12 Foods From Buc-Ee's That You Should Avoid Completely

What started as an unassuming gas station back in the '80s has since transformed into a Texas paragon, as iconic in the state as Longhorns and barbeque. Buc-ee's is known for its sprawling, world-record-holding space, classic Southern foods and drinks, and cutesy billboards that tempt travelers with squeaky-clean bathrooms and snacks galore. Some folks travel hundreds of miles just to grace the aisles of Buc-ee's, and others stop in for lunch on a near-daily basis. Buc-ee's isn't just a gas station: It's a rite of passage for every Texan.

But it's not all beaver nuggets and tender brisket at Buc-ee's. Although it maintains an aggressively positive reputation in its home state and beyond, there are still a few unsavory food offerings here that will have you heading for the hills.

I'm a former Texas resident and regular road tripper, so I've experienced my fair share of Buc-ee's. On some visits, I indulged in the best roadside fare I've ever had, and others yielded a downright regretful snack haul. I've used my experiences snacking at Buc-ee's (plus some info from online reviews) to compile this list of avoidable eats at the chain. So, on your next Southern road trip, revel in Buc-ee's Texas-sized stores, pristine potties, and quirky attitude, but keep your guard up regarding these bottom-of-the-barrel bites.

A sausage on a stick sounds more like a food you'd find at your local Renaissance faire, but we all know that Buc-ee's doesn't play by typical fast food rules. This sausage is one of Buc-ee's most iconic offerings, but I'd go as far as to say that it may be the beaver's most egregious snack to date. It starts with an extra-long sausage hoisted up on a skewer, which is then wrapped in a flimsy flour tortilla to the tune of nearly $7.

I have so many questions about this strange — but undeniably very Texan — snack. Why the tortilla? What can this bland, flat flour round actually add to the sausage? If the tortilla held the meat alongside other ingredients like a weird gas station burrito, I would understand. But instead, it feels like its only purpose is to sop up the grease. Also, why a tortilla and a stick? The stick ultimately just gets in the way, but I suppose you could use it to more easily toss the entire snack into the trash, like a meat-laden javelin.

Then there's the meat — literally — of the snack: the sausage. While its seasoning is bold with a nice hint of heat (it tastes like Conecuh sausage — an Alabama delicacy) it's also aggressively salty, which makes it hard to enjoy. The entire abomination comes wrapped in plastic, and you can taste the flavor of the plastic lingering on the sausage with every bite. Yuck.

I know what you're thinking: Cosmic Pops are on this list just because I hate fun. Well I'll have you know that, as a diehard Pop Rocks fan, I see nothing wrong with popping candy. In fact, I think it's a unique alternative to regular old candy when the mood for something sugary and thrilling strikes. Buc-ee's Cosmic Pops, however, ruin a perfectly acceptable concept. These candies are tiny clusters filled with popping candy, rather than being made up entirely of popping candy, like you might initially think. The outside of the candy clusters is hard and doesn't melt in your mouth, so you have to bite into it to get the popping started. They come in cotton candy, cherry cola, lemon lime, and orange cream flavors.

Cosmic Pops don't really pop — what they do can more accurately be described as "bubble." With popping candy, you expect more of an exhilarating popping sensation, but this Buc-ee's snack turns "exciting" into "mildly annoying." If that wasn't bad enough, the candy flavor is all wrong. It tastes like a sugar cookie instead of a hard candy, making the different flavors pair horribly with the consistency. Cherry cola is the most palatable, while lemon lime is easily the most egregious. All of the flavors are too sweet, even for such a quirky candy.

Tater tots are a classic gas station food, and usually — as long as they're hot and fresh — they're a delicious snack that's easy to munch on while driving. The tater tots at Buc-ee's, which are dubbed "Beaver Tots," aren't much worse than the average gas station tots, but that's why they've earned a spot on this list. Buc-ee's has set the standard pretty high for itself, and its tots just don't cut it against its much more worthwhile snacks.

The worst thing about Beaver Tots is their saltiness. Tater tots should be one of those road trip snacks that you can eat a hefty cup of, dipping them in various sauces, without suffering immediate dehydration. A nice sprinkling of salt is necessary, but these potato nuggets go overboard. I also take a lot of issue with their name. Calling them Beaver Tots implies that there will be something special and Buc-ee's-esque about them, but they might as well be tater tots from the freezer section of Walmart. There's absolutely nothing special about them, unless you count their Dead Sea levels of salt.

If you're not from the South, you're probably wondering what the words "boudin" and "kolache" could possibly mean. I'll break it down for you. Boudin is a type of Cajun sausage that's stuffed with pre-cooked pork products and flavored with the vibrant, spicy seasonings famous in Cajun cuisine. Although boudin hails from Louisiana, it's somewhat ubiquitous in Texas — think of Louisiana as boudin's parent and Texas as its cool-but-distant uncle.

