A rising column of smoke caught the corner of my eye just as I was zooming past. And then, as the low-slung white building of Henri's Hotts receded in my vision on the Black Horse Pike, the aroma hit me like a barbecue ghost — an intoxicating whiff of slow-roasting meat. My synapses fired, the steering wheel turned, and my car veered with appropriately screeching tires onto the Route 54 off-ramp to reverse our course from west to east. My kids howled in protest, and my wife went ominously silent at the sudden detour, eager as we all were to finally return to Philly from our time away at the Jersey Shore. But some things in life are worth straying off-course and off-schedule for. Some things merit making room for an early snack. And great barbecue — which has frustratingly proven to be one of the rarest finds in this part of the country — tops the list. Within a few moments, literally the second our teeth sank into the pink "halo" that kissed the meat of those baby back ribs with smoke, they would understand this, too.