Pork finds

I've been accused of being obsessed with barbecue. I frequently skulk back to the office after lunch with red smears on my lapel and the telltale stink of oak or mesquite clinging to my hair. I'll follow the scent of smoke for miles, sneaking into backyard parties and church socials for a few shreds of pulled pork. My addiction recently came to a head when I had to improvise a commedia dell'arte performance in order to crash a bar mitzvah rumored to be serving brisket. At least his parents tipped well.

Clearly, I have a problem. So, on a quiet Monday evening I head to Plant City for the closest thing I can find to a barbecue support group. Grandpa Johnson's Barbecue -- closed on Mondays -- is packed with fellow travellers: largely white, largely male and largely large. There's no need to stand up and proclaim our addiction; you can see it in the stretched golf shirts and flapping jowls of the 60 people filling the room. Bring in a rack of white suits and we could have an impromptu Boss Hog look-alike contest. These are my peeps.

Sponsored by Plant City in anticipation of the annual Plant City Pig Jam in November -- a truly stupendous display of the professional and amateur barbecuing -- this meeting of the meat is far from an attempt to cure barbephilia. Instead, we're here to feed the addiction. We're learning to judge barbecue.

I start the class bored and haughty, firmly convinced that the old-timer holding court -- Master Judge Stephen Smith -- has nothing new to teach this seasoned lover of seasonings. Then he busts out with the myth of the smoke ring. Myth? The glorious pink aura that stains meat after a long hardwood smoke is one of the tenets of my faith. Apparently, it can be faked; he's seen it.

When Smith delves into a description of how umami -- the fifth aspect of taste discovered by the Japanese in the 1940s -- affects the flavor of barbecue, I know that I've found a true teacher. I am but a padawan to this meat master.

Four hours and 12 samples of smoked meat later, I'm an official barbecue judge duly sanctioned by the Kansas City Barbeque Society. In eight-12 weeks, I even get a nametag. Talk about institutionalizing addiction.

There is a practical reason for my rekindled love of the barbecue arts: Sarasota is finally representing. For years, local smoked meat was relegated to a couple of chain options and some independent joints that left a lot to be desired. There just wasn't much to get excited about.

In the past few years, though, a culture of underground -- or, more accurately, roadside -- smokers have burst onto the Sarasota scene, plying fabulous meat in parking lots around town. If you've been sublimating your rib, chicken and pork desires, it's time to fall off the wagon. Grab some wet naps, and sate your cravings.

1309 East Ave., Sarasota, Thu.-Fri., Noon-2:30 p.m., 955-3400.

Sarasota's high-end que lovers have known about caterer Nancy Krahngold for a few years, but two days a week she sets up shop in the parking lot outside her kitchen to dish up pulled pork and chicken to the masses. The pork is glorious, each butt surrounded by a thick, black crust of seasoning that tends more toward sweet than spicy. She pulls it to order and the chunks fall free with little effort, meltingly moist. There's less smoke in both the pork and the chicken than I'd like, but that's secondary to the fact that the texture is near perfect.

T'Katz Pub (pulled pork daily; chicken, pork and ribs on Friday), 2929 S. Beneva Road, Sarasota; Morton's Market (Saturday), 1924 S. Osprey Ave., Sarasota; Old Salty Dog Siesta Village (Sunday), 5023 Ocean Blvd., Sarasota, 724-1702.

Perry is both big and bigger than life, his voice cycling between a rasp and a bellow as he manned the pit at several local barbecue joints over the past five years. Recently, he's been a nomad, primarily catering (out of the otherwise unused kitchen at T'Katz Pub) and working a couple of roadside stands.

Perry's que is a classic balance between smoke and spice, and he manages all the major meats with equal aplomb. His sauce -- which he bottles and sells retail -- is a big draw; you can find it at Morton's Market and other local retailers.

Intersection of 17th Street and Tuttle (Saturday), Sarasota, 951-0632.

Dale Hill learned barbecue at the knee of his wife Rosalind's (the R of D&R) father-in-law, who earned his cooking chops in the Army. He's been churning out smoky goodness ever since. Hill had a stroke earlier this year and had to take a backseat while his family and friends ran the stand, but he's been back supervising the operation for a few months now.

D&R's style is all about the smoke, with more rich hardwood in each bite of rib and chicken than you'll find at any other place in town. It's a profound difference. Other than the buttery garlic potatoes, sides are more miss than hit.