I’ve used the word “unassuming” before to describe a place — but Rosemeyer Bar-B-Q takes it to another level.
It’s just two childhood friends with zero culinary training, slinging Michelin-recognized barbecue out of a trailer parked beside a gas station. Out in Spring, TX the vibe isn’t polished or fine dining — it’s more like crashing the backyard cookout of your funny, talented friend. The kind of friend who knows exactly when to wrap the brisket and when to hand you another beer.
Jordan Rosemeyer and Ben Maxwell run the party. There’s smoke in the air, beer in coolers, benches that have seen better days, and just enough chaos to keep it fun. They’re cooking like they aren’t mapping out a five-year plan; it’s one day, one recipe, one crazy idea at a time. One week it’s brisket ravioli, the next it’s a new sausage blend or a fresh batch of house-made ice cream. And somehow, it all works.
The first time you see Rosemeyer’s setup, you might (like me) wonder if you’re in the right place.
A trailer. A couple of picnic tables that look like they’ve been aggressively abused by a hurricane or two. Pits scattered through the lot, looming large, like steel beasts breathing white smoke while keeping watch over the "trailer park".
I see Jordan and Ben, looking like they just finished a game of beer pong, but smiling like they know they’re about to serve up barbecue that’s going to wreck my self-control.
I’m a chef by trade, which means I’m conditioned to believe great food comes from years of kitchen scars, endless repetition, and a couple of fancy French words for you to earn your street cred.
These guys? It’s like they picked up a smoker the way some people pick up a guitar — a few strums in and now they’re already headlining.
I hate them for it — not in a real way, just in a “my ego is going to need a whiskey later” kind of way.
Our media company was there to film for Kevin's BBQ Joints (watch the video HERE), so we were well ahead of opening time. Even still, a few folks were already lining up. After interviewing both Jordan and Ben and capturing them in action, we ordered a platter and sat down to wait. I was ready to put these “kids” to the test.
While we waited, I struck up conversations with a few guests — our camera rigs and mics always draw some questions. One couple was on their third run through the Texas Monthly BBQ passport, talking about the joints that still blow their minds and the ones they think shouldn’t have made the cut.
Another guest, wearing a Truth BBQ shirt, confessed his guilty habit: riding his motorcycle from joint to joint, like a junkie chasing better and better barbecue, always looking for his next fix.
That’s the beauty of barbecue — strangers don’t stay strangers for long. There’s no, “This is your table, sir.” Everyone leans in. Everyone talks. Everyone’s sizing up your tray. And when ours landed, it stopped conversations. Heads turned. I heard a few “whoas,” and yeah — they were justified.
We dove into the brisket first — partly because I know how fast it can oxidize (especially after sitting while we pestered our food with our cameras like crazed paparazzi), and partly because… well, it’s brisket, the standard to which all will be compared. It was a mix of lean and fatty, the bark was textbook, tender and breaking apart with a slight tug, and the smoke was present but not the kind that hangs around in your mouth all afternoon. Top notch.
On to the sausages — jalapeño cheese and original. Homemade sausage is risky business. Too coarse and you’re chewing on meat gravel; too fine and it eats like bologna. Under-season it and you’ve wasted a link, overstuff it and the casing bursts, shooting juice like hot champagne from the bottle. But here? The casing was spot on, snapping clean. The inside was juicy as hell, and that jalapeño cheese had just enough spice to nudge you without shoving. I’m not exactly jealous, but I’ll admit — it’s impressive to see sausage this good coming out of a trailer park.
The pork belly burnt ends were sweet and tangy with a perfect glaze, not swimming in sauce, and breaking apart just the way they should.
Turkey was solid — juicy, seasoned well, nothing to complain about. But honestly, are you really reading this to hear a review about the turkey at a BBQ joint?
Pulled pork came with crispy pig bits on top — like a pork-on-pork crime, and I’m here for it. Tangy sauce mixed in just enough to add another layer of flavor without drowning the meat.
And the ribs — perfect bite, meaty, and a honey-syrup glaze that sets them apart from other joints.
On the side of this mountain of meat: the sides.
Fideo with a green sauce — not what I expected at a BBQ joint. Thin, short pasta in a tomato sauce. Solid, and some Italian ancestors might even nod their heads… if only slightly.
Mac and cheese — rich, creamy, and the kind you promise to take home to the family… but promises involving food are often broken.
Potato salad — fresh, loaded with dill, and I found myself “just one more bite”-ing until it was gone.
It was a scorching Texas afternoon, and after lugging the camera rig around, I was surprised my partner in crime, Jose, still wanted to sit near me. The blueberry ice cream was exactly what I needed to temper the Texas heat — cold, creamy, and bursting with pops of frozen blueberries. No crystallization, no graininess, just smooth perfection. It cut through the rich, savory BBQ like a refreshing breeze — almost a palate cleanser. They tend to name their ice creams the way Bob’s Burgers names its burger specials — always clever, always fitting.
My chef brain makes it hard not to be a little irritated when two guys with no formal training are cooking barbecue, sides, specials, and making ice cream this good. But like a proud older brother, I’ll take my shots, laugh about it, and brag on them to anyone who’ll listen. I came in ready to put these “kids” to the test, but they showed up — no gimmicks, no shortcuts, just damn good barbecue coming out of a trailer parked beside a gas station. And yeah, I’ll still make fun of them for it… but only after I’ve ordered seconds.
Rosemeyer Bar-B-Q (Food Truck) 2111 Riley Fuzzel Rd, Spring, TX 77386
