Top 10 BBQ Sauces Worth Driving Across State Lines For

C.B. Stubblefield served barbecue and live blues out of a cinder-block joint in Lubbock, Texas, before Austin adopted him as a patron saint of smoked meat. Stubb's Original is tomato-and-vinegar-forward with a peppery kick that manages to enhance meat without drowning it. It is the thinking person's barbecue sauce.

The best-selling barbecue sauce in America did not come from a restaurant dynasty or a pitmaster legend. It came from a Chicago man named Larry Raymond who entered a rib cook-off in 1985 and named his sauce after his brother. Sweet Baby Ray's is unapologetically sweet, crowd-pleasingly thick, and available at every grocery store on the continent. Snobs hate it. Everyone else buys 220 million bottles a year.

The competition circuit's worst-kept secret. Blues Hog Original has a honey-sweetness and glaze-like consistency that competition judges cannot resist. It caramelizes under heat like it was engineered in a lab, and teams that switch to it tend to start winning. If you see a trophy at a KCBS event, there is a decent chance Blues Hog was involved.

Chef Charlie McKenna built Lillie's Q in Chicago around the idea that barbecue sauce should reflect terroir — the flavors of where it comes from. The Smoky variety is a Carolina-meets-Memphis blend with smoked sugar and a vinegar finish that makes ribs taste like they were cooked over a hickory fire for days. It won a James Beard nod for a reason.

Rodney Scott cooks whole hogs over oak and pecan coals in Charleston, South Carolina, and his sauce is the Lowcountry in liquid form. Vinegar-based, pepper-flecked, thin enough to soak into pulled pork rather than sit on top of it. Scott won the James Beard Award for Best Chef Southeast, and this sauce is the reason people drive from three states away.

Aaron Franklin is the most famous pitmaster in America, and his espresso barbecue sauce is the wildcard that nobody saw coming. Coffee and smoked meat sound wrong until you taste them together — the bitterness cuts through fat, the sweetness builds slowly, and the whole thing tastes like breakfast and dinner had a very good idea. Available online, because the 4-hour line in Austin is already full.

Born in Raleigh, North Carolina, and now sold in 74 countries. Bone Suckin' Sauce is gluten-free, all-natural, and tastes like someone's grandmother spent 40 years perfecting a recipe with no shortcuts. The original is tomato-based with mustard and honey undertones that bridge the gap between Eastern Carolina tang and Western Carolina sweetness.

Oklahoma's best-kept barbecue secret has been bottled in Ponca City since 1947. Head Country Original is thick, hickory-forward, and slightly spicy — the kind of sauce that tastes like it was made in a competition tent, because it was. Oklahoma barbecue does not get the national respect it deserves, and Head Country is exhibit A in the argument for why it should.

A Harley-riding biker bar in Syracuse, New York, has no business making one of America's best hot sauces, but here we are. Wango Tango is a habanero-spiked barbecue sauce that hits you with sweetness first and heat second, and both stick around long enough to make you reach for a cold beer. Dinosaur Bar-B-Que proved the Northeast can do barbecue — and make it hurt.

C.B. Stubblefield served barbecue and live blues out of a cinder-block joint in Lubbock, Texas, before Austin adopted him as a patron saint of smoked meat. Stubb's Original is tomato-and-vinegar-forward with a peppery kick that manages to enhance meat without drowning it. It is the thinking person's barbecue sauce.

The best-selling barbecue sauce in America did not come from a restaurant dynasty or a pitmaster legend. It came from a Chicago man named Larry Raymond who entered a rib cook-off in 1985 and named his sauce after his brother. Sweet Baby Ray's is unapologetically sweet, crowd-pleasingly thick, and available at every grocery store on the continent. Snobs hate it. Everyone else buys 220 million bottles a year.

The competition circuit's worst-kept secret. Blues Hog Original has a honey-sweetness and glaze-like consistency that competition judges cannot resist. It caramelizes under heat like it was engineered in a lab, and teams that switch to it tend to start winning. If you see a trophy at a KCBS event, there is a decent chance Blues Hog was involved.

Chef Charlie McKenna built Lillie's Q in Chicago around the idea that barbecue sauce should reflect terroir — the flavors of where it comes from. The Smoky variety is a Carolina-meets-Memphis blend with smoked sugar and a vinegar finish that makes ribs taste like they were cooked over a hickory fire for days. It won a James Beard nod for a reason.

Rodney Scott cooks whole hogs over oak and pecan coals in Charleston, South Carolina, and his sauce is the Lowcountry in liquid form. Vinegar-based, pepper-flecked, thin enough to soak into pulled pork rather than sit on top of it. Scott won the James Beard Award for Best Chef Southeast, and this sauce is the reason people drive from three states away.

Aaron Franklin is the most famous pitmaster in America, and his espresso barbecue sauce is the wildcard that nobody saw coming. Coffee and smoked meat sound wrong until you taste them together — the bitterness cuts through fat, the sweetness builds slowly, and the whole thing tastes like breakfast and dinner had a very good idea. Available online, because the 4-hour line in Austin is already full.

Born in Raleigh, North Carolina, and now sold in 74 countries. Bone Suckin' Sauce is gluten-free, all-natural, and tastes like someone's grandmother spent 40 years perfecting a recipe with no shortcuts. The original is tomato-based with mustard and honey undertones that bridge the gap between Eastern Carolina tang and Western Carolina sweetness.

Oklahoma's best-kept barbecue secret has been bottled in Ponca City since 1947. Head Country Original is thick, hickory-forward, and slightly spicy — the kind of sauce that tastes like it was made in a competition tent, because it was. Oklahoma barbecue does not get the national respect it deserves, and Head Country is exhibit A in the argument for why it should.

A Harley-riding biker bar in Syracuse, New York, has no business making one of America's best hot sauces, but here we are. Wango Tango is a habanero-spiked barbecue sauce that hits you with sweetness first and heat second, and both stick around long enough to make you reach for a cold beer. Dinosaur Bar-B-Que proved the Northeast can do barbecue — and make it hurt.