A Weekend in the Smoke with Myron Mixon
Three days. That’s how long it takes to go from backyard bbq novice to full-fledged pitmaster—or at least leave smelling like one.
We spent a long weekend deep in the heart of southern Georgia at Myron Mixon’s BBQ Memories Class, where the “Winningest Man in Barbecue” teaches you the way his daddy, Jack, taught him: whole hog, hams, shoulders, turkey, brisket, pork belly, even homemade sausage smoked in a proper smokehouse.
And three days later? My camera still smells like hickory and history.
Everything you wear, touch, or even think about while you’re there comes home infused with the kind of deep, lingering smoke that isn’t just a scent—it’s a badge of honor. A testament to time well spent learning from a legend.
Friday: Arrival and Firestarters
The town of Unadilla, Georgia isn’t big, but the barbecue dreams that roll through here sure are. Nearly 25,000 folks have made this pilgrimage since 1995, stepping through the gates of Myron’s backyard barbecue compound like knights preparing for battle.
First up? Meeting the man himself. Myron Mixon isn’t just a pitmaster—he’s barbecue royalty, with championship rings to prove it. He’s also exactly the kind of Southern uncle you want at a cookout: sharp-witted, full of stories, and blessed with the ability to make a chuck of pork taste like a religious experience.
Friday night is all about meat prep—rubs, marinades, and every other bit of barbecue sorcery needed to get the flavors just right. Everything goes down in old-school, wood-fired brick pits, ready to be lit at the crack of dawn. Then, it’s off to bed, dreaming of smoke rings and sizzling fat.
Saturday: The Smoke Show
At 6 AM, the Black Shirts—Myron’s elite barbecue team—start the fire. These aren’t just some guys off the street; many of them have been by his side during world championships, turning racks of ribs into trophies. The wood-burning stoves in use? Straight out of Jack’s Old South, Myron’s father’s original restaurant.
Now, let’s be clear—you won’t be giving away any secret recipes here (if you want those, you’ll need to take the class). But what you will get is a crash course in real-deal barbecue—the kind that teaches you how to build your own pit for under $400, perfect your smoke timing, and make Myron’s award-winning sides. You’ll also pick up a grin the size of Georgia from standing over those pits, watching magic happen.
The place is dripping with history—literally. A sign from Jack’s Old South, Myron’s father’s takeout spot in Vienna, Georgia, still hangs like a relic of a barbecue temple. That’s where Myron and his brother Tracy learned the ropes, slinging whole hog and Brunswick stew the Georgia way (ground like a fine hash and with NO LIMA BEANS).
The Feast
Listen, you don’t just learn barbecue at this class—you eat like a king.
Friday night, a classic Southern fish fry kicked things off. Saturday, thick grilled pork chops for lunch, followed by a feast of ribs, pork belly, and smoked chicken for dinner—all prepared by us, the students, under the watchful eyes of the Black Shirts. And Sunday? The grand finale: Georgia-style mopped whole hog, along with hams and shoulders, slow-cooked to perfection.
Now, let me tell you, in North Carolina, we like our skin crispy. Down here, they do it different—soft, juicy, drenched in mop sauce—but one bite and you understand: these boys know exactly what they’re doing.
The Man, The Myth, The Mixon
If you’ve only ever seen Myron Mixon on TV, you don’t know Myron Mixon. On the screen, he’s gruff, competitive, maybe even a little intimidating. In real life?
He’s a storyteller, a straight shooter, and the kind of guy who reminds you of every Southern uncle you had growing up—the ones who told jokes just above your age grade while mason jars of “special sauce” made their rounds.
This class isn’t just about cooking meat. It’s about learning a craft, making memories, and stepping into a family tradition that stretches back generations.
And yeah, the price tag might make you hesitate. But what you walk away with?
A cooler full of meat you cooked yourself, a lifetime of barbecue bragging rights that you cooked with the King, and the kind of weekend that stays with you—in your heart, your mind, and in the smoke clinging to every piece of clothing you own.
