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A century ago, Texas barbecue meant sandwiches. Unless they doubled as meat markets, the state’s first joints didn’t primarily sell beef and pork by the pound. The most common offering was chopped beef navel with a ladle of thin sauce over the top, served on a plain white bun, like it was done at Dallas’s Shoemaker’s Barbecue, which opened in 1926 and served customers for nearly fifty years. There, sandwiches could be livened up at a cold bar replete with gratis toppings, such as pickle chips, raw onions, pickled jalapeños, and relish.
As meat plates became the standard around the state, the sandwich lost its prominence on menus. But in the early aughts, in the nascent days of craft barbecue, the chopped-meat sandwich got an upgrade: The beef was brisket, the pickles were house made, and the bun was buttered and griddled. Soon sliced turkey, pulled pork, and other meats joined brisket in the sandwiches, often topped with a scoop of coleslaw. Then, around 2013, in one joint’s attempt to level up the humble sandwich, things got a bit absurd. That’s when Jambo’s Original BBQ Shack, in Rendon, debuted the Jambo Texan, a spectacle of sliced and chopped brisket, pulled pork, sliced sausage, smoked bologna, and bone-in pork ribs layered between two slices of Texas toast. If you have to dismantle it to eat it, can you still call it a sandwich?
After that, we entered a new phase of the signature barbecue sandwich that was decidedly more chef-y. Stanley’s Famous Pit Barbecue, in Tyler, rolled out the Mother Clucker, a smoked chicken thigh topped with cheddar cheese and a fried egg on a jalapeño-cheese sourdough bun. Over in Tomball, Tejas Chocolate + Barbecue responded with the Brisket and Blues: sliced brisket covered in a pile of blue cheese crumbles, tomato, and raw red onion on a potato bun. There were also well-crafted takes on the classics, such as the Reuben with brisket pastrami that Roegels Barbecue Co., in Houston, still offers on Thursdays.
A traditional chopped brisket sandwich at Blood Bros. BBQ. Photograph by Bethany Ellen Ochs 
Garnishes at Blood Bros. Photograph by Bethany Ellen Ochs
These days, joints are getting creative with their barbecue sandwiches, partly out of necessity. As meat gets more expensive and customers look for options beyond shareable smoked-meat platters that inch ever closer to $100, some pitmasters are paying more attention to other menu items, allowing them to show off additional cooking skills and build some truly amazing flavor combinations.
Perusing the menu at Houston-area Blood Bros. BBQ is like taking a tour of great American sandwiches through a barbecue lens. The cheesesteak, club sandwich, patty melt, and torta are all represented, and each showcases some form of smoked meat. The masterpiece by owners Robin and Terry Wong and Quy Hoang, though, is a banh mi stuffed with smoked char siu pork loin. Fresh jalapeño strips, cilantro, and a mix of pickled daikon and carrots bring texture and acidity. The thick swipe of house-made chicken liver pâté and the crunchy, airy baguette from the local French Riviera bakery make it a proper banh mi, but the smoked meat is a Blood Bros. signature.
The best breakfast sandwich I’ve ever eaten comes from Mum Foods Smokehouse and Delicatessen, in Austin. The Bodega Breakfast sandwich starts with brioche that’s infused and toasted with beef fat and topped with a neatly cut square of pillowy eggs with a hint of nutmeg. You can add breakfast sausage or thick-cut bacon, but I ask for the famous brisket pastrami. Owner Geoffrey Ellis completes the dish by melting Cooper Sharp cheddar cheese onto the meat. It’s a basic combo, but with every element so carefully considered, it transcends the form.
Branding itself as part deli gives Mum Foods license to focus on its sandwiches. I love the Reuben, which has layers of lean and fatty pastrami, sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, and Russian dressing on sourdough rye baked in-house. I also admire the simplicity of the smoked bologna sandwich, piled with thin slices of house-made smoked bologna and melted American cheese, and its take on a patty melt called the Deli Melt.
The lunch rush at Blood Bros. BBQ.Photograph by Bethany Ellen Ochs
At Slow Bone BBQ, in Dallas, the signature Texas Nail sandwich is like a combination of beef Wellington and a brisket taco. Owner Jeffery Hobbs not only uses smoked brisket for the sandwich, but he smokes mushrooms for duxelles, an umami spread that marries well with the caramelized onions. He also makes his own beer cheddar, which, along with the lime crema, cools the heat from the roasted green chiles and jalapeño barbecue sauce. The first time I saw the laundry list of ingredients, all on a challah bun, I thought it sounded like too much. When I ordered it and took a big bite, my suspicions disappeared. Eat it over a plate, and grab a fork to finish off whatever falls out.
The barbecue sandwich has come a long way, and the ingenuity of today’s pitmasters will undoubtedly take it further with high-quality ingredients and thoughtful construction. (I have yet to find my white whale: a truly great smoked-meat Philly cheesesteak.) I often yearn for the simplicity of a classic chopped brisket sandwich, but I’m happy to know that if I want something more, the choices don’t stop at simply piling on other smoked meats.
This article originally appeared in the October 2026 issue of Texas Monthly with the headline “The Barbecue Sandwich Is Bigger Than Ever.” Subscribe today.
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