Travel around the United States and you’ll soon discover that, from the vinegar-based sauces of North Carolina to the mesquite pits of West Texas, every region has its own take on barbecue.

But here in the Upper Valley, David McInnis and other barbecue practitioners just make what they like.

“No one’s really doing anything new anymore. It’s all just variations of something that’s been done,” he said in an interview at his restaurant, Wicked Awesome BBQ in White River Junction. “That’s why I call it New England style: take it from around the country and make it our own.”

Thick with notes of vinegar and tomato, his sauce marries Kansas City and Carolina styles, while his meats are basted in root beer to “help the smoke stick.”

Wicked Awesome is just one of the many barbecue spots that have fired up their smokers in recent years. Their presence may not yield a distinct barbecue style, but what Upper Valley barbecue lacks in cohesion, it makes up for with the ingenuity of its pitmasters.

When it comes to barbecue, McInnis, who was born and raised outside of Boston, is mainly self-taught. While working in hotel restaurants around the city, he started throwing hog roasts for his friends, using YouTube as his guide.

Then came a catering business, plus a food truck after he moved to the Upper Valley in 2007, and finally a brick and mortar location in East Thetford, which he moved to White River Junction in 2017.

All these years later, his enthusiasm for barbecue still burns hot.

“I love what I do,” he said. “I get excited every day coming to work.”

Wicked Awesome isn’t White River Junction’s only barbecue spot. Big Fatty’s BBQ has been keeping its smokers stoked on South Main Street since early 2014, when Brandon Fox took over the business from his mom Bethany Lewis and stepdad Clay Vagnini.

Vagnini learned the art of barbecue from cooking for his godfather in Key West, Fla. and the restaurant still pays homage to many of those original methods.

The brisket is massaged with salt, pepper and paprika — a modified version of a Texas rub — while the pulled pork is smoked as is for more than 10 hours with hickory chips from Elmwood, N.C.

Other offerings, such as the burnt ends and St Louis ribs, are more recent additions.

“A few of the employees have actually come up with things that we make on a daily basis,” Fox said in an interview at the restaurant.

A former long-term employee workshopped the maple mustard and St Louis sauce, a combination of Frank’s Red Hot and brown sugar, while a sous-chef thought to display the smoker in the dining area so patrons could see how the sausage — or barbecue — is made.

“We all come up with our little things,” Fox said.

Some say that the barbecue sauce is a litmus test for a restaurant’s overall quality. When I asked Fox about his, he picked up a squeeze bottle and slurped some off his hand, gesturing for me to do the same.

Sweet, with a little kick at the end, it went down easy.

“I’ve seen people drink it,” Fox said. I believe him.

The proliferation of barbecue isn’t just an Upper Valley phenomenon. According to Dan Jameson, co-owner of Poor House Bar-B-Q in Canaan, “It’s taking off everywhere. It’s just blown up. From the pitmaster shows to YouTube, there’s so much about barbecue.”

Jameson himself was initially seduced by shows like “BBQ USA” and “BBQ Pitmasters,” which he described as “the icon.”

He entered regional competitions like Rock’n Ribfest in Merrimack, N.H., and later the Big Pig Jig in Georgia.

The Upper Valley had its own barbecue competition hosted by Harpoon Brewery in Windsor. Dwindling attendance put a stop to it in 2019, but the brewery still holds the occasional pop-up, said Programming Manager Marly Thompson.

Years of classes and competitions have made Jameson an expert in his craft.

“You don’t start out good. The expression is ‘Good barbecue comes from bad barbecue,’ ” he said.

His initial plan was to open a supply store, but the community’s appetite for his barbecue was too strong.

“People were pushing us to actually open a restaurant,” he said. Eventually, Jameson caved, opening Poor House with his wife on Route 4 in 2023.

Since then, business has been booming.

“I’m awful proud of him,” said long-time friend and patron Kevin Ellis as he and his family tucked in at the restaurant on Super Bowl Sunday.

