One of the best things about barbecue is that is changes from state to state. Each place has its very distinct style, which is dictated by the local meat and wood. Texas means beef and mesquite. Hickory is the wood of choice down south, but while North Carolina and Tennessee like pork shoulder, ribs rule in Georgia.

I don't have the addresses for these places because I will never forget how to get to them and I wasn't looking ahead to writing this column. Never fear. You can ask practically anyone in these towns and they'll tell you how to find them, or just call Information.

Memphis: In this town, most ribs are served "dry," that is, with a spice rub and no sauce (sauced ribs are "wet"). At Corky's you can get them both ways--just order a half-and-half plate. Everyone in Memphis insisted that I go to Corky's and not Charlie Vergos', which locals consider a tourist trap. The sign of an authentic Memphis native is that they have never been to Vergos' or Graceland. (PS: There's also a Corky's in Brentwood, a suburb of Nashville, too.)

Atlanta: A few years back, my buddy and meat maven Bruce Aidells and I found ourselves in the Peachtree City with plenty of time on our hands to try recommended barbecue places. Our first visit was Harold's on McDonough Ave. (this is the place near the prison described above). Ever since, it's my first stop. I go for the chopped pork sandwich and the sloppy Brunswick stew, which isn't everyone's cup of iced tea, so don't expect a culinary wonder. I've also had great ribs at Arthur's. When we were there, they had two locations, one in Underground Atlanta mall and the other in a African-American neighborhood near the Capitol.

Houston: In Texas, BBQ means beef, and I've yet to find better than at Goode Company Barbecue on Kirby. At first, I didn't trust the looks of the place--it was too squeaky-clean, a Disney version of a barbecue place. But the food was "E-ticket" material, and like a good amusement park ride, you'll want to go back again. They have all sorts of pork, ribs, chicken, and turkey barbecue as well as the beef.

Dallas: The last time I was in Dallas, I drove 45 minutes out of my way in the pouring rain to have lunch at Sonny Bryan's (another place with multiple locations, but for the most atmosphere, go to the one on Inwood). Spectators saw a grown man cry when I found out that they were closed for a few days to provide the food for some stupid festival downtown. But I'm forgiving when it comes to their beef brisket sandwich and a side dish of beans.

Raleigh: Raleigh has some upscale barbecue places, but I wanted to try the Mecca of North Carolina pork barbecue: Lexington. So, I drove a solid two hours to find this little town on Highway 29. The chopped pig sandwich with a thin vinegar sauce had the distinct sweet smoke flavor of hickory wood. More convenient to the Tri-City area, and just as good, is Allen and Son's, which as three places around Pittsboro. I go to the one a few miles south of Chapel Hill on Highway 15-501.

Oakland: I grew up near Oakland, and the African-American population there makes some serious barbecue. My favorite is Everett and Jones. They're all over the East Bay, but I usually go to the San Pablo Avenue location in Berkeley or the take-out in Hayward. Their sauce, which comes in three levels of spiciness, is exceptional--ask them to sell you some. Ribs with medium-hot sauce and potato salad for me, please.

Bodega Bay: This sleepy, watery town north of San Francisco is home to a few oyster-farming outfits, and the local chefs oblige by serving the bivalves grilled on the half-shell with a spoonful of spicy tomato-based sauce. Just about every restaurant offersthem--they're perfect with a cold beer (which is likely to be a microbrew in this part of California).