously the products of serious 'cue aficionados. As full as I was from the rib tasting, I found myself snacking liberally from the sample boxes long after the judging sheets had been turned in.

Unfortunately, due to the double-blind tasting setup, I can't tell you the names behind the 'cue I tasted or whether any of them were the eventual winners. I can tell you that at least half of them had a shot at top honors. The work those backyard chefs are doing is where the true excitement of barbecue is happening. The next great wave in flavor won't come from the big 'cue joint in the mall parking lot ... it will come out of someone's home kitchen.

I'll be back next year, and every year after that until they run me off with sharp instruments.

Y'know, I'd hate to be the only one having all this fun. Look around and I'll bet you can find a food contest of some sort in your town. If you're ever invited to be a judge, for barbecue or any other food contest not involving lutefisk, jump at the chance!

Got a question? Comment? Topic you'd like to see covered? Drop me a line, anytime!