Being a barbecue snob is a little like being a wine snob. Either you get it or don’t. Either you feel passionately about such issues as beef versus pork and vinegar versus rub, or you think those who do are a little bit silly. (And if you think that you have a “barbecue” sitting in your backyard which you use for cooking burgers and steaks, you can stop reading this post right now.)

But no question about it: I’m a barbecue snob.

Barbecue is the ultimate regional American cuisine. I grew up in Virginia, and while there used to be a discernible Virginia style, it’s getting harder and harder to find, so on all of the great questions of barbecue, I find myself gravitating towards North Carolina style.

That means pork. Period. And, broadly speaking, it means a vinegar-based sauce.

It also means that I don’t understand people who like beef barbecue. I mean, I go to Texas, and I’ve had it, and if you had to, you could live on it. But given the choice between beef and pork, I just don’t understand how a person with taste buds could, you know, choose to eat beef barbecue.

Okay, I’m kidding.

Don’t tell anyone, but I actually really like Texas-style barbecue. And I’m especially into the delicious sausages that good barbecue joints in Texas make by hand. I also like Memphis-style, although I’ll never understand why folks in Memphis insist on slathering a perfectly wonderful pile of pulled pork with that thick tomato sauce. I can’t get into Kansas City style — which basically means beef ribs — because I just don’t like the mess. But that’s the point. There are about as many styles of great barbecue as there are little towns with smoky joints that have been there for decades.

Heck, even in North Carolina, there’s a schism between east and west. In the eastern part of the state, the sauce is pure vinegar with the chef’s inevitably secret mix of spices. In the western part of the state, they add a little tomato paste to the party and give the sauce a little thickness. Put me in the eastern camp, but as long as it’s vinegar, I can be happy with either.

Then there’s the cooking method. The best places smoke the whole hog over wood or charcoal. But many places — including my personal favorite joint, King’s barbecue in Petersburg, Virginia — just cook the shoulder or Boston butt.

Finally, there’s the presentation. Some people seem to like to eat their barbecue on a hamburger bun. I can’t abide this nonsense. Why would you want to fill yourself up on a nasty, tasteless, puffy bun when you could eat more barbecue? Then there are the folks who want their pork sliced. These people are usually from up north and just can’t be expected to know any better. But for the record, it’s the worst way to eat barbecue. There’s just no good way to slice pork. It ends up tough and dry, no matter how many hours the pit master has spent smoking it to tender, juicy perfection. Don’t go there. Instead, go with pulled or minced. Your barbecue will be moist and delicious. Trust me on this one.

Ready to eat? Ready to really eat?

Great. It’s time for a road trip. USA Today reports that the state of North Carolina has just launched its Historic Barbecue Trail. It’s “the brainchild of Jim Early, an attorney by profession and barbecue nut by avocation. The author of The Best Tar Heel Barbecue: Manteo to Murphy crisscrossed 22,000 miles of North Carolina blacktop researching his book. He at in 228 barbecue joints, 140 of which made it into print. But the trail pays homage to just 25 establishments that prepare ‘cue the old-fashioned way. They cook over open-pit fires, make their own sauce, offer sit-down dining, have been in business at least 15 years and, as Early puts it, ‘have the esteem of their community’.”

First of all, this Jim Early sounds like my kind of guy.

But kudos to North Carolina for pulling together this trail. It’ll be a great road map for people looking for the best. And it’s a great nod to the states culinary heritage.

As food becomes more and more homogeneous with the proliferation of chain dining, I hope more states and localities will follow the Tar Heel state’s lead, calling out and celebrating regional food traditions. In Virginia, that could mean everything from barbecue to ham to peanuts. Not to mention Brunswick stew. (Which originated in Brunswick County, Virginia — not the eponymous county in Georgia.) But there are similar local distinctions in every corner of the nation. Burgoo in Kentucky. Grits in the tidewater of South Carolina. Chili in west Texas. The list is as long as it is varied.

And then, the burden is on us. When we eat out, we ought to make an effort to eat in the local joints that are owned and operated by our neighbors, not some commercial conglomerate. And when we travel, seek out the local places and avoid the boring chains that you can visit in every city and town in America.

And if you’re in the south, and you look hard enough, there’s a great place to enjoy barbecue in almost every town.

Jim: I’m not quite the fanatic/pro that Marshall is, but I’ll just throw in that I’ve always liked Old Glory’s method of providing six variations of barbecue sauce at the table. Because once you’ve tried them all, you do begin to understand the variety and regional tastes…

Cam: I’m not a big fan of barbeque (I absolutely hate getting messy while I eat, unless my hands are getting covered with lobster juices), and North Carolina-style has been a hard sell for me. Growing up in Oklahoma City, you typically get either Kansas City or Memphis-style barbeque. The vinegar-based barbeque just takes some getting used to, and I haven’t eaten enough of it to aquire the taste.