In the summer of 2015, I decided that I wanted to write something for public consumption. Two topics immediately came to the forefront of my mind. What was actually the second, fly fishing, won out. Casting Across was launched in the fall.

The first topic was barbecue.

Why write about food? More to the point, why write about just one food?

In the fall of 2001 I flipped through the Columbia, South Carolina phonebook looking for an all-you-can-eat dinner option for myself and some college friends. Farm Boy’s Barbeque in Chapin advertised such a menu. We drove, we ate, and my life changed that night.

What I saw was a craft surrounded by a culture. It wasn’t just amazing pulled pork. Not unlike fly fishing, there is an entire barbecue world that spins a smoky circle much wider than a pile of tender, delectable meat. In fact, I’d argue that barbecue and fly fishing have a lot in common. More in common, perhaps, than any other food.

The culture is remarkable. Devotees of real barbecue are legion and they are serious. And what is real barbecue, you ask?

Real barbecue is a cut of meat that is cooked at low temperatures for a prolonged period of time. If I were to state my own conviction, I’d say that the most authentic representation of the quarry would be pork that is smoked over wood. But I can appreciate that the semantic domain of barbecue/barbeque/BBQ can contain beef… if only on the liberal side.

Barbecue isn’t a hot dog just like fly fishing isn’t a worm on a hook.

Barbecue isn’t a cookout just like fly fishing isn’t trout angling.

Barbecue means something just like fly fishing means something.

And therein lies the parallelism between the cultures of barbecue and fly fishing. Enthusiasts of both pursuits know that the extra effort and nuance produces a unique result and experience. Consequently, there are trade shows, message boards, and grassroots organizations that promote the respective benefits and accoutrements of both.

Just as in fly fishing, there is the perception that fervent barbecue fans are obsessed, pedantic, and snobbish. Sure, some of it is true. Some of it just comes part and parcel with self-imposed higher standards. In traditional barbecue there are no shortcuts. You wake up early to get the wood fire going, you stand guard over your meat for the better part of the day, and you wait until the beautiful symphony of thermochemical reactions transform a tough slab of pig into succulence transcending anything to ever receive a Michelin star rating.

Fly fishers wake up early, spend hours walking streambeds in all weather, waiting to turn the simple act of catching a fish into something poetic and beautiful. All the films, literature, and gear point to that singular experience of everything coming together.

Fly fishing and barbecue are exemplars of the sum being greater than the parts.

That is why there is a culture that surrounds each. They elicit true passion from those who eschew easy. These are the people who  chase wild fish with precision-wound feathers and who continually nudge glowing coals to ensure a perfectly smoked pork shoulder. Or, if you’re fortunate, you have a passion for both.

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Since at one point I thought I’d write about barbecue on a weekly basis, you better believe that I have a lot to say. In contemplating how barbecue is the perfect food for fly fishing, my thesis rests upon three main concepts. They are:

• Culture
• Craft
• Contrast