All 13 Buc-Ee's Beef Jerky Flavors, Ranked Worst To Best

There's perhaps nothing more enigmatic yet simultaneously enticing than coming across a Buc-ee's location on the highway. At first, you'll spot Buc-ee the beaver himself sporting a red ballcap as he towers over the exit. His buck teeth growing larger and larger as you draw near, you'll soon come to realize that he is the busiest beaver there ever was — putting standard dam-builders to shame.

Buc-Ee's, a Texas-based gas station and convenience store combo, is its own city of intrigue, fueled by a never-ending line of gas pumps. Inside, you'll find everlasting supplies of on-the-go snacks, freshly-made foods, fudge, gifts, home decor...even swimsuits plastered with the beaver's face. Then you'll see it: the Buc-ee's beef jerky wall. A rainbow of floor-to-ceiling bags and flavors, it could pass as the 8th man-made wonder of the world.

This isn't any ol' jerky either. It's said to be world-famous. Made from Texas-sourced, 100% real, solid strips of beef, people tell tales of its tenderness and quality. Heaps of the fresh stuff (sometimes mistaken for mounds of tree bark) are concurrently slung at a deli-style counter. But the no-pressure layout that is the jerky wall is where I found myself — and nearly half the store — gravitating during my own trip to the travel center theme park. It's here that I scooped up every single flavor available, purposefully avoiding the turkey jerky and zero-sugar bags, and leaving not a single dent in the mountainous stock. Like an eager beaver, I tore into each one to find the most well-balanced and flavorful of the bunch.

This mashup certainly draws intrigue, and the fact that it also incorporates sweet notes of maple syrup sounded like the perfect cherry on top. Alas, it's a Buc-Ee's snack that I'll avoid completely in the future.

I'm not sure what I expected the combination of cherries, syrup, and dried beef to smell like, but what it resolves to is a honey barbecue essence. The rosy color of the jerky and sticky texture, on the other hand, makes it crystal clear that it's made up of exactly what it says it is on the bag — if only the taste followed this same theme. Maple seems to be missing altogether, and the cherries tasted neither tart nor overly sweet, but very unnatural. Buc-ee's actually doubles down on the fruit with both artificial cherry syrup and cherry juice from concentrate. The result is rigid yet chewable shreds of meat that taste as though they've been glazed in a candy coating–the kind that could only come from a past-its-prime cherry confection like a Dum Dums sucker.

I can see the vision here. I really do. But unfortunately, I can't just brush aside this fake cherry flub.

The entire Buc-ee's beef jerky section is peppered with pepper. You'll find it saddled up with everything from citrus to mesquite. But here in this Old Western-style bag, it stands alone.

I was pleasantly surprised by how short the ingredient list is for this time-honored flavor. Beef is seasoned with just salt, sugar, and ground black pepper before being preserved with sodium nitrate. It's just about as close as you can get to what the cowboys and outlaws were surviving on back on the ol' frontier — in terms of makeup and, by my assumptions, overall enjoyability as well.

Extra dry and tough, the strips gave my jaw quite the workout. Their dehydrated nature made me think that somehow an older bag had weaseled its way to the frontlines at the store and subsequently into my cart. It's a primitive pass on beef jerky, and the taste of black pepper wasn't prominent enough to give it a boost. I even tried to dive further into the bag to uncover a more generously coated piece, but to no avail. So, even though the simplicity and tribute to such a rousing time in American history are deeply appreciated, this isn't a jerky flavor I'm likely to lasso again.

Sprinkled in an orange dust, the look of the Ghost Pepper jerky is menacing. Ghost peppers once held the record for the hottest peppers in the world, measuring in at about 1 million Scoville Heat Units (for comparison, a jalapeño is typically between 2,000 and 8,000 Scoville Heat Units). It's since been surpassed by more angrier choices like the Carolina Reaper and Pepper X. But in these beef strips, it tastes just as hot as ever.

I've heard ghost peppers are supposed to offer hints of fruitiness or smokiness, but I didn't get any of that. At first, the pieces just taste like unflavored meat. Then, the spice starts to seep in slowly. It's not a jump scare type of heat. It builds and continues to haunt you well after the bite is gone. Brown sugar, soy sauce powder, and vinegar don't do enough to counterbalance these piquant effects. So, what you're left with is all pain, no gain, and even a few dribbling beads of sweat — the largest reason why this one filtered toward the bottom of the rankings.

Mesquite grilling and smoking methods are a Texas staple. Using wood from mesquite trees, they wrap food in a distinct, smoky flavor. And, if you're from the Lone Star State or the Southwest in general, you know that nothing goes with this cooking style quite as well as a tender and juicy brisket.

