Buc-ee’s caters to cafeteria Catholics

By Peter Finney Jr.
Clarion Herald

It only figures that Arch “Beaver” Aplin III, the founder of Buc-ee’s, went to Texas A&M.

For the uninitiated – or for those motorists who have not yet been able to drive through the pearly gates – Buc-ee’s is the Disney World of cheap gas (and electric charging stations), savory brisket sandwiches, stuffed beaver plushies and spotless bathrooms that stretch so far from here to there they seem to begin their rinse cycle in Beaumont and disappear just west of El Paso.

Buc-ee’s is so Texas big and Texas proud that even Aplin’s expansive home state could no longer contain its brash, no-apologies celebration of American ingenuity, convenience and excess. It started, quietly, with a single store in Lake Jackson, Texas, in 1982, and only in 2019 began busting out of its narrow, Lone Star stalls to spread out over 10 states with 50 mega-oases for road warriors. 

In 2025, Buc-ee’s will pitch two more mammoth tents in Ruston and Lafayette, Louisiana, and one more off I-10 in Gulfport, Mississippi, providing three additional can’t-miss cultural destinations as well as hundreds of high-paying jobs for employees schooled in the long-forgotten retail virtues of hard work and actually listening to the weary traveler.

You know something is semi-cultish about the Buc-ee’s following when you see a highway billboard, with the red and yellow beaver logo, that reads: “Only 262 miles to Buc-ee’s.” 

Driving back to New Orleans from Atlanta last week, where my wife and I celebrated our granddaughter’s fifth birthday, we had the chance to figuratively drink the Buc-ee’s Kool-Aid for the first time on Interstate 85 in Auburn, Alabama.

The tale of the tape at Buc-ee’s Auburn could have been chronicled in “Gulliver’s Travels”: a 53,470-square-foot store on a 35-acre campus with 144 fueling pumps and 437 parking spots. 

And, with SUVs getting as big as Army tanks these days, the “relaxed-fit” parking spots measure 10 feet by 20 feet instead of 9 by 18.

Walking inside the superstore for carnivores, I thought: “Somehow, this really works.”

In the middle of the Buc-ee’s retail section – think of a church in the round with an altar in the middle – there was no question something of importance was taking place. Call it pride of place.

A butcher slowly peeled back the aluminum foil from a steaming, juice-saturated mass of Texas brisket and placed it reverently on the wooden carving block.

And, then, as he whacked away, he exclaimed, Hosanna-style: “Hey! Brisket on the board!”

His coworkers, busily stocking nearby shelves with Beaver Nuggets (sweet corn puffs named for Aplin’s childhood nickname Beaver) or mopping the floor of its non-existent lint, stopped in their tracks, almost transfixed. They turned around and echoed in unison: “Hey! Brisket on the board!” 

This was call-and-response at its finest.

Actually, I didn’t understand the words at first – it was almost as though the butcher was chanting in Latin or as if Aplin was back at Texas A&M practicing his 12th-man “yell” routine.

So, since I was a Buc-ee’s novice, I asked one of the cashiers to interpret – “Oh, that’s what they always say when the fresh brisket comes out and they start chopping it up,” she said.

No one made a mad dash to the front of the line to elbow out slow-twitch customers in a fight for a sandwich. Several other brisket sandwiches – wrapped only a few minutes earlier and still moist and hot – rested temptingly at the bottom of the sloped, aluminum chute. As Buddy Diliberto once proclaimed, “Mañana from heaven.” 

It was grab-and-go at its best. Heaven-sent combined with a heavenly scent.

Unlike others who will return to Buc-ee’s for the inexpensive fuel, the stuffed animals, the infinite kitchen knick knacks and the ice cream bar, I had absolutely no interest in those things. 

The magnetic pull that will call me back remains the brisket and the pristine bathrooms.

Buc-ee’s success in getting repeat customers through their wide doors is no secret: There’s something for everyone. At Buc-ee’s, you can absolutely be a cafeteria Catholic.

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