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Message: <blockquote data-quote="cheryl" data-source="post: 2861" data-attributes="member: 1"><a href="https://www.eater.com/22527623/best-barbecue-sauces-trader-joes-kraft-pantry-essentials" target="_blank">The Ultimate Guide to Barbecue Sauces - Eater</a>From classic original, to brown sugar-based, to teriyaki, these are the sweetest, spiciest, and smokiest sauces to have in your pantry t’sIt’s Pride and barbecue season, sweeties, which means it’s time for a rainbow spread of grilled veggies and a rack of baby backs. But for me <a href="https://www.eater.com/22447636/book-excerpt-black-smoke-adrian-miller-secret-sauces-black-barbecue-traditions" target="_blank">it’s the sauce</a>. From original classics to sa cha and teriyaki, there are as many sauces as there are opinions on barbecue, and if you’ve ever stood in the middle of a grocery aisle wondering which sauce to choose, you are probably my people.In my family, barbecue was part of a larger tradition of bonding with family and enjoying the summer outdoors. My dad was a southern boy from Alabama who knew a thing or two about barbecue and sauce. We lived in an apartment building in New York City, so our best options were to roast indoors or grill at my uncle Ronnie’s house. My dad and his brother would marinate chicken and slabs of pork and beef ribs in big buckets with Dr. Pepper or Coca-Cola, maybe a beer, and store-bought barbecue sauce. Yep, I said store-bought. By the time the meat hit the fire, 90 percent of the flavor work had been done. The remaining 10 percent, which could not be compromised, was the second finishing sauce.My dad preferred classic, “original” barbecue sauces. He would often jazz them up with some adobo seasoning and a can or two of dark soda and would always keep an old painter’s brush on hand for basting. And choosing the right barbecue sauce to complement your personal barbecue  beliefs is an art in itself, one that requires a bit of self-reflection.</blockquote>

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