I was raised in Georgia and lived in Fort Lauderdale for 11 years and am not overly impressed with The Georgia Pig. I cannot believe a barbecue restaurant with Georgia in its title, does not serve sweet tea. This is an abomination, although I should not be shocked, since this restaurant is located below Interstate 4 (the sweet tea line). The vinegary sauce, eastern Carolina in nature, is pretty bland. The pork is tasty and could be improved if it were shredded a bit more. The slaw is tasty, nice and granular and not yankeeized like a lot of South Florida slaw. Despite its shortcomings, the Georgia Pig is a good barbecue joint.
Best Barbecue - 2004
Readers' Choice: Tom Jenkins Bar-B-Q
Georgia Pig has been around for more than half a century, which says a lot in restaurant-fickle South Florida. And not much seems to have changed except the jukebox, which now runs on CDs, and the parking lot, which was expanded a few years ago at this always-busy little eatery. The Pig still doesn't accept credit cards, and it retains its '50s-style atmosphere, which relies heavily on what can only be described as retro swine chic: ceramic pigs, carved-wood pigs, plastic pigs, etc. There's still a big heap of oak piled out back, and as you make your way to the restaurant, you can smell the smokiness provided by that wood. You get the picture. But the best thing that hasn't changed is the barbecue that dominates the small menu (in the form of a paper placemat). Sure, you can get breakfast and even burgers, shrimp, Brunswick stew, and daily $5.75 specials. But why would you want to when you can have some of the most succulent Deep South barbecue in South Florida? It comes in almost every imaginable variety: sliced pork and beef platters, spare-rib and chicken combos, even "small fry" portions. The standout, however, is the good, old-fashioned chopped pork (or beef) sandwich, which comes overstuffed with lean, tender meat you can enhance with a house barbecue sauce or hot sauce. There are a dozen or so tables and booths, but treat yourself and sit at the counter, where you can watch as the guy at the pit digs in deep to shuffle big chunks of meat around as they slowly cook, occasionally pulling one out to chop... and chop... and chop. Try not to drool.