It’s almost heretical to say this, but here it is: Most barbecue isn’t very good.

The heresy lies in the fact that most people happily suspend their disbelief when it comes to barbecue. They want to believe in the mystique, the mythology, the notion that barbecue is equal parts magic, sweat, secret family recipes, and blue-collar folk wisdom. They also want to believe in the food, because when barbecue is good, it’s really good. Once you’ve had top-notch barbecue, with its elemental balance of smokiness, juiciness, and flavor, it’s hard not to seek out more. Never mind if seven out of eight barbecue meals are mediocre at best; the memory of that eighth one is what will motivate you, like the nibble on the line that keeps the fisherman down at the lake all day.

So why is the ratio of good barbecue to bad so lopsided? Because smoking meat is tricky business. Think of it this way: Assuming you use good ingredients and have at least half a clue about what you’re doing, it’s hard to make a bad hamburger, a bad steak, or a bad roast chicken. But even if you’re using first-rate meat and spices, there’s a lot that can go wrong with barbecue. The cooking temperature has to be kept very low, the wood has to be tended to maintain proper smokiness, and the cooking is stretched out over many hours, which means there’s plenty of time to make a mistake.

Despite these potential pitfalls – or maybe in part because of them – barbecue’s allure endures, especially here in New York, where our strict air-quality laws have made genuine wood smoked barbecue a rarity.

That’s why there’s been so much hullabaloo as Blue Smoke, Daisy Mae’s, and Pearson’s have opened in the past few years. None of these places is outstanding, and only one (Pearson’s) is above average, but they all continue to draw crowds, because people desperately want to believe in barbecue.

The latest testing ground for that belief is Texas Smokehouse BBQ, which recently opened on the corner of Second Avenue and 25th Street. The place has been busy on my recent visits – I had to wait more than half an hour for a table on one visit – but it’s a safe bet that none of the customers got there by following their nose. You can smell a good barbecue joint several blocks away, and even a half-decent one should smell good when you walk in the door. But Texas Smokehouse is largely aroma-free, inside and out.

As you might expect, that doesn’t bode well for the food. Texas Smokehouse claims to be using a smoker, but the meats are utterly devoid of smokiness. Brisket and pulled pork (both $7 for a sandwich, $10 for a platter) are stringy and dry, and baby back ribs ($10 for a half-rack) are tasteless. Beef ribs ($12) are as smoke-free as everything else but at least have a nicely blackened exterior, making them the one passable offering. Sides are forgettable, the staff is well meaning but clueless, and the whole experience ends up as a disappointment.

But no matter – I want to believe in barbecue as badly as everyone else does. So when I heard about a promising-sounding ‘cuery called Harper’s Pit just over the river in Jersey City, I was intrigued. I called to find out how late they were open, but their phone had been disconnected.

In a classic case of barbecue-driven faith (okay: denial), I chose to interpret this as a good sign. “They’re probably so devoted to cooking great barbecue that they can’t be bothered with little niceties like paying the phone bill,” I told my friend Rob, who was joining me on my visit to Harper’s. He shot me a dubious look but continued driving through an increasingly dodgy-looking part of Jersey City.

A few minutes later, sure enough, there it was: a smallish storefront with a battered neon “BBQ” sign in the window. We walked in and found a bulletproof ordering kiosk and not much more – no tables, no chairs, just a small lip of a counter against one wall for stand-up eating, plus a ceiling fan slowly turning overhead. The place smelled wonderful, a mix of smoke, meat juices, and seasonings. If you buy into the cliched but seductive notion of barbecue’s earthy down-market primitivism, this place certainly fit the bill.

I wish I could report that Harper’s food fully delivered on this promise. Unfortunately, the chopped pork sandwich ($5.50) was slathered in so much sauce that it effectively became a sloppy joe, while a pork chop ($8 with two sides) was fried to the point of inedibility. Sides were adequate but uninspired. As for beef ribs, “We ain’t got those tonight.”

Ah, but the pork spareribs ($9 for a half-slab) – pay dirt. The gorgeously blackened meat resonates with equal parts spice, salt, and smoke, and the texture is tender but just firm enough to necessitate using your teeth to pull it from the bone. As is usually the case, it’s best to order the ribs unsauced and then get sauce on the side to apply as you like (Harper’s offers hot, which I liked, and mild, which I found too sweet). The result is first-rate barbecue.

So there it is: a bona-fide nibble on the line. If you’re a rib fan and are willing to eat standing up in a no-frills setting, Harper’s is definitely worth the trip. I plan to stop by again soon on my way to the neighboring town of Elizabeth – I hear there’s a good barbecue joint there, too.