If you're new here, you're undoubtedly still learning the barbecue ropes and tropes. Words like "wet" and "pulled" take on new meaning, and terms like "pitmaster" enter your lexicon. You learn that "barbecue" is a food — a sacrament — not an event in your backyard. And as you begin to meld with the city, ordering a pulled-pork sandwich becomes almost a civic experience.
Native Memphians, and those lucky enough to have lived here awhile, may not order ribs at every meal, but we can damn sure tell you where you should get them — and pulled pork, and barbecue spaghetti (The Bar-B-Q Shop, natch), and barbecue pizza (Colletta's, natch), and wings (Central BBQ, natch), and barbecue nachos (Rendezvous or AutoZone Park, natch). We take our preferences seriously enough that my final parenthetical there might get me run out of town on a rail.