A Tradition of Flavor

Belleville, Texas is where my barbecue journey truly started. Summers there meant family reunions under the blazing Texas sun, plates piled high with good barbecue, and countless memories made with the people I loved most. It was at our annual Jack Wilson family reunion that my passion for barbecue was ignited.

The mornings always started early. Before the rest of the family even woke up, my dad, uncles, and granddad were already hard at work. They’d fire up the massive pits, prepare the meat, and cook it low and slow over open flames for hours. By noon, the food was ready, hot and fresh, for everyone to enjoy.

Back then, I was just a kid—6 or 7 years old—and my job was simple: stay out of the way and be ready when the grown-ups called for something, which usually meant fetching a cold Miller Lite or Bud Light. In between runs for beer, I spent my time throwing rocks and soaking in the atmosphere, watching the magic happen.

But one summer, when I was about 10 or 11, everything changed. My uncle William, the family’s pitmaster, called me over.

“Junior,” he said, “come turn this meat.”

I froze. Me? A kid barely tall enough to see over the pit? But he handed me the tongs, and I gave it a shot. Under his watchful eye, I turned the meat, adjusted the fire, and learned the rhythm of the process. It was in that moment, with the smell of barbecue in the air and the heat of the pit on my face, that I fell in love with the art of barbecue.

From then on, I was hooked. As I grew older, I studied everything I could about barbecue, learning from my dad, uncles, and Uncle William. By my teenage years, I was cooking for the family myself, constantly experimenting and trying to master the ribs my uncle was so famous for.

When I asked him for his recipe, he gave me the rub and instructions. I followed them to the letter, but something was missing. The ribs were good, but they weren’t Uncle William’s. That’s when I realized I wasn’t just chasing a recipe—I was on a journey to craft something of my own.

In our family, barbecue isn’t just food. It’s a tradition that’s been passed down for generations, a way to connect, and an expression of love. That tradition stretches all the way back to my great-grandfather, Jack Wilson. That’s why Papa Jacks is named in his honor—a tribute to the legacy of pitmasters who came before me.

Every bottle of marinade and every bite of barbecue from Papa Jacks carries that legacy. It’s about family, connection, and sharing food that brings people together—just like those summer reunions in Belleville.

Papa Jacks isn’t just a brand. It’s my story, my family’s story, and it’s my privilege to share it with you.