Smoke hits first. Then the line. Then the panic that they might sell out before you reach the door.
B’s Barbecue in Greenville, North Carolina doesn’t advertise. It doesn’t need to.
By mid-morning, cars crowd the lot like a warning sign — get here now or don’t bother.
Inside, whole hogs cook the old way, chopped by hand and kissed with sharp Eastern North Carolina vinegar.
No tricks. No fluff. Just pork with bite, heat, and attitude.
Locals plan their day around this place.
Students skip class. Regulars show up early. Newcomers learn fast.
When the doors open, Greenville moves toward one thing —
and when the pork runs out, the story’s over.
Parking Lot Parade: Why The Line Moves But Never Ends
The first thing you hear is laughter from the pit house, then the chatter of locals swapping pirate lore and lunch plans. The line looks long, but it slides along with quick hands at the window and a menu trimmed to the essentials.
Cash only flashes on the sign, and you feel oddly relieved that it keeps things simple.
Hours are short, 9 to 2:30 Tuesday through Saturday, and when they sell out, they shut the door. I learned this the spicy way after one late roll-in that ended with a sheepish wave and a promise to return earlier.
Park near the tree if you can, because those picnic tables fill just as fast as the boxes stack up.
There is no dining room, and that is part of the charm. You eat in the breeze, or off a tailgate, or on a warm hood that suddenly becomes your table.
It feels like Greenville’s town square, with sauce instead of speeches.
Prices land in the gentle range, and the crowd reflects it, from students to retirees who know every pitmaster by name. Reviews praise consistency, with a few grumbles about sides or vinegar levels, but the energy says believers outnumber doubters.
If you want a friendly tip, bring small bills and a backup plan for seating.
B’s runs on speed, smoke, and ritual. The bark of the chopped pork is soft, smoky, and scattered with just enough tang to wake you.
When that line wraps, you will understand exactly why it never really goes away.
Pulled Pork That Starts Conversations
One forkful in and the vinegar whispers first, then the smoke strolls through like it owns the place. The chopped pork is tender without going mushy, a whole hog rhythm that tastes both spare and generous.
You can eat it straight, and many do, sun on your shoulders and a grin in your pocket.
Sauce sits on the side, thin and bright, a nudge not a takeover. Some days I add a dab, other days I let the meat talk solo.
Reviews argue about tang and salt, which is half the fun of standing in line with strangers who become instant judges.
The sandwich stacks the pork into a simple bun that soaks up flavor but never surrenders. A shake of pepper, maybe a scatter of slaw, and you are there, elbows happy, napkins busy.
Prices keep second sandwiches very possible, which is dangerous for plans and excellent for moods.
Service is quick, practiced, and cheerful, with the crew ribbing one another from the pit house. That energy lands in the meat, or at least it feels that way when the steam hits your face.
It is not fancy, not fussy, and exactly right for a Tuesday that wants to feel like Saturday.
If you are driving from out of town, arrive early because the pork can vanish before the clock says lunch. Grab an extra pound to take home and be a hero later.
This is conversation food, the kind that keeps opinions lively long after the box is empty.
The Chicken Everyone Whispers About
The chicken skin crackles like good news. Pull it back and the steam carries smoke that feels older than the building, richer than the price suggests.
Reviews rave, and the raves are justified, with juicy meat that resists dryness even on a busy Saturday.
Half a chicken sits heavy in the hand, light on the wallet, perfectly seasoned and not drowned in anything. Eat it over the box because the juices have gravity and you will not want to waste a drop.
I have watched strangers nod to each other mid-bite, an unspoken pact of approval.
Pair it with slaw for a clean crunch between bites. The vinegar brightness makes the chicken feel even more savory, as if the smoke needed a spotlight.
Some days I skip the pork and just go full chicken, which feels like a bold Greenville decision.
Service stays fast, though you may wait a little longer when everyone around you knows the chicken secret. They move birds like a parade, and when they say last one, that is not theater.
Go early if the bird is your mission, and thank yourself later.
Sitting outside with a half chicken on a tray turns a random weekday into a minor holiday. There is a breeze, a few jokes from the pit house, and a steady beat of orders.
If you leave without getting the chicken at least once, you will hear about it until you return.
The Sandwich Move: Slaw On Or Slaw Off
Order the sandwich and the real question arrives fast: slaw on or slaw off. Slaw on gives a cool crunch and a little sweetness, balancing the vinegar zip.
Slaw off keeps the pork center stage, undiluted and smoky with peppery flickers.
The bun is soft without collapsing, exactly what you want for hand-held barbecue. A small shake of hot pepper lifts things without turning dramatic.
I like to eat one of each when time and dignity allow, then take a slow walk to think about priorities.
Prices remain humble, which means students and crews line up without worry. The window team knows the sandwich rhythm by heart, and you will get a quick nod before the box slides across.
Keep a napkin ready, because sauce finds knuckles like it has a map.
Reviews mention the sandwich often, with words like go-to and perfect lunch. It is the item you recommend to friends who have not crossed into chopped pork devotion yet.
They take one bite, blink, and suddenly understand.
If you are eating in the car, unwrap carefully and commit to the moment. The scent will live in your seat belts for a day, and you will not be mad about it.
Sandwiches travel well, but they are happiest at the picnic table under that tall tree.
Sides, Straight Talk: Slaw, Potatoes, Green Beans
The sides at B’s play the supporting roles with zero costume changes. Slaw lands crisp and cool, not too sweet, not too sharp, just right after a vinegar-leaning bite.
Potatoes bring a tangy edge that sparks debate in the parking lot, which is fine because debates are free.
Green beans show up old-school and straightforward, no bacon confetti or sugar gloss. Some folks love them, some move on, and both camps still finish the tray smiling.
