Graysen Walles wasn’t always a master of harnessing smoke.
His first attempt at cooking sausage, for instance, filled his family’s apartment with so much smoke that his mother ran in hollering his name, convinced the whole place was on fire.
“I was maybe 10 years old at the time,” Walles said, remembering that day all those decades ago. “But even back then, that was my thing — I just loved to cook.”
As the decades went by, that passion remained even as the realities of life took hold. Walles served in the Air Force for 14 years before starting a 21-year career in education, rising through the ranks to become the principal at Tanglewood Middle School.
But all the while, that love of cooking kept wafting into his life. Like so many fathers and family men, he took part in the time-honored tradition of backyard barbecue smoking.
But it wasn’t until a trip to Texas, where he sampled the greats of today’s modern barbecue revival — spots like Franklin Barbecue in Austin — that Walles’ passion was ignited into a full flame.
“When I ate that barbecue, that messed me up,” Walles said. “That level of quality and dedication to the food was inspiring. Ever since then, I’ve been on this journey to learn everything I can.”
That educational journey of trial and error, of watching countless YouTube videos and reading endless articles, of starting so many fires on his own and learning to control the burns to his exact needs, led him to start MooHogz BBQ, a popup restaurant operated on weekends out of a smoker trailer at Hampton Station in Greenville.
The public has taken notice: Every weekend, Walles sells out.
Now he is walking right into the fire with a planned brick-and-mortar location, set to open next year at the expanded site of The Commons at 147 Welborn St.
His wife, Kendall, is by his side, offering her support for the career change. More importantly for the barbecue operation, she is bringing the sides: handmade macaroni and cheese, potato salad, coleslaw and baked beans, plus desserts such as cake, banana pudding, key lime pie and more.
“She came in and just took over all the sides and the desserts,” Walles said, laughing. “But when you take a bite, you know she takes it seriously.”
That career move for the family means Walles will leave his role as a lifelong educator behind. Though he won’t attend to students on a day-to-day basis anymore, Walles hopes his former students can still take away a lesson from his story about the benefits of education beyond the classroom.
“In barbecue, I’m entirely self-taught,” he said. “No one taught me anything. Instead, I asked questions, I watched videos, I visited restaurants, and it was a journey over years and years of learning how people use fire to infuse flavor, color, taste. You don’t need permission to learn.”
There’s also the instant gratification that comes from cooking barbecue, which might sound counterintuitive for a cooking style that often takes dozens of hours for a single piece of meat to reach its culmination. But in the world of education from which Walles emerged, it can often take years, even decades, before the fruits of one’s labor are fulfilled — before you can see students years later who have blossomed into thriving adults, knowing the seeds of insight you planted so long ago have finally bloomed.
“Everything I’ve done my whole life has been long-term results that take years, decades. And sure, a 12-hour cook is a long time, but not compared to 10 years,” Walles said. “So I won’t lie. It’s really fulfilling to see someone taste your food and have them tell you right away, ‘Wow, this is crazy good; this is delicious.’ When I hear stuff like that, I know that I hit it right. It feels really good.”
That’s the end of the process for Walles, but the labor itself is rewarding on its own, he said.
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“First of all, it’s peaceful” Walles said. “In the early mornings, that peaceful quiet: I know it’s just me, my smoker, the wood and the fire. You’ve got to babysit that fire, always calculating what your next move is, managing that whole process, getting it to burn just right. You’re always chasing after perfection, which is of course impossible, but it’s a love for the process that keeps me going.”
When customers see a plate of his brisket, ribs, chicken or pork, what they see is a delicious meal. But what Walles sees is an always-evolving puzzle that can be solved in gradual increments as he works to constantly improve.
“I had people a year ago try my brisket and tell me how much they liked it,” he said, “which I love to hear, but I just want to tell them, ‘Yeah, but it’s way better now.’ I never stop trying to get better and better.”
The slow burn of Texas brisket
Originally brought over to the United States by Jewish immigrants, the tradition of smoked brisket became a staple of deli counters in cities like El Paso, Texas. Gradually, the practice spread in other communities, merging with Black barbecue traditions brought to North America by enslaved Africans. In recent years, a resurgence of Texas barbecue has seen pitmasters blending the cultural lines between Jewish, Black and Tex-Mex traditions, creating a renaissance of brisket that has spread across the country.