The family had ordered a full spread, and the checkered table cloth was heavy with dishes of pulled pork, crispy wings, burnt ends, brisket and fried cheese curds.

Loading up her plate, Ellis’ wife, Marsha, noted that there’s no need for sauce, “the barbecue is just so good.”

Another couple, William Marx and Holly Plumley, were so smitten with Poor House’s barbecue that they stopped in for some loaded fries despite having plowed the roads since 2 a.m. after a snowstorm.

“We decided it was so delicious, it was worth it,” Plumley said.

Poor House’s menu takes inspiration from Georgia-style barbecue, meaning it’s sweet and sticky.

Jameson’s time in competitions has influenced what he serves at the restaurant. He uses a competition-grade injection on his meats, and smokes them with maple wood he splits himself for a light flavor.

“I don’t want to chew smoke,” he said.

At the end of the day, just like at Wicked Awesome, Poor House patrons eat what Jameson wants to eat. He doesn’t take it personally if someone prefers a different style.

“No one’s wrong; barbecue is barbecue,” he said.

A town away from Poor House, in Dorchester, sits a small takeout spot beside a wooded snowmobile path. Smokin’ Bear, owned by retired couple Bear and Kim Minear, is one of the newest additions to the roster of Upper Valley barbecue spots.

The couple’s love affair with barbecue started while they were living in Texas.

“There’s somebody selling barbecue everywhere, whether it’s a little tent or a big fancy place or a wooden shack,” Bear said.

On their way back to New England, they bought a smoker.

“It was the first thing on the U-Haul,” Bear said.

They started hosting barbecue parties on the Fourth of July. Over the years, the numbers grew. At their last party, in 2014, 237 people showed up.

From there, they started cooking for friends’ weddings and birthday parties, which snowballed into a catering business.

In 2020, they took the leap and bought a piece of land to build a takeout spot on.

The pandemic caused the cost of building materials and equipment to skyrocket, and it took three years to get the operation off the ground.

Finally, last February, they hosted a benefit for a friend’s son who was burned in a fire. They sold 200 plates in a matter of hours, with just the two of them managing the stand.

“That was a kick start for us,” Kim said.

The menu may be small and the restaurant may only be open on weekends and some Mondays, but that doesn’t mean the couple doesn’t take their work seriously.

At Smokin’ Bear, the emphasis is on the fresh and the local, starting with the wood they smoke with, which Bear cuts himself from the forest on the property.

The kitchen doesn’t have a freezer, so all meats have to be ordered fresh each week and are smoked the night before they’re served.

“I’d rather cut my own trees and get my meats from someone here than order it from Sysco,” Bear said.

The barbecue sauce is also proprietary information. When I asked about it, Bear rolled up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo of various ingredients running up his forearm. He encouraged me to guess the ratios for myself.

One ingredient was missing from the list, however: ketchup. Instead, Bear uses a base of fresh tomatoes. The result is a rich sauce with a slightly coarse texture and a peppery finish.

“We’re simple, we’re small, we keep it minimal and as fresh as I can make it,” Bear said.

The menu rotates weekly, sometimes there’s brisket, sometimes pulled pork. One dish of note is their Barbecue Sundae.

A true showstopper, the Barbecue Sundae includes pulled pork, baked beans, slaw (mixed to order), a tangy Carolina sauce, honey mustard, and a cherry pepper on top.

The Upper Valley’s barbecue offerings continue to grow. In March, MJ’s Barbecue will open a takeout window at Roma’s Butchery in South Royalton. Like Smokin’ Bear, MJs emphasizes locally sourced ingredients, with much of the meat coming from the butchery.

When asked why barbecue has become so popular in the Upper Valley, co-owner Mathew Danforth offered that “it’s America’s food.”

Maybe he has a point. The Upper Valley may not share the South’s long and storied history with barbecue, but the craft continues to capture the imagination, giving way to a smoky fire of creativity that continues to spread.

Marion Umpleby can be reached at mumpleby@vnews.com or 603-727-3309.