I grew up thinking barbecue came from a chain restaurant with a neon pig on the sign. Then a friend pulled me into a simple cinder block building in North Carolina, and the smell of hickory smoke hit me before the door even closed.
The chopped pork was tender, piled high on a tray with a side of red slaw and a thin vinegar sauce that stung just enough. I watched families walk in, nod to the staff, and sit down without looking at a menu.
That is when I realized this place is not a tourist stop. It is a neighborhood favorite where regulars have been filling their bellies for decades…