So, I was all sorts of messed up this weekend. Not because of the beer (although I had access to copious amounts of it). Or the whiskey (similarly ample volumes were at my disposal). Or the meat (there were mounds of epic proportion). But because, as a judge at the Grillstock BBQ festival in Walthamstow, wave after wave of out-of-context familiarity kept slapping me silly with wafts of hickory smoke, the lilting plink of a banjo here and there, and the sight of thousands of folks come together to celebrate their love of slow and low cooked meat. Continue reading →