Buc-ee's tries to take this experience and apply it to its jerky recipe by adding natural smoke flavor — essentially wrapping up those Texas tastes and serving them in a shelf-stable bag. Opening it up for the first time, you're immediately engulfed in a rich, smoky bouquet, as if you just walked by a barbecue pit hard at work. However, this doesn't fully carry over into the taste. Underneath the smoke and mirrors, it's really just plain jerky since the smoky particles don't seem to adhere to the beef's surface like one would hope. I even picked up on more sweetness than smoke or spice. As for the texture, the jerky does mimic that of brisket...just a hunk that's been overcooked. It's fatty in some areas, but most of the bag's contents are more on the stiff side.

I found the name of this dried Buc-ee's beef to be a bit redundant. Coming from a store-bought bag and not straight from a dehydrator, I knew that it couldn't be temperature hot. So, I could only assume that both "hot" and "spicy" refer to its level of piquancy. Perhaps it's extra spicy or double spicy? Its coloring certainly supports this hunch.

This particular jerky comes in a fiery red hue that nearly matches the label on the front of the packaging. Luckily, though, it settles into a much smoother spice than that of the Ghost Pepper. It tastes as though some form of hot sauce is infused into the recipe, but it doesn't pack any punch of vinegar. It's actually hard to know where it gets its spicy flair at all since the ingredient list reveals nothing beyond brown sugar, soy sauce powder, and natural flavorings.

It's still pretty hot, don't get me wrong. Maybe not 1 million Scoville Heat Units worth, but still fairly extreme. I just think that the flavor could be cranked up a notch to help justify the heat.

This jerky does peppered better. The Buc-Ee's bag does not give any indication that it specifically comes from a different source (a.k.a. Hill Country). But I couldn't help but wonder if it does have any ties to the Hill Country Brand –a Texas-based company that just happens to specialize in 100% USDA Angus beef jerky (and even cracked pepper strips in particular).

Comparing jerky to jerky with the old Western-style peppered variation, this ingredient list boasts a few game-changing additions. These include brown sugar, soy sauce powder, red bell pepper granules, and other natural flavorings. Black pepper isn't explicitly stated on this list. But the look and taste (and name) lead me to believe it's still a core ingredient. There's just enough of it to go around, and some pieces were even enveloped in a peppery sheath (the kind I was desperately searching for in the Old Western bag) to the point where my sinuses got a bit of a jolt. With this level of piperine pungency, trace flavors of sweetness, and a much more agreeable texture, these beef shreds clearly won the peppered battle — not to mention, also beat out some of the store's spicy and smoky options.

According to an article from Houston Eater, Buc-ee's top-selling beef jerky flavor is the Bohemian Garlic. Personally, I don't really see what all the hype is about — I think a case of "Beaver fever" may be clouding shoppers' judgment.

This jerky surpasses others on the list, mostly thanks to its supple texture that's more forgiving and easier on the teeth. However, we need to beef up the taste. When I think of garlic-covered foods, I think high potency, need-to-brush-your-teeth-immediately-afterwards kind of effects. And this meaty snack doesn't deliver. Garlic is not even outwardly listed among the ingredients. No joke. It does show up like small beads stuck to the surface of the reddish-brown meat, but the flavor is understated — like cloves that have been roasted or simmered in an oily confit. It's an adequate batch of jerky, just not tasty enough to warrant a bestselling title, in my opinion.

I will admit, though, that I get a considerable amount of enjoyment out of this selection's name. I know that "bohemian garlic" likely refers to the specific style of jerky seasoning. But, in my head, all I see is Buc-ee the beaver frolicking in a field, pulling up garlic bulbs from the ground, and sporting a flower crown on his head.

Now we're getting somewhere. Teriyaki is, without a doubt, one of the most common beef jerky flavors. I think it may even be the number one answer to flash on the screen during a round of Family Feud, perhaps even beating out Original — another gimme.

Buc-ee's enters this saturated meat market with a rendition that doesn't necessarily outshine other beer jerky brands but holds its own. The flavoring comes from brown sugar, soy sauce powder, and teriyaki powder, which is made up of tamari soy sauce, sake, and apple cider vinegar. With this assembly of ingredients, I expected at least some acidity on the tongue, but it somehow balances itself out. The flavor is light overall, and the main notes are those of umami. It's not terribly salty and even gives you a small hint of sweetness.

A couple of additions, like garlic and ginger, could have helped this jerky stand out in a crowded field of gas station and grocery store snack aisles. However, it's still a classic that rises above many other Buc-Ee's offerings and is sure to be a steady crowd-pleaser with its easy-to-chew texture and familiar palate.

Lemon and beef? It's not your average everyday culinary pairing. That's for sure. However, lemon pepper has been having a moment, known to liven up chicken wings, fish, pasta, vegetables — really anything it touches. So, why not throw it on cured beef too?

I think we've learned by now that, given the choice to go big or go home, Buc-ee's is going to go big (have you seen the size of the place?) Sticking to this theme, it throws in not one, not two, but three different types of citrus for an acidic triple threat. Lemon powder, lemon oil, and citric acid are all piled onto this jerky, in addition to brown sugar, beef stock, and vinegar. Unsurprisingly, you do immediately recognize that lemon-y essence on the nose. Then, each bite is defined by a zippy zest that then settles into a peppered spice on the backend. It's bright and fresh yet savory and oily, at the same time. And, I have a say, a sincerely tasty product is born from this unlikely coupling.

