Louisville, 1959.

Randy Jenne was born in Louisville, Kentucky in 1959 — the youngest of three. His mom taught him the basics in the kitchen. His dad cooked ribeyes on Sundays, well done. That was the family standard until Randy left town.

Conroe, Texas. 1980.

Randy moved to Conroe and met his Uncle Wally, who taught him barbecue — brisket, ribs, chicken, sausage, everything that goes on a grill. That was the year the recipe started: tangy and sweet, simple. It worked, but Randy knew it could be more.

The South. The Nineties.

Randy lived in Florida, Georgia, and South Carolina across the next twenty years. Each region added something — a tang, a smoke, a quiet sweetness on the back end. The breakthrough came at a tailgate one Saturday morning: his whole group, and forty people across the lot, all agreed the sauce was something. Tailgaters are the toughest critics. He knew he had to keep going.

California, 2008. And Katy.

The year his dad passed, Randy came to Southern California on vacation, met Katy, and stayed. Eighteen years later they're in San Juan Capistrano with their dog Jackson. Katy has tasted every batch since they met — some perfect, some too hot, some too smoky. She's the only critic that matters. Her verdict on the version we're bottling: "He's nailed it down. It's the best ever."

Where the name came from.

People always ask where the name came from. It didn't start in a test kitchen. It started with family.

Kentucky. The 1970s and '80s. Randy's niece Lori and nephew Jeff were little. They were the first to call him Uncle Randy. The name stuck.

Years later Randy left Kentucky. Life pulled everyone different ways. The name stayed.

Then came Ashlyn and Cami. They grew up calling him Uncle Randy, same as Lori and Jeff had. A family name, handed down.

When he finally bottled the sauce he'd been making for family and friends, there was only one name that felt right: Uncle Randy's.

(Photo: Randy with his nieces Ashlyn, right, and Cami.)

Thirty-five ingredients. None of them store-brand.

What's not in the sauce: high-fructose corn syrup, supermarket ketchup, anything that exists to cut cost. What is in it: ingredients Randy would serve at his own kitchen table. That's the only standard.

Why now.

Randy worked the recipe to where he wanted it, and his friend David kept pushing him to bottle it — for months. Eventually David won. Every batch, every label, every shipment goes out the way Randy would serve it at his own table. That's the promise.

Backyard Flavor · Legendary Taste.