Hal P.
Google
Let me preface this review by saying that Sacred Ground isn’t just a BBQ joint—it’s a transcendent pilgrimage site for anyone with functioning taste buds and a loose grasp on cholesterol management. It’s tucked 20 minutes outside of Jackson, Mississippi, in a small hamlet called Pocahontas, which boasts a whopping 30 residents, three goats, a dollar general, and 2 churches that probably smell like brisket on Sundays thanks to its smoky neighbor.
We rolled up to Sacred Ground one fine evening, ready to feast and armed with two $9 bottles of Prosecco like the thrifty sommelier imposters we are—only to be gently informed the corkage fee was $20. TWENTY. That’s two dollars more than the hubby itself. I paid it, of course, because I’m not about to ruin smoked meat nirvana over principle. But I did stare longingly at my bubbly bottle like it was a trust fund I just got taxed on.
To your right: pinball machines. Glorious, glowing, vintage relics blinking at you like, “Hey cowboy, let’s play while your meat sweats settle” And next to them? A rubber ducky claw machine - apparently designed for Jeep owners who are legally required to leave tiny bath toys on other Jeeps like some kind of gas-guzzling mating ritual. I’m convinced this machine is the source of all those ducks. It’s the mothership.
And don’t sleep on the outdoor seating. It’s not just a couple of sad picnic tables and a mosquito—it’s an expansive, open-air haven of family chaos. There's cornhole. There’s ping-pong. There are enough open spaces for your kids to run around, scream, and reenact "Lord of the Flies" while you inhale burnt ends and pretend you don’t know them.
Let me tell you, though: the food? Oh, the food. The beef ribs were so tender they collapsed under the weight of a polite glance. The brisket? A marvel of meat engineering—gloriously marbled, deeply smoked, and shimmering with the kind of bark that could make a grown man cry into his $20-glassed sparkling beverage.
Now, let’s talk about the prophet of pulled pork himself, Mr. Derek Emmerson—a man whose addiction to opening restaurants has reached such a fever pitch, we’re not sure if he’s trying to build a culinary empire or just avoid going home. If you’ve eaten anywhere in the Jackson area and thought, “Wow, this is good,” chances are Derek opened it, forgot he did, and is currently opening two more places while you read this.
In summary: If you’re in or near Jackson, and your stomach is grumbling like it’s possessed by a smoked meat demon, make the trip to Pocahontas. Sacred Ground is worth the drive, the corkage fee, and the chaos of children pumping dollars into a rubber ducky claw machine.
