Your nose will act as a divining rod, pulling you toward a modest storefront where the air is a heavy, velvet curtain of atomized pork fat and seasoned oak. These restaurants are shrines to the holy trinity of hickory, heat, and patience.
The atmosphere is delightfully unrefined, think rolls of brown butcher paper acting as tablecloths and the sharp, tingly perfume of coarse black pepper hanging in the rafters like edible incense.
Michigan pitmasters are redefining the Midwest barbecue scene by obsessing over deep smoke rings, artisanal wood-fired techniques, and secret dry rubs that rival the best of Texas or Memphis…