Seguin's Burnt Bean Co. is known for brisket and other smoked meats.
Seguin’s Burnt Bean Co. is known for brisket and other smoked meats. Credit: Instagram / burntbeanco

How long are you willing to wait in line — for anything, really — in the heat of a sweltering Texas summer? An hour? Two? Three and beyond on a weekend? 

Those are reported queue times for entry into Burnt Bean Co., the Seguin eatery Texas Monthly recently proclaimed as serving the state’s best barbecue. 

Arriving 30 minutes before opening, we joined the line on a tolerably warm Thursday morning at 10:30 a.m. By then, the queue already snaked around the corner in the block flanking Seguin’s courthouse. But a mere 55 minutes later, we had gained entry into the cool and lofty inner sanctum. Another 10 minutes and we were placing an ambitious order. And five after that, our trays — laden with pretty much one of everything — hit one of Burnt Bean’s many wooden tabletops.  

It was a success, especially considering the waits we’d been warned about. But would I be willing to wait longer, especially if brisket is the main criterion for greatness? 

Not that this primal cut, Prime at that, was bad. Far from it. The bark was black and beautiful, the smoke level was surprisingly subtle, and the meat possessed that perfect blend of fattiness and firmness. But if I was looking for it to represent all that’s good and true about Texas — admittedly a tall order — it didn’t. 

Fortunately, there’s more to the total Burnt Bean experience than a slab of smoky beef on a piece of rough paper.

It all starts at the slicing counter immediately adjacent to the cashier. Hope that when you finally arrive so will a brisket, fresh from the prodigious pit at the back of the building and swaddled in a wrapper made semi-translucent by oozing fat. There’s something of a holy relic aspect about it all, especially the way it’s enveloped in a sacred shroud. The first slice exposes such a rosy and succulent interior, you may feel that sauce would be a desecration. 

The available sauces — one beautifully sweet-tart, another fruity and mustard-tinted — really aren’t necessary for the brisket, though nobody’s stopping you. Still, you might find them useful for the turkey breast. A personal confession: I most often find turkey a kind of atonement for whatever sin needs it at the moment. At Burnt Bean, the bird stops sufficiently short of dryness but never achieves transcendence on its own. Cue the sauces. 

Those sauces are also useful on the sausages. Of the two we tried, the simpler all-beef won the day. It’s coarse, robustly flavored and sits within a snappy skin. We didn’t try the jalapeño cheddar, but the Cinco, though plush and chunky, didn’t prove that more is better. 

Which brings us to pork ribs: these are as good as they get without crossing over into sauce-slathered territory. As easily as the crusty, peppery flesh slid from the bones, I’d happily eat them again. But I’d just as easily ignore them. 

There’s no ignoring the many sides, however, and this may be where Burnt Bean truly rises above the norm.

Of the seven listed, Street Corn Pudding immediately stood out, conjuring visions of something spoonable spiked with those familiar esquites accessories, crema and chile. Maybe with a little crumbled queso fresco.  

My vision is not theirs. And I’m still trying to decide if I liked what I was served. The dense and stodgy texture disappointed, but the flavor recalled both masa and roasted corn. Chewy kernels provided welcome accents, and a dusting of queso and chile capped it all. You decide. 

However, there’s no ambivalence when it came to the Bacon Ranch Taters and the Cowboy Beans. Both were excellent — the thick beans for their salty, chili powder-spiked flavor and the taters for their tots-like texture and subtle hints of bacon. A misunderstanding led the server to dish up my Hot Cheeto Queso Mac without the heat. I had imagined the Cheetos’ spicy crunchiness offering a nice contrast to the melty queso and tender pasta. Make sure you get the chips.

The Pickle Pasta special made twisted gemelli noodles the star in a matrix that included dill, pimento, cubes of cheddar and chopped pickle. It far exceeded most picnic-style pasta salads, so hope it hangs around. As for a Big Red tres leches mashup, invention doesn’t always pay dividends.

Despite tempting weekend specials such as a bone-in pork chop, I’d call somewhere around 90 minutes a personal wait limit for Burnt Bean. But if you think of it as a field trip, the line a way to meet kindred souls united against the common adversaries of time and temperature, then go for it. 

Michelin was impressed enough to award the Sequin spot a Bib Gourmand. I wonder how long they had to wait.

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This article appears in Oct. 2-15, 2025.