Issue link: http://maconmagazine.uberflip.com/i/315999
october/noveMber 2013 Macon Magazine i 25 I was probably 7 years old, standing on a chair trying to peek into an oil drum that a friend's dad had turned into a slow cooker, when I got my first barbecue lesson. "If you looking, you ain't cookin," he yelled, the first in a long line of admonishments I would receive concerning charring large chunks of dead animal. Vienna, where I'm from, is a town of 3,000 people, at least half of which are self-proclaimed barbecue savants. Most got that way through osmosis. In 1982, the Big Pig Jig was started by some forward-thinking citizens to promote tourism with smoke. More than 100 teams cook in the barbecue competition, and over the weekend the population of Vienna explodes with over 25,000 people, the largest festival of its kind back when it started. It spawned many barbecue legends, the most famous of which is Myron Mixon, the winning-est man in competition-barbecue history, the star of the hit TV show "BBQ Pitmasters," and a New York Times bestselling author. Myron and my older brother were best friends growing up. Our families vacationed together, often broke bread together, and it was rare that there wasn't something sopping up sweet heat and smoke on our table. So loving barbecue comes naturally to me. I saw men cook it all my life, in just about every way possible. I've seen pits built from beer kegs, from trashcans and even one from a decommissioned tanker car out of a train yard. Locals sometimes spend thousands of dollars on tricked-out cookers complete with hot rod paint jobs. Cooking with gas isn't an option. Big Green Eggs? Well, you might as well go inside and help with the three-bean salad. Nothing brings the man out of you like cooking a whole hog. And two of my favorite men just so happened to be really good at it. Chad Evans, co-owner of The Rookery and Dovetail, and Vic Stanley, co-owner of the Hummingbird and Billy's Clubhouse. When the mornings are cool enough to make you wish you were naked, and that priceless chatter known as college game day helps drag you from the bed, I can usually count on being around some good food from these fellows. A recent Saturday was no exception. We gathered at the home of Vic to burn some wood, tell some stories and eat some pork. It just doesn't get any better. FINDING THE HOG The first part of any hog cook is finding a hog. For Vic, there is no better place than M&T Meats in Hawkinsville. Started in 1963 by Alvin Mathis and Fred Thompson, M&T is like Xanudu for men. Everything there is built to exude precision and efficiency in dude-ness. Cured Hams hang dry. Inch- thick rib eyes are stacked up like cordwood in glass cases. There are bags of fresh vegetables everywhere. In the early days, you would literally walk by hogs feeding on your way into the store. The business has grown and things have changed since then, but Phil and his wife still take farm to table literally and are involved in everything from feeding the animals to butchering them. Vic selected a 90-pound hog for us, and we had it by brad evans photography by Maryann bateS