The beauty here is that sides do not compete with the meat, and that is by design.
I have learned to order slaw automatically and decide on the second side based on mood. On hot days, slaw and potatoes feel like a complete sentence.
On cooler mornings, beans sneak back in with a steady, familiar comfort.
Prices keep decisions easy, and the speedy service means your sides arrive while the pork still steams. If you show up late, selection can thin, so plan for early forks.
Nobody cries in the parking lot, but a few sighs have been heard.
Nothing is fancy, and that is the point. This is barbecue country where sides are accents, not headliners.
Keep your expectations in check, your napkins handy, and your slaw ready to cool the heat.
Timing The Run: Hours, Sellouts, And Strategy
The secret handshake here is a clock. Doors open at 9 and close at 2:30 Tuesday through Saturday, unless the pits call it quits sooner.
When the meat is gone, the show is over, and there is no encore.
I have set alarms like it is Black Friday for ribs that are not on the menu that day. Early arrival means choice plates, shorter lines, and plenty of seating under that tree.
Late arrival means practice in graceful disappointment and promises to return tomorrow.
The best strategy is simple: be there before lunch, bring cash, and have a Plan B for shade. A small cooler in the trunk keeps take-home boxes happy if you are making a longer drive.
Locals know this dance and will cheerfully tell you you made it just in time.
Service is brisk and friendly, with orders moving quickly despite the crowd. The menu stays lean, so decisions do not bottle-neck the flow.
You will be back in the parking lot with food faster than your group finishes debating sides.
If you are traveling, Tuesday through Saturday are your windows. Mondays and Sundays are quiet, except for the stories echoing in the lot.
Plan it right and the only thing you run out of is excuses.
Vibe Check: No Frills, All Smoke
The place looks like a postcard someone forgot to gloss. A no-frills shack, a pit house humming, and a parking lot that doubles as a dining room.
It is unpretentious in a way that makes every bite taste more honest.
Music is minimal, conversation is plentiful, and laughter rolls out of the pit like smoke. You will hear locals talk football, weather, and which day last week had the best bark.
I like standing in line just to collect those stories in real time.
Seating means picnic tables or tailgates, and shade depends on the sun’s mood. The tree out front does heroic work from late morning to early afternoon.
If clouds gather, the car becomes your booth, and the steering wheel your counter.
The team behind the window moves with muscle memory, calling orders like a chorus. There is no tableside fuss, only quick, friendly handoffs.
Your food comes hot, fast, and exactly how you asked.
The vibe is Greenville through and through, a little grit, a lot of warmth, and a loyal following. It is the kind of spot you bring friends to so they will stop asking where to eat.
They will see the smoke, nod, and understand immediately.
Cash Rules: Paying And Playing It Smart
Bring cash and save yourself a sprint to the nearest ATM. The sign is clear, the policy firm, and the line forgiving if you show up prepared.
Prices are friendly, and exact change wins you a grateful nod when the lunchtime rush peaks.
I keep small bills tucked in a pocket because the pace here rewards quick handoffs. Cards are not part of the ritual, which somehow fits the old-school charm.
Besides, counting out bills feels right when the smoke is doing all the heavy lifting.
There is no service charge, no tip screen blinking judgment, just a jar and your call. Most folks drop a little thank you because the crew hustles and the jokes are free.
You will see regulars glide through the routine like a dance.
If you forget cash, do not panic, but do move fast. A quick loop to grab bills and you might still land a plate before sellout.
Consider a buddy system where one waits and the other scrounges.
Cash keeps the line moving, the prices grounded, and the mood easy. It is part of the B’s rhythm, as much a fixture as the smokehouse itself.
Tuck a few extra singles away and order that second sandwich without thinking twice.
Locals, Legends, And Lively Banter
You will hear tall tales before you taste a bite. Old regulars swap stories about epic chickens and perfect batches while newcomers listen wide-eyed.
The crew in the pit house keeps the tone playful, tossing jokes as steady as smoke.
I once met a couple who drove down from Virginia just to check a bucket list box. They left plotting a return with coolers and cousins, grinning like teenagers.
This place inspires that kind of impulsive loyalty, the good kind that leads to repeat lunches.
Reviews range from reverent to nitpicky, which proves people care deeply. Even the critics come armed with history and comparisons, often from other ENC legends.
The best part is that everyone still stands in the same line, happy to argue and eat.
Out front, the picnic tables become roundtables. People trade tips, recommend sides, and call out when a tray looks especially good.
Strangers become advisors, and then, briefly, teammates against the clock.
There is a reason B’s shows up in conversations wherever Pirates gather. It is heritage, habit, and hunger lining up together.
Step in and you become part of the running story, no membership required.
First-Timer Playbook: How To Win Lunch
Start by arriving early enough to smell the smoke long before the hunger hits. Scan the short menu and decide quickly: chopped pork plate, chicken, or a sandwich with slaw.
Order confidently, pay cash, and grab napkins like it is a sport.
Find shade under the tree or claim a tailgate with friends. If the picnic tables are full, eat standing and enjoy the breeze because it beats fluorescent lights any day.
Keep your tray level and your expectations pointed at the meat.
Go light on sauce at first, then fine-tune with a small splash. Drink tea if you want the full Carolina effect, refillable and cold.
If you plan to take meat home, ask for it packed tight and keep it cool for the ride.
Be friendly in line and you will leave with bonus advice. Locals will guide you on the day’s best bite and whether chicken is in rare form.
They will also warn you when sellout vibes are approaching.
Finally, snap a quick photo if you must, then eat while it is hot. Say thanks to the crew, toss your trash, and make room for the next person.
If you do it right, your second visit will already be penciled in before you hit the main road.