Kolaches, on the other hand, are a Texas mainstay. In Texas, they're quite different from their Czech predecessor (in fact, they're really only similar in name). Texas' usually consist of a sausage stuffed inside a tubular, fluffy pastry — like a giant pig in a blanket — while the Czech version is more delicate and often coated with sweet fruit compote. Nevertheless, the name is a part of permanent Texas lore, and you can't visit the state without trying one. Just stay far away from those at Buc-ee's, especially if they contain boudin.

Boudin is typically served with rice, and the Buc-ee's boudin kolache is no different, unfortunately. Rice inside a pastry is a horrendous idea. It creates a starchy mess that distracts from any other flavors. On top of the heinous presence of rice, the sausage itself is incredibly low quality, mushy, and much more bland than traditional boudin. If you've never had boudin, I implore you not to let your first experience be this kolache — it gives boudin a bad name.

Cinnamon rolls are a perfect dessert. A delicate pastry imbued with sweet, slightly earthy cinnamon gives the treat depth, while mouth-watering icing coats the top, giving it the intense sweetness characteristic of Southern desserts. But Buc-ee's tarnishes the cinnamon roll's good name with a low-quality product that's worth leaving in the pastry case. No matter what some people might say, I'm of the belief that there actually is such a thing as a bad cinnamon roll.

Buc-ee's cinnamon rolls can vary, depending on when you're able to get your hands on one. When they're hot and fresh, they're not bad, although they're far from the best cinnamon rolls in Texas. However, chances are you're not going to snag one when it's piping hot and fresh, but rather after it's been sitting in the pastry case for a while, slowly getting hard and stale (and there's no microwave at Buc-ee's to offer any salvation). The icing doesn't have a bold vanilla flavor — instead, it tastes like pure sugar, drowning out the already-sparse cinnamon.

Jerky is one of the Buc-ee's snacks up there in the ranks with its famous beaver nuggets and warm, sugar-coated nuts. The roadside chain is home to about a dozen flavors of jerky, with its vampire-slaying Bohemian Garlic being the most popular. Don't let the gas station setting fool you; Buc-ee's jerky is the real deal. It's crafted at a legitimate Texas smokehouse, and it's comparable to artisanal smoked, cured meats throughout the state. But not every flavor can be a winner. Ghost pepper jerky may sound like a spicy, salty delight, but it's easily the worst of all Buc-ee's jerky flavors.

I'd like to preface this by saying that I absolutely adore spicy food, and I'm not here to degrade Buc-ee's ghost pepper jerky just because it's spicy. Spicy jerky is a godsend, but Buc-ee's ghost pepper jerky is loaded with unholy levels of spice. It's impossible to enjoy a bite of this without an extra-cold glass of milk at the ready, and if you're on the road, I assume you're not going to be prepared for what you signed up for. It needs more flavors to balance out the spice instead of attempting to season the meat with pure peppers. A mixture of the Bohemian Garlic spices with a touch of ghost pepper would be delicious. Maybe someday Buc-ee's will get the message and stop assuming that everyone's taste buds are made of steel.

Bad chicken salad is such a huge disappointment, since good chicken salad is one of the best fast meals you can grab on the road. It's not greasy like a lot of other gas station grub, and it fills you up on the cheap, getting you ready for the next leg of your journey. But as appealing as regular chicken salad might sound, it isn't the thing to get at Buc-ee's for a reason.

There are no varying textures in this chicken salad. The chicken is shredded to oblivion, creating a smooth texture that's made even worse by way too much mayo. The eviscerated chicken and extra mayo gives the chicken salad a texture like Greek yogurt — not something you'd want on a sandwich. The mayo has a sweetness to it that stands front and center, since there's nothing else in this chicken salad to add any real flavor, like chunks of celery and onion. Don't get me wrong — onion and celery are present, but in such a minuscule amount that they're doing zero heavy-lifting in the flavor and texture departments.

Buc-ee's cranberry pecan chicken salad is a much different story. Nuts add crunch and the sweet mayo works with cranberries, so stick with that chicken salad in your sandwich if you're really craving some mayo-drenched chicken at Buc-ee's.

Lemon desserts are pure perfection, but not the way Buc-ee's does it. Its Lemon Crisps were once, allegedly, much better in the past than the version it whips up nowadays. Today, the Lemon Crisps are tiny cookies that come in a cheap-looking plastic tub. There isn't much that makes these cookies look appealing — no dusting of sugar or layer of icing. They look like they could taste like anything.

When making desserts with sour citrus fruits, it's imperative that the sugar-to-fruit ratio is balanced so it's neither too sweet nor too sour. Buc-ee's clearly doesn't understand this ratio, because its Lemon Crisps are bitter and far too tangy. This acrid flavor is followed up by a cheap, artificial aftertaste that makes it seem like they were flavored with lemon-scented all-purpose cleaner. Their texture doesn't act as any saving grace, either. They're not quite crunchy and are too hard to be considered a soft, chewy cookie, so they're kind of hovering around in dessert limbo.

