The pompous and sanctimonious name kept me out of R.U.B. (Righteous Urban Barbecue) for weeks. So, too, was I skeptical of the wave of hype that carried its Kansas City impresario, Paul Kirk, into town. The fact that he'd published barbecue cookbooks and won lots of awards (425 according to the menu) failed to impress me—it's America's old-fashioned barbecues I'm obsessed with, and my experience of barbecue contests is that they're often won by the guy who dumps kiwi jam in his sauce. I was also suffering from a case of bad-'cue fatigue, occasioned by the half-dozen purveyors that have opened in the last few months, including the equally deplorable... More >>>