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A delicious-smelling haze wafts across George's parking lot. Inside all signs indicate an artist at work who cannot abide distractions: "Please do not use cellular phones in the rib house," it says on the bulletproof glass barrier. Behind the counter, owner George Rogers keeps a plastic elephant—a replica of a brass model he says Ronald Reagan sent him as thanks for the large orders of pork his staffers regularly picked up. His ribs and tips are in fact luscious. All the elements of crispiness, fattiness, and juiciness are in perfect proportion, and accented by the salty rub he uses. There's just one thing missing: smoke. George openly admits that he uses only lump charcoal—no wood—for the following reason: "Logs got worms and insects. I don't want to bring 'em in." —Mike Sula
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