North Carolina. Window down. A warm wind blows in, carrying the smell of burning cherry wood. Smoke rises slowly from the old smokehouses. We learned the patience of the embers, watching the meat fall apart and surrender. Every secret carefully noted and tucked between pages stained with sauce. Now that pork, cooked for hours until it becomes buttery, finds its perfect match with crispy cabbage and a fresh, creamy yogurt sauce. BBQ is a language. We decided to speak it with a new accent.