What Your Willingness to Drive Says About Your BBQc

A BBQ question along the South Carolina coast comes down to what kind of authority you're willing to believe in. There's the kind you drive for: Scott's Bar-B-Que sits in Hemingway — a crossroads town in the Pee Dee, past cotton fields, past the point where most people turn around — and the whole hog has been in the wood-burning pits overnight before you even thought to leave the house. The Scott family has been doing this since 1972. The SCBA named it 100-Mile BBQ, barbecue worth a hundred-mile detour. When it's gone, it's gone. Then there's the kind you settle into: a Myrtle Beach spot where the smoke is still real, the pork still cooked over white oak, and the bar is open, the patio doors let in the coastal air, and you don't feel like you're racing anyone's clock to get a plate.

Scott's Bar-B-Que doesn't ask you to find it easily. The address is a crossroads on Highway 261 in Hemingway — Brunson Cross Road, if you're looking — and the building reads more like a country store than a destination. But the smoke coming off the building next door tells you what's happening before you park. Roosevelt and Ella Scott opened a convenience store here in 1972. Within a few years, a whole hog smoked on weekends became the reason people came. The side hustle became the main act. The pits are wood-burning — built by the family — and the hogs go in overnight. By the time the doors open, the work is already done.

The South Carolina Barbecue Association gave Scott's its highest recognition: 100-Mile BBQ, meaning barbecue worth driving a hundred miles for. Southern Living has ranked it among the top barbecue joints in the South in multiple editions of its annual list. What you find when you get there is a place that looks exactly like the thing it is — a working pit operation, not a restaurant designed around the experience of eating barbecue. The smoke is structural, not atmospheric. The vinegar-pepper sauce is a family recipe. The whole hog is the menu's argument, and the hog makes it clearly.

The practical reality of Scott's is part of the texture. It runs Wednesday through Saturday. Early in the day, the meat is at its peak; by afternoon, it's gone if the morning moved fast. People who've been here know this, and they plan around it. That planning — the drive, the timing, the commitment — is part of what Scott's asks. And part of what it gives back is the feeling that you earned what's on your plate.

Moe's Original BBQ started with three University of Alabama friends and a recipe that traces back to a man named Moe — who taught the founder to smoke before any of them thought about opening a restaurant. The Myrtle Beach location, on North Kings Highway, is the local expression of that lineage: Alabama-style, pork shoulder smoked over white oak in an 8-foot-wide smoker, pulled and served with two distinct sauces — a tangy red and an Alabama white that doesn't show up on most menus around here.

The room is built for staying. Two patios, one covered, one open with garage doors that fold back when the breeze comes off the coast. A full bar. Live music some nights. The kind of place where a family settles in for dinner, where a group finds a table and doesn't feel rushed through it. The meat smokes fresh daily — when it's gone, it's gone here too — but the window is longer, the days are seven, and the experience is designed around the idea that BBQ is what happens at the table, not just what happens at the pit.

USA Today named Moe's one of the top ten BBQ chains in the country. That recognition is for something different than what Scott's earned — it's recognition for consistency, for making the thing work across locations, for bringing a regional tradition somewhere new and keeping it honest. The Myrtle Beach location wears that well. The Alabama white sauce is still the departure it's supposed to be. The smoked chicken is pulled from the bone. The coleslaw that tops the sandwiches is marinated, not dressed at the last minute.

The question isn't which BBQ is better. The question is what you're actually here for.

If you're building a day around the food — if the drive is part of the experience, if you want the version of BBQ that asks something of you before it gives you anything back — Scott's in Hemingway is the answer. Plan for the morning, account for the distance, and don't assume the Wednesday crowd is smaller just because it's a weekday.

If you're feeding a group, extending an evening, looking for the version of BBQ that lets you sit down and stay a while without watching the clock — Moe's on Kings Highway fits that shape. The smoke is real, the sourcing is intentional, and the room is built for the kind of night where dinner is the plan, not the stop before the plan.

Both answer the same question. One through the discipline of the pit. The other through the hospitality of the table.

Scott's Bar-B-Que Where: 2734 Hemingway Hwy (Hwy 261 at Brunson Cross Road), Hemingway, SC 29554. Hours: Historically Wednesday through Saturday, morning through sell-out. Verify current hours before making the drive: thescottsbbq.com Timing: The pit runs overnight. The meat is freshest early in the day. Go when the doors open if you're making the trip specifically for this. Reservations: None. Counter service, first-come. Cash only — cards are not accepted.

Moe's Original BBQ — Myrtle Beach Where: 6108 N. Kings Hwy, Myrtle Beach, SC 29577. Hours: Check current hours at moesoriginalbbq.com/myrtle-beach Reservations: Not required. Walk-in friendly. Bar and patio seating available. What to know: Two patios — one covered, one open. Full bar. Live music periodically. Smokes fresh daily; late arrivals may find limited cuts.

The Myrtle Beach area draws well beyond weekend demand for coastal visitors, and accommodations fill faster than the calendar suggests. Guests staying outside the immediate tourist corridor often build a better day — arrive early, plan the Scott's drive as a purposeful detour, and treat the return as the wind-down. Booking ahead opens up more spacious options in surrounding communities that put you closer to the Pee Dee corridor anyway.

Two places. The same animal, the same smoke, the same tradition — and almost nothing else in common. One asks you to come to it, on its terms, at its hours, after a drive that filters out everyone who isn't sure they want to be there. The other meets you where the evening already is, and lets the food make the argument without asking anything extra. Neither is the compromise. Both are the answer — just to different travelers, on different days, with different versions of the question in mind.