Two Jews and Their BBQs

The blue-gray stream of wood-scented smoke puffing into the air above Cook's BBQ was a good omen. So were the cars that filled the parking lot.

It wasn't just that there were a lot of them. It was the diversity -- the Lexus nestled next to a pickup. A lot full of imports? That would have been a red flag.

So are a few of the signs that Dan Levine and Jon Bloom, the creators of BBQJew.com, look for as they seek the divine in one of North Carolina's most earthly, tradition-bound food stuffs -- barbecue.

The blog is a tongue-in-cheek homage to all things barbecue, including videos, reviews of barbecue restaurants around the state, 'cue culture and cooking. It's all through the eyes of one Northern transplant and one native Southerner, both Jewish and both madly devoted to slow-cooked pork.

BBQJew's signature is religious -- or perhaps sacrilegious -- humor. Levine goes by the moniker Porky LeSwine. Bloom is the Rib Rabbi.

Levine and Bloom live in the Triangle -- Levine in Chapel Hill and Bloom in Durham -- but have made it their mission to eat at barbecue restaurants around the state.

On a recent Thursday night, they made a pilgrimage to Lexington, stopping for a predinner meal at Whitley's Barbecue before making their way south of town to Cook's, a weathered, wood-sided building down at the end of a house-lined, country road.

After a tour of the kitchen and pit by Brandon Cook, the restaurant's pit master, Levine and Bloom sat down in the knotty-pine dining room to order dinner. "We don't get to Lexington often so when we're here we make the most of it," Bloom said.

Their meal at Cook's included a North Carolina barbecue anomaly -- beef brisket. And when the plates of slaw, barbecue and beans arrived, they paused to take photos before diving in. Then, Bloom pulled out a blue pocketknife inlaid with a silver Star of David and cut into his food. "I've had this thing in my possession for about 10 years. I've never quite found a good use for it," he joked.

The verdict? Cook's pork barbecue was tasty. But they also enjoyed the brisket. "Oh, baby," Bloom said, biting into it. "I think it's a good sign that they only give you a fork."

Neither man grew up keeping kosher -- the Jewish practice of kashrut, or dietary rules that include avoiding certain foods such as pork, lobster or shrimp, and eating meat and dairy products separately and using different sets of dishes.

"I don't think of it as a central part of my faith," Bloom said. "But I definitely have a Jewish background and call myself Jewish."

Bloom calls himself a "casual Jew," attending temple services on important Jewish holidays, such as Rosh Hashanah. Levine does not attend services, but he refers to himself as "culturally and ethnically Jewish."

"My mom's mom grew up kosher," Levine said. "And I remember meals with her. At one point she was living in our house for awhile. My mom was cooking some bacon in the morning, and I remembered her saying it smelled good -- not really realizing what she was smelling.

"I think it's kind of interesting how cultures adapt where they are. There are a lot of Jews in the South and a lot of their traditions get morphed."

The friends started BBQJew.com in February and post on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, getting about 150 hits a day.

It's their hobby, dreamed up over -- of course -- a barbecue lunch. The two thought that they could add something to the barbecue debate. "We wanted to focus on North Carolina barbecue in particular. There's sort of this rich barbecue culture in North Carolina, and we wanted to bring it online.

"It's like basketball or religion or politics. It's a good thing for people from different backgrounds to talk about and have something to argue about."

That's one reason they don't like to take sides in the Eastern versus Lexington debate over which barbecue style is better. They are open to it all.

In its short life, Levine said, BBQJew.com has drawn the ire of at least one commentator who "talked about us being self-hating." Another recent reader commented that she doesn't eat pork not because she is an observant Jew but because of the conditions that pigs can be raised in.

"Really, the intent was to have fun with the concept," Levine said. "I think basically people have a sense of humor. Don't visit the site if you're not interested."

Bloom, 32, moved from the Boston area to North Carolina in 2004 to attend graduate school in journalism at UNC Chapel Hill. Fascinated with food, his day job is working on a book based on his other blog, WastedFood.com, that's scheduled to be published by Da Capo Press next year.

Bloom recalls some of his earliest barbecue experiences in the Northeast, a place where barbecue can be hard to find. He ate at the Yankee Smokehouse in New Hampshire while on family vacations, and later at a restaurant called Redbones Barbecue in Somerville, Mass. There, as a hungry teenager, he worked his way through a sampler of beef and pork ribs and pulled pork.

Levine, 32, is a North Carolina native born to New York transplants. He grew up not far from one of his favorite barbecue restaurants, Allen and Son in Orange County. Levine went to college in St. Louis, a rib town and a place that made him miss North Carolina's smoky, savory pork.

His full-time job is as a project manager for an affordable-housing developer in Durham. He often travels across the state for work, squeezing in some barbecue pit stops along the way. "I've been known to eat lunch at 10 a.m. and dinner at 3 p.m. if necessary to get a meal in."

The two met through their wives, friends who worked together at UNC Chapel Hill. And who, coincidently, do not like barbecue.

While Levine and Bloom aren't usually able to find the time to dine together, they share a similar slow-cooked philosophy. Smaller menus are generally better than bigger ones. Reliably delicious barbecue restaurants generally aren't open on Sundays -- "obey the Sabbath," they warn -- or past 9 p.m. For cooking, wood is the only way. Wood piles are important.

And if you head into an eating establishment surrounded by fancy cars, you stand a good chance of getting what Levine calls "yuppiecue," washed down with microbrews.

■ Laura Giovanelli can be reached at 727-7302 or at lgiovanelli@wsjournal.com.