The first BBQ contest I ever cooked was chock full of nationally ranked teams (the best of the best) and I showed up armed with my Dad’s 35 year old backyard grill and a quart jar of my mom’s homemade BBQ sauce. It rained a monsoon that night and I had to fight like hell to keep the fire going on that little cooker. But when it was all said and done my pork won out over some of the best cooks in America.
While we didn’t win first place, it sure felt like it walking up and receiving that award. After that I was hooked. I bought a bigger smoker, took all kinds of classes, bought every rub, sauce and injection you can think of and my results were all over the map. It wasn’t until a few years ago at a local competition that I again asked my mom to make me a batch of her homemade sauce.