Houston: Minute Maid Park
Thirty-six hours in Texas.
As with my Denver post, I like to keep a minute-by-minute log when my travel choices necessitate odd hours, short sleep, unusual priorities and other things that may appear to be poor decision-making. Rationality and good sense are great for everyday life, but this trip to all 30 MLB ballparks in a single season is nothing close to commonplace. The mantra on the road when confronted with a wild option is “do it for the story.” That’s the key to this tale of a day and a half of adventure in the Lone Star State.
10:00 a.m., Friday, July 26: We’re out the door of Sam’s house after a whirlwind two days in the Dallas/Forth Worth area for the Rangers game. We’ve been anticipating this next leg of the trip with a mixture of excitement and dread, and the day is finally upon us. We’re headed to Houston for tonight’s Astros-Dodgers game, then immediately driving to the middle of nowhere to get in line for some of the absolute best barbecue in Texas. After we eat, we’ll be on the road again for Midland to catch a minor league game and get some much needed sleep.
11:00 a.m.: This schedule doesn’t leave a ton of time for sightseeing, but we figured we’d be remiss if we passed on Dealey Plaza, site of the assassination of John F. Kennedy on Nov. 22, 1963. It was mid-day on a Friday, not unlike this one, that the President’s motorcade made its way through the streets of Dallas, turning left from Houston Street onto Elm Street, when three shots rang out and changed the world. While assassination attempts in the U.S. are thankfully few and far between, shootings on the streets, in schools, grocery stores, churches, concerts, workplaces and homes are commonplace to the point of barely being newsworthy or taking hold of the public consciousness. We’ve accepted it as a fact of life, rather than the tragedy that it is, and it will continue unabated because no one has the courage to treat the causes or the symptoms of this national illness.
12:40 p.m.: You’re not allowed to drive through Texas without stopping at at least one Buc-ee’s. The Disneyland of gas stations, most locations have something close to five dozen pumps and a convenience mart with the square footage of a standard grocery store. Grab-and-go barbecue sandwiches — low-end by Texas standards but consistently drawing raves from naïve Yankees — are built on an assembly line in the middle of the store. A wall of house brand beef jerky, as well as a by-the-pound jerky deli, taunts the road-weary carnivore. The restrooms have enough stalls to serve the entire upper deck of a stadium. Need a new pair of boots, five pounds of dried fruit, a “Live Laugh Love” sign and an offset barbecue smoker? Buc-ee’s has you covered on all fronts.
3:20 p.m.: Scott announces that we’ve reached the first of Houston’s three highway loops, Grand Parkway. Given that Houston has grown so much in the past decades and you need a car to adequately navigate the city, the traffic here can be so bad that the loops serve as an analogue to Dante’s circles of hell. The deeper you go, the worse it gets. Luckily, we’ve timed our arrival to miss the worst of it.
4:00 p.m.: Acting on a tip from Sam’s husband, Jason, and backed up by my trusty Moon bible, we stopped by Saint Arnold Brewing Company for a pre-game meal and libations. For 30 years, Saint Arnold has been consistently pouring world-class beer, earning two gold medals and a Brewery of the Year award at the Great American Beer Festival competition just last year. Both the Fancy Lawnmower Kölsch and Summer Pils were outstanding and deserving of their major awards; a six-pack of the latter made its way to my cooler for enjoyment later on down the trail.
5:30 p.m.: After having burned Scott on the idea of public transit in Minnesota, he decided to splurge on a parking garage near Minute Maid Park downtown.1 I wasn’t about to argue, knowing that our whole lives were packed in the back of the Mazda 3 and we weren’t renting a hotel that night to safely stash our goodies.
5:45 p.m.: Walking up to the ballpark, there were still a bunch of puddles of water on the streets and sidewalks, remnants of Hurricane Beryl which had hit Houston nearly three weeks prior. The city had taken a pounding from spring storms before Beryl, and the local and state infrastructure is not designed to handle this level of repeated pummeling. The hurricane flooding, damage, power outages and the sweltering heat that followed killed 36 people in the Houston area as of this writing.
5:50 p.m.: With the Dodgers in town, a sellout crowd was expected, despite the fact that tickets for this and other second half Astros games only went on sale in late June. The Astros, like most teams in Major League Baseball, use dynamic ticket pricing, a nice way of saying “we’ll gouge you for the best games.” Weekend night? Pay more. Team playing well? Pay more. High profile opponent? Pay more. Fireworks show after the game? Pay more. Fun “free” promotional giveaway item? Pay more. Our game ticked all but the last box as the American League West-leading Astros hosted the National League West-leading Dodgers and superstar Shohei Ohtani on a Friday night, with post-game fireworks. At $60 a piece for upper deck seats, including fees, these tickets cost the second most of any ballpark on the trip besides the general admission bleacher seats at Wrigley Field.2
7:00 p.m.: After making a couple of laps around the concourses in search of the one beer that I would drink at the game — another Saint Arnold Fancy Lawnmower, since there were really no other craft options at Minute Maid Park — I scaled the stairs up to our nosebleed seats. From near the top of the stadium, you really get a sense for how large the place feels, especially with the roof closed. I’m convinced you could park a small fleet of zeppelins in here. Not exactly the coziest baseball environment. No joke, this place has its own weather system: clouds were forming in the upper decks around the HVAC vents.
7:11 p.m.: First pitch of the game: Astros starter Framber Valdez throws a 95 mph sinker up and in to Ohtani, who inside-outs the pitch into left center field for a double. Half the crowd — the ones who showed up to root for the Dodgers — erupts in cheers for one of the few highlights of the night for the visiting club.
7:41 p.m.: Astros left fielder Joey Loperfido knocks in the game’s first run on a low line drive single to left, scoring the hustling Jeremy Peña from second base. I missed the hit because fans in our section were blocking my view of the mound and the plate, traipsing up and down the aisle to and from the concourse without a care in the world or any respect for the game being played in front of them. Y’all spent $60 a piece for these seats too, right?
7:50 p.m.: Loperfido makes a full-extension leaping catch on a ball hit by Ohtani that looked for sure to be another double. Man, this kid can go get it. He made the catch of the year a few weeks ago.3
7:55 p.m.: While I was away in the pisser, Astros third baseman Alex Bregman blasted a ball that might never have come down had it not hit the façade above the Crawford Boxes in left field. Second straight game I’ve missed a homer by going to the restroom. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s a gift. 2-0 Astros.
9:05 p.m.: Framber Valdez’s night is done after six and a third innings of shutout ball, striking out 10 Dodgers hitters. The parade of fans in the aisle has been almost non-stop during gameplay since the third inning. I’ll take my lumps for picking seats where this kind of obstruction is possible, but it’s really disappointing that I’m missing so much action.
9:14 p.m.: It’s the seventh inning stretch, the only time in the game when the fans are firmly parked in their seats. Please make it make sense.
9:49 p.m.: The Astros finish off the game in grand fashion, striking out the side in the bottom of the ninth to preserve a 5