Reaching for this bag, I had my mouth set for an A1 steak sauce tang — that unmistakable taste of salty, savory, and spice that sings when it comes in contact with a juicy sliver of sirloin or filet. Buc-Ee's jerky doesn't quite lift you up to culinary cloud 9 in this same way. No piece of dehydrated meat possibly could. But it does prove to be a worthy contender in its own category.

When they say "steakhouse", what they really mean is "doused in Worcestershire sauce". As a combination of vinegar, molasses, corn syrup, anchovies, tamarind extract, and other spices, this is the one ingredient that defines its entire flavor profile–which isn't a problem, unless you're not a fan of the murky condiment. Luckily, I am, and happen to think it complements the parched beef nicely. I also liked the way that the sauce seems to be infused into each strip rather than just resting on the surface. This way, there's more uniformity, and it just keeps getting better and better as you munch. While it can't compare to a hearty steakhouse cut, it could help you satisfy some of those steak cravings, on the go, and without the hefty price tag.

"Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice" would have been another acceptable name for this jerky. It helps to fill the gap that the alternative Hot & Spicy pick left us with.

What hits your tongue first isn't sweetness or spice at all, but rather a hotchpotch of seasonings. Garlic powder, onion powder, salt, and soy sauce powder dance delicately on your taste buds before giving way to the commingling of sugar and brown sugar. It's a good amount of sweetness. Nowhere near the candied experience of the previous Cherry Maple jerky, and personally, I would have preferred a bit more. But it was still enjoyable. The spice portion of the equation is still somewhat of a mystery. On the ingredient list, the only hint is the ambiguous word "spice". Helpful. In terms of the taste, it's also subtle. It took a while for me to finally feel its presence, but after a few bites, I did start to feel that light burning sensation.

What I like most about this jerky is that there's a lot going on, but it all balances out quite nicely. There's a little something for everybody, all wrapped up into one beige, weathered-looking plastic bag.

Korean BBQ (also known as gogigui) takes on an entirely new identity. Buc-ee's trades the hot plate, raw meat, and immersive dining experience for a batch of cured, slow-dried beef dressed in seasonings. It's an unexpected twist on this trending Korean cooking method, but it piques the taste buds all the same.

On brand for the Korean BBQ theme, I believe marination was involved in the making of this jerky. Its comparatively tender texture is a testament to that. I could easily tear each piece apart without a heated bout of tug of war between my hand and teeth. What really sells it, though, is the rich flavor that's rooted in every single strip. Buc-ee's nails that Korean BBQ sauce essence. With a fusion of soy sauce, sesame seed oil, mirin (a type of Japanese rice wine), and brown sugar, the taste is a dead ringer for a bottle of Bibigo or even the kind of sauce you'd find at a more authentic restaurant. It's particularly toothsome with strong waves of savory soy splashed with brown sugar sweetness here and there. The handful of true-to-form sesame seeds sprinkled on top is just the icing on the cake.

Bringing a bit of sweet Mexican flair into the mix is the Jalapeño Honey bag. The entire Buc-ee's wall is filled with idiosyncratic recipes that flip the script on standard beef jerky. Some prove to be too off the beaten path (looking at you, Cherry Maple). However, much like the banana pudding, this jerky is one of the best snacks at Buc-Ee's.

With a name that comes off like a trendy margarita flavor (one that I need to try immediately), it surprisingly harmonizes so well with strips of meat. The smell of peppers hits your nostrils first, as well as your taste buds. It's not artificial or stale, but somehow captures that fresh jalapeño vibrancy. Trading a standard additive of brown sugar for honey granules to counterbalance these effects was the smartest move Buc-ee's could have made. The swap glazes over the punchy peppers with a smooth sweetness and dials down the spice level to a degree that's more than manageable — even for a mild lover like me. Unexpected and one-of-a-kind yet covetable, it secured its spot as the crown jewel of jerky.

The Buc-ee's beef jerky wall is a wild frontier that's filled with snack-able flavor — if you know where to hunt. There are whispers that Buc-ee's outsources its jerky from places like Junior's Smokehouse Processing Plant or New Braunfels Smokehouse, but the texture stayed relatively consistent across the board — thick, uneven shreds with minor differences in grain and chew. Some, like Old Western Style Peppered, leaned dry and brittle, while others, like Korean BBQ, were more supple and tender–perhaps something to do with seasonings and preparation methods than the meat itself.

As such, flavor became the most heavily weighted factor. It seems like a no-brainer, but I wanted a jerky that tasted just like the name on the bag implied — just not in an artificial way. It needed to be full of savor but not in an overwhelming way like the fiery Ghost Pepper. The best ones struck a balance between sweet, savory, and spicy, and Jalapeño Honey just happened to check all these boxes and more.