Barbecue runs deep in my blood.

My dad’s from Tennessee, my mom’s from Iowa — two places where barbecue isn’t just food, it’s family tradition. Growing up, I was surrounded by smoky grills, backyard cookouts, and relatives who could turn a slab of meat into a masterpiece. I got to taste a little bit of everything — sweet, tangy, spicy, slow-cooked, and fire-kissed. You’d think with roots like that, I’d have picked up the skills too.

But when I got married and tried to cook my first rack of ribs?

Let’s just say… I learned real fast that eating good barbecue doesn’t mean you know how to make it.

That first rib cook was humbling. My wife smiled politely, trying to spare my feelings. But those ribs? Tougher than a fossilized T-Rex. And the sauce? A thick, fudge-like mess that I’m pretty sure violated food safety laws. We had a family friend over too, and I still feel bad for what I put his molars through.

But here’s the thing: I didn’t quit.

I was determined to get better. I knew that if I put in the reps and kept learning, I could turn things around. And so I did. Cook after cook, I took copious notes — jotting down what worked and what didn’t. Every time I made ribs, I’d review my last five cooks, pick the top two, and built from there. I applied that same process to every protein, every rub, every sauce.

It became my obsession — in the best way possible.

And through all of it, my wife was there, tasting every experiment, supporting me through the flops, and cheering me on through the breakthroughs.

Today?

I’ve got more rubs and sauces than I can count. One day I’ll bottle some up — not because I say they’re great, but because friends, family, and church members keep asking for more. They tell me it’s some of the best barbecue they’ve ever had. And while I’m not a competition cook, I know what great food tastes like — and I can make it consistently.