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"Welcome to Texas!" said the enthusiastic, wide-smiling manager as he greeted me at the doors of Longhorn Texas BBQ. The Texas vibe was strong with this place: the restaurant’s name, a longhorn steer statue out front, huge smokers within view, rustic wood-paneled decor throughout, Texas-based sports teams logos adorning the walls, a cafeteria-style service line, a few hightop tables with elevated saddles for seating, and the wafted scent of burning wood.
Then, of course, there was the food. A gigantic beef short rib, sliced beef brisket, pastrami, and a finely ground sliced sausage spiked with cheese topped my steel serving tray lined with butcher paper. I should note that I experienced this in Cairo, Egypt. Not Cairo, Illinois. Or even Cairo Springs, Texas. Egypt.
The scene starkly reminded me of how far Texas barbecue, specifically central Texas-style barbecue, has traveled, and why it has global culinary impact. What began as a regional barbecue tradition has become the dominant barbecue aesthetic in much of the United States and, increasingly, around the world.
Steven Raichlen, author of numerous books on American barbecue and global grilling traditions, has noticed the trend where he lives. "It has definitely spread from Texas across the country. In Miami alone, we have Hometown Bar-B-Que (Billy Durney’s Texas-inspired barbecue outpost inspired by his Brooklyn restaurant), Apocalypse BBQ, the new La Traila Barbecue, and the Drinking Pig BBQ—all proudly self-proclaimed Texas-style barbecue restaurants." Raichlen added, "I think that has something to do with the primacy of beef (the preferred meat of Central Texas) and the celebrity of pit masters like Aaron Franklin."
The popularity of Texas barbecue began in the 1820s when European migrants sought land in eastern Texas to cultivate for agriculture and livestock. They brought with them a type of barbecue that evolved from techniques indigenous people, colonists, and enslaved Africans in Virginia used to cook whole animals over shallow trenches filled with rocks and wood set aflame, as early as the 1600s. This "Southern barbecue" was immensely popular in other parts of the South during the time period because it was a practical way to serve delicious food to a lot of people, often numbering in the thousands, who gathered outdoors for civic and social occasions. Thanks to migrants, Southern barbecues moved to Texas and were the height of rural entertainment.
But in the 20th century, as people increasingly moved to cities, Southern barbecue shifted from whole-animal cooking to featuring smaller cuts of meat like beef, chicken, pork shoulder, pork spareribs, and sausages. This shift set the table for a different meat-centric culinary tradition to emerge. Czech and German immigrants ran butcher shops in several rural farming communities near present-day Austin, the area now loosely called "central Texas." Fresh meat that went unsold was smoked and sold to hungry customers. This "meat market barbecue," as food writer Robb Walsh called it, transplanted an old European culinary tradition to a new place, creating a new style of cuisine that was different from the already established Southern-style barbecue, even if the name doesn’t make such a distinction.
It was also setting itself apart from other regional barbecue styles. In the Carolinas, cooks continued barbecuing whole hogs and pork shoulders directly over burning wood and seasoned with vinegar-based and mustard-based sauces. In Memphis, barbecue took on a different flavor profile as pork spareribs and shoulders were cooked over charcoal and seasoned and served in a variety of ways. The Kansas City area showed its history as an agricultural crossroads town with a mixed grill of beef, burnt ends, chicken, lamb, and pork cooked over charcoal and flavored with sweet, tomato-based and tangy, vinegary sauces. For Central Texans, beef and other meat cooked using indirect heat and minimally seasoned with pepper and salt became the signature style. Proudly, locals will tell anyone that their barbecue is better than all the versions that exist in the United States ecosystem. More and more people agree.
Today, if you go to the most popular barbecue restaurant in nearly any US city, it is highly likely to serve Texas-style. Think Hill Country Barbecue Market in New York City, Little Miss BBQ in Phoenix, and Moo’s Craft Barbecue in Los Angeles. Beef, especially brisket, is the hot item on the menu; the smoke flavor is pronounced and the seasoning is minimal. The side dishes are beans, coleslaw, and potato salad, culinary holdovers of Old Europe in a new context. People line up cafeteria style to look at a menu on a chalkboard or butcher paper, order their food which is cut and weighed before their very eyes, which is then served on a metal tray lined with butcher paper. These restaurants typically make a certain number of portions daily, and then close when they sell out.
As people leave their hometowns and move to places without a specific barbecue style or identity, they create a diaspora of barbecue transplants. That’s how Central Texas barbecue thrives. John Lewis, an El Paso native and veteran of several famous Austin barbecue joints, moved to Charleston, South Carolina, in 2015 to open Lewis Barbecue. As his website indicates, his sole purpose was "to introduce the Lowcountry to the great world of Texas barbecue." More recently, chefs Chuck Charnichart of Barbs B Q in Lockhart, a Bon Appétit Best New Restaurant 2024 honoree, and Jonny White of Goldee’s BBQ outside of Fort Worth, both highly esteemed by Texas Monthly magazine, are opening up a restaurant in Brooklyn this fall.
What’s the secret sauce of success for this generally unsauced barbecue tradition? A combination of delicious food and unabashed promotion. Texans are great cheerleaders for their barbecue. The ones from central Texas have shouted the loudest, and are bullish on opening restaurants that showcase their style of cooking.
With such a bright spotlight, traditions in other states also get some shine. Central Texas-style joints are wildly successful in places with strong, existing barbecue identities. Wright’s Barbecue, with multiple locations in Arkansas, opened a Little Rock location in 2023. On a recent visit I experienced great food and long lines for an evening meal. The next day for lunch, I dined at Lindsey’s Hospitality, a Black-owned barbecue restaurant that’s been open in North Little Rock for more than 70 years.
Lindsey’s is pure Arkansas-style barbecue, featuring a familiar roundup of chicken, hot link sausages, pork shoulder, and pork spareribs, and beef that was served either chopped or sliced. I was surprised, and I asked current owner Donnie Lindsey II, who inherited the business from his father, if this was a recent thing, a possible response to the popularity of Wright’s. "No, we’ve had beef on the menu for a long time, for decades," Lindsey said of the restaurant he owns with his wife, Eleanor.
The popularity of Central Texas–style barbecue also brings more attention to other regional barbecue styles, like Lindsey’s. "I think it’s definitely had an impact on the barbecue landscape overall," Lindsey explained. "We’ve seen customers become more adventurous and interested in trying different styles, but many still come back to us for the consistency, history, and sense of community they grew up with."
Even as central Texas-style barbecue spreads around the world, other US regional styles still have a presence. Meat is seasoned with more than salt and pepper, barbecue sauce even from places like Kansas City and the Carolinas (gasp!). And side dishes like macaroni and cheese shout with more of a Southern drawl than a Texas twang. Even whole-hog barbecue makes a cameo here and there in Texas.
Ultimately, barbecue trendsetting in the United States follows a familiar pattern: collaboration, invention, adaptation, promotion, and devotion. Virginia once established the barbecue template, but cooks remixed it in other Southern states like North and South Carolina, Tennessee and Texas, then cities like Kansas City and Memphis, and now central Texas as an intrastate region. Barbecue, as a tangible thing (and an idea) is always in motion. One thing is certain: Central Texas will be barbecue’s starring attraction, until it isn’t.
Adrian Miller is a James Beard Award–winning food writer and certified barbecue judge living in Denver.