South Texas restaurant keeps barbacoa tradition alive
Earthen pit style a way of life for Brownsville man
BROWNSVILLE — Bathed in the aromatic smoke billowing from mesquite coals, Armando Vera tosses 40 cow heads into a 6-foot-deep pit.
Early the next day, customers will line up for Vera’s Backyard Bar-B-Que in Brownsville, ordering cheek, tongue and mixed head meat, but most of all the eyes.
“Eye is the Mexican caviar, it’s a delicacy,” said the 57-year-old Vera. “We’re sold out by 7 a.m.”
Goat is the protein of choice farther south into Mexico; up in Central Texas, brisket is king. But along the Texas-Mexico border, it’s barbacoa de res — cow’s head barbecue — that reigns.
‘The authentic way’
For many families living in deep South Texas, barbacoa is the foundation on which all weekends are built. The savory leatherybrown meat, served with corn tortillas and freshly made salsa might be found in gas stations, supermarkets or local restaurants, yet none of them is quite like Vera’s.
As the only remaining restaurant in Brownsville, and likely the entire state, with a permit to cook meat in an earthen pit, Vera is a practitioner of an outdoor culinary heritage that has all but vanished in Texas.
“It’s the authentic way of cooking barbacoa,” Vera reports matter-of-factly.
It was an acquaintance from Mexico who taught his father and uncle the pit style of making meat in the early 1950s, and soon after the brothers were filling two pits with cow heads on weekends.
Business was good, and in 1955, Vera’s father, Alberto, opened his own restaurant. He relocated the restaurant in 1957 to the Southmost neighborhood of Brownsville, where the family has been serving up barbacoa ever since.
It was here that Vera grew up, raking coals and wrapping heads for the barbacoa pit. By the time Vera was working alongside his father full time, there were just a few places left around town still preparing barbacoa the oldfashioned way.
Eventually, the other practitioners closed. When the city changed its health regulations, prohibiting food preparation below ground, Vera’s was grandfathered in, allowing the family to carry on the tradition.
Mesquite infused meat
Preparing barbacoa begins days in advance. The heads, between 40 and 60 every week, arrive on Thursdays from a distributor based in Corpus Christi. First Vera and an assistant soak the heads in running water, then rinse off blood, which can sour the flavor of the meat, according to Vera. Finally, the heads are wrapped in aluminum foil.
The pit’s dimensions measure about 6 feet deep, 6 feet long and 4 feet wide. It’s lined with brick, except for the floor, which is earth and ash.
Friday morning the barbacoa duo light mesquite logs in the pit. When the coals are orange hot, a metal sheet is set atop the coals, then the heads, along with additional tongues and cheeks, also wrapped in foil, are tossed inside, covered with another metal sheet, and left to cook overnight.
In the early hours of Saturday, everything is removed from the pit and readied for the morning rush.
“I used to have affairs with women,” said Ruben Herrera, a local attorney and a faithful customer over the years. “Now I have an affair with barbacoa.”
What distinguishes Vera’s meat from others, Herrera says, is the taste of mesquite infused into the meat in ways both subtle and haunting.
“I’ve eaten all over the world, and I can tell you there is nothing like this,” Herrera said.
At its peak success in the mid-1990s, Vera struggled to keep pace with demand. Now his restaurant competes with the deep pockets of H-E-B and Stripes, which also offer the tasty weekend treat. Vera spends about $1,000 to $1,200 for the meat, always wary of rising costs.
“Japan started buying lengua (tongue), so it’s gotten very expensive,” Vera said. “When Japan starts buying something, you’ve got to be careful.”
Vera’s customers are mostly regulars, with whom he eases into familiar conversation over plates of darkened cow cheek, the puro cachete, and mixta, or mixed meat.
But attention from Texas Monthly has sparked renewed interest in Vera’s in recent months. The restaurant landed on the magazine’s yearly list of the Top 50 BBQ Joints in Texas in 2017, and suddenly people vacationing in South Texas were pulling up to Vera’s drive-through.
Manning the pit
Seizing the opportunity, he opened the restaurant on Fridays, and put brisket and carnitas on the menu. He also began offering a habanero and jalapeño salsa, popular with the out-oftown customers.
Still, the years of continually soaking cow heads and brushing mesquite ash off his clothes take a toll.
Vera closes the restaurant just one weekend a year, otherwise he’s manning the pit. While Vera inherited the restaurant from his parents, none in his family have shown an interest in replacing him.
When Vera retires, it’s possible the restaurant will close, and with it a unique chapter in Texas history.
“My wife says. ‘You’re never going to get away from there,’” Vera said, nodding in agreement. “I was born here.”