I always had a fascination for cooking. When I was three and my family would go out to eat I would often disappear into the kitchen to talk to the chef. I remember the moment, like it was yesterday, when I discovered that real barbeque, low and slow, was to become my true calling. I lived my whole life on Long Island and had not a clue. Long Islanders were grilling. Southerners were barbequing. It was roughly 25 years ago and I was driving through West Virginia with my girlfriend. It was about 10:30 am on a beautiful summer morning. She was asleep in the passenger seat and I had my window down. It was then that I noticed a wonderful aroma wafting into my consciousness. My stomach growled and my taste buds yearned. It was smoky, it was flavorful, and it was calling me. It was chicken. Then I drove passed it. It was an outdoor roadside chicken stand. My girlfriend awoke to the screeching of tires as I made a Dukes of Hazard style U turn. “What in God’s name are you doing?” she screamed at the top of her lungs, as she awoke out of a deep sleep. “Don’t you smell it” as I pulled into the gravel parking area. There were about a dozen picnic tables, two dozen people, a shack with a cash register and some cold drinks. Most of all, in the center of it all was an open pit. The chicken’s color was beautiful amber. We each got a ½ chicken, served with potato chips and iced tea. It was by far the best meal I had ever eaten. It had tantalized all of his senses. First it was the smell, then the sight, and then the sound of the crackling on the pit. With wild anticipation, I was holding the crispy yet juicy morsels in my hand, and then, of course, the taste. I was completely blown away. My life was changed forever and I was becoming BBQ Stu. Since then, I have experimented with different rubs, marinades and brines. I learned how to marry spices, make my own barbeque sauces, and, especially, the art of cooking low and slow. I have perfected my live fire direct heat grilling techniques. The results of my ribs, briskets, pulled pork, chickens and turkeys speak for themselves.