There's no polite way to say it: something fundamental has been lost at Old South BBQ…read more
On a recent sunny afternoon, a friend and I--both barbecue enthusiasts--set out to try Old South after hearing it had reopened under new management. I had never been, but my friend spoke of it with near reverence, describing a once-legendary roadside joint steeped in South Carolina barbecue tradition.
And that tradition matters. In South Carolina, barbecue isn't just food--it's history. Proper whole-hog or pulled pork is defined by slow cooking over hardwood coals--hickory or oak--for upwards of 8 to 12 hours. The state proudly claims all four major regional sauce styles, from the iconic mustard-based "Carolina Gold" to vinegar, light tomato, and heavy tomato sauces. It's a place where technique and patience are inseparable from authenticity.
Old South still looks the part. The atmosphere is classic and charming: a casual, no-frills roadside spot with a nostalgic 1950s picnic scene, complete with indoor seating and outdoor tables. It's family-friendly, dog-friendly, and on the surface, exactly the kind of place you want to love. The menu hits all the expected notes--pulled pork, baby back ribs, chicken--and the house-made sauces are genuinely enjoyable.
But then the food arrives.
The wings, ribs, and pulled pork were all missing the one thing that defines barbecue: smoke. Not subtle smoke--none. It tasted as though everything had been cooked in a gas oven. Yes, the food was tender and even flavorful in places, but without that slow-smoked backbone, it feels hollow. If smoke isn't part of the process, can it really be called barbecue?
Curious--and increasingly skeptical--we walked over to the smokehouse. It looked abandoned. No lingering wood aroma, no signs of recent use, not even a stray log in sight. When I asked our server about the pitmaster, she casually mentioned he usually comes in around 4 p.m.--a surprising detail, considering authentic barbecue is an all-day (and often all-night) process.
At that point, the analogy felt unavoidable: if you put a Hyundai engine in a Porsche 911, is it still a Porsche?
My friend and I left with the same conclusion--Old South BBQ may still carry the name and the look, but it's lost its soul. The bones of something great are still there, but without the craft and care that once defined it, it feels like a tribute rather than the real thing.
To be fair, our server was friendly and attentive, and that effort didn't go unnoticed. But good service can't replace what's missing from the pit.
For a place once remembered as a cornerstone of South Carolina barbecue, that's a tough rib to swallow.