I'm a New Yorker, so I know what makes a good bacon, egg, and cheese, and I'll be honest — I never expected a great one to come out of Texas (no offense). The best bacon, egg, and cheese comes from a bodega at 5 a.m., when you're either heading to work or just getting ready to call it a night. They rarely come from a gas station, and certainly not from Buc-ee's.

Buc-ee's bacon, egg, and cheese has a Southern twist: it comes on a biscuit instead of a classic kaiser roll. A buttery Southern biscuit is a real treat, but this biscuit is so buttery that it becomes pasty, oily, and hard to stomach. It also falls apart easily, which is a major bummer if you grabbed one to eat while driving. While the eggs are fluffy and tasty, they're accompanied by one measly sliver of bacon, which doesn't even add adequate crunch to this greasy sandwich. One of the best parts of the iconic BEC is the way the cheese melts into the eggs to create a soft, creamy mixture that compliments crunchy, thick-cut bacon. But the cheese on Buc-ee's BEC biscuit is ultra-processed and doesn't melt onto the biscuit properly, making for a horrible start to any day.

Chili limón is a popular flavor for gas station snacks in the South. For those up North who aren't in the know, chili limón combines spicy heat from chili peppers with zesty tang from lime. The combo has been made famous in Tajín seasoning, which is often sprinkled on fruits for a sweet-and-salty snack or used as a dry rub for meat. In the South, anything can be chili limón flavored — but just because you can, Buc-ee's, doesn't mean you should.

Buc-ee's offers its pork rinds in the classic flavor, which sounds like the ultimate Southern gas station treat, but it might be the worst use of the zesty seasoning to date. Pork rinds — otherwise known as fried pork skins — and chili limón are a popular combo, but they don't mesh as well as you might think. When mouth-coating greasiness from oily pork skins is combined with a citrusy tang, it's like there's an epic battle between flavors going on in your mouth, not a harmonious marriage. The zestiness makes the pork rinds taste like they've gone bad, and although the chili pepper seasoning does a little work to tone down the egregious mixture of fattiness and tang, it doesn't save this Buc-ee's snack from falling into do-not-consume territory.

As you can probably imagine, salads are far from the most popular item at a fast food joint known for its smoked meats and greasy snacks. But I appreciate Buc-ee's for offering something a little lighter, because spending hours in the car after wolfing down a greasy meal is never a great time. Buc-ee's typically serves a garden salad, Greek salad, and a chicken Caesar salad — basically, the three universally-loved classics. It's also been known to offer a Southwest Cobb salad, but it's unclear if this item is still around or if it's been discontinued.

Buc-ee's salads are so close to being good — they're pretty hefty for the price, and they're loaded with plenty of toppings. The Caesar dressing in particular is creamy, decadent, and flavorful, but the chicken that pairs with it isn't the best vessel to carry its umami, peppery flavors. In fact, it's so dry and bland that no amount of dressing can save it. But the worst part about Buc-ee's salads is the lettuce. It's always old and wilted, and any salad enthusiast knows that — no matter how good the toppings are — if the bed of lettuce that everything rests on is old and slimy, the salad is ruined.

This is my big "hear me out" moment in this list of Buc-ee's worst foods. I know all about the brisket's illustrious reputation, but I'm here to challenge it, not out of disrespect for Texas brisket — actually, the exact opposite. Dubbing Buc-ee's brisket a quintessential example of Texas barbeque is like saying a Prius is the equivalent of a Texas Edition F-350: It's just plain wrong.

Buc-ee's brisket sandwich isn't bad because it comes from a gas station, nor is it actually a horrible sandwich. But if you're in a Buc-ee's, chances are you're a mere stone's throw away from much better Texas barbeque, for an even cheaper price to boot. Texans hold brisket in very high regard, so they handcraft it to absolute perfection. Barbeque is a religion in Texas, and Buc-ee's mass-produced brisket is sacrilege.

The brisket at Buc-ee's is a bad choice for gas station grub, plain and simple. It's overpriced at nearly $9 for a small size (and let's be real, no one's getting the smaller size) and a whopping $13 for the 13-ounce size. Buc-ee's boasts that it slow-cooks the brisket for up to 14 hours, but that almost seems too long. The meat is so soft that it loses all texture variances, and then it's drowned in a low-quality sauce that erases the smoky, savory essence of the meat. You have to eat it quickly, because the flimsy bread turns into a mushy paste from all of the moisture on the sandwich — and don't even think about trying to eat it while driving.

I compiled this list primarily based on my personal experiences snacking at Buc-ee's on countless road trips through Texas. I picked the foods that I found to be the most underwhelming, bland, or not worth the price. For those foods that I haven't personally tried, I used online reviews from articles and social media to find the beaver's most ill-received snacks.

Instead of relying solely on my personal taste preferences, I kept this list specific to foods that are much lower in quality than other Buc-ee's offerings. Some of these foods look promising, but just don't deliver. Whether because of texture issues, artificial flavors, a lack of freshness, or just a generally bad taste, I stand by these being the worst items at Buc-ee's,  and encourage you to try the plethora of much more tempting offerings (don't sleep on those beaver nuggets and hot roasted nuts — seriously).