Those of you who read this column regularly know that I take my weekend cooking seriously. And to prove I'm not all talk, I decided to tackle that most quintessential of North Carolina delicacies: the smoked pork butt.

The whole thing actually came about somewhat by accident. A local grocery store had beef tenderloins on sale for $8.88/lb., and I decided I'd get one and do something fancy with it. However, these were whole tenderloins, and even at that sale price they were running $60 each. I don't spend that kind of money on a chunk of meat unless I'm feeding my dad or some other familial dignitary. However, in the very next case, I found pork butts for $1.29/lb.

Slideshow:See The Smokin' Action!

My pal Kevin recently began smoking butts with an electric smoker, and has become something of a celebrity in my circle of foodie pals for his instant prowess. However, I wanted to get in touch with my primitive-cooking ancestors and go the charcoal route. Besides, I don't own an electric smoker and Kevin wouldn't loan me his. This, of course, did not prevent me from thoroughly enjoying the fruits of Kevin's labor. The flavor he imparted to the lowliest of pork cuts got me to thinking, but with a toddler in the house I just didn't have time to devote the better part of a day to creating my own.

But, thankfully, the boy's mom has learned that when I get a cooking obsession, it's best to just let me get it out of my system, so she did the bulk of the boy-watching Sunday while I did my stuff.

The process actually began on Saturday, when I put the butt on to brine in a solution of water, pickling salt, molasses and garlic juice. Yes, that's right, poultry isn't the only meat that benefits from a soak. This brine (2 qts. water, 1 ½ cups pickling salt, ¾ cup molasses, ¼ cup garlic juice) gave a slight sweetness and garlic punch to the meat.

On a side note, that night for dinner I grilled up Paula Deen's Pecan Burgers for dinner. They'll be a regular house menu item from now on.

Sunday morning, I took the butt out of the brine and set it in my largest colander to drain a bit while I got the smoker ready. After blasting out the spider kingdom that had set up shop inside the long-disused Brinkmann, I started some charcoal in my chimney, filled the water pan with a mixture of beer, water, fresh thyme and crushed garlic cloves, wrapped the grill grate in Reynolds Release foil and chopped some of my stacked pecan wood into smoker-sized pieces. (See the slideshow for pictures of all this.)

Allow me a completely unsolicited plug for that Release foil. Yes, it's far more expensive than regular foil, and I don't use it for most standard foil purposes, but when I'm cooking something that's likely to stick, like a giant wedge of pork, it's a lifesaver. It's as stick-free as parchment paper, but with a higher heat tolerance.

Then it was time to rub my butt. (I've always wanted to get away with that.) I mixed up a spice rub of equal parts curry powder, Chinese five-spice powder, ancho chile powder and Chipotle Chicken Rub from TexMexToGo.com. If you're a pork neophyte, you'll find it useful to know that most spice blends made for chicken also do their voodoo for pork.

I rubbed the meat generously, making sure to get the spices down in all the nooks and crannies, and let it sit while the charcoal got hot.

Another note: A kettle smoker, like my Brinkmann, uses a fire pan set in the bottom, and there is not nearly enough ventilation inside to light charcoal. The best way to keep the fire hot during cooking is to start your charcoal in a chimney and then use long-handled tongs or your fireplace shovel to transfer the hot coals into the fire pan. Be sure to keep a steady supply of wood going in, also. Oh, and a heavy pair of gloves are de rigeur for this operation unless you like hairless knuckles.

With the coals in the pan and a generous layer of well-seasoned pecan wood over the top of them, I put the meat on the grill, slapped on the cover and kept an eye on the lid-mounted temperature gauge. My Brinkmann doesn't have an exact temperature gauge, just a "cool/ideal/hot" measure. Really, that's all you need. Smoking is not a terribly precise enterprise. Basically, I was using a finely made metal box to do the same thing my forefathers did in hand-built wooden or earthen smoke boxes or smokehouses centuries before.

About every 30 to 45 minutes, I added more wood to the fire pan. When the temp gauge started to fall, I lit another batch of charcoal and added it to the pan when ready. It's important to get the charcoal ready before the temperature falls too far, so you're not fighting thermal momentum too much.

It was just a matter of occasionally replenishing the water pan and keeping the temperature up. After eight hours, I began checking the meat periodically to see if it was done. "Done" in this case means that the collagen in the meat has dissolved, leaving a piece of meat that is so tender it doesn't need to be sliced. It can be readied for serving by pulling it apart with two forks ... hence the term "pulled pork." An easy way to tell when this has happened is to tug on the bone in the center of the butt. When the pork is done, the bone will pull out cleanly with a gentle tug, with very little in the way of meat adhering to it.

Unfortunately, in this case, I had guests coming and I had committed the unpardonable sin of trying to predict when the pork would be ready. Longtime pitmasters will tell you that the best way to handle this is to plan on eating the pork the day after it's cooked. I had to pull it off before it had reached the pulled-pork stage. However, as you can see from the picture in the slideshow, it came pretty close.

Of course, the real test is the flavor. I've always been of the mindset that sauce is secondary, that truly good barbecue should stand on the strength of the meat alone. And after this first attempt, I will happily lay my butt up against any made in any 'cue restaurant anywhere.

OK, that didn't come out right. But you get the idea. It was really good stuff. There was a clear smoke ring fairly deep into the meat, it was tender as all get-out and the brine really worked with the smoke to give it an amazing flavor.

So, in short, if you've been thinking about trying this whole meat-smoking thing, DO it! A kettle smoker like mine isn't that expensive, and you can turn out great stuff with just a little preparation and attention.

Oh, and make plenty. The leftovers are even better the second day.

Got a question? A comment? Topic you'd like to see covered? Just drop me a line, anytime! Large cash grants and expressions of undying love are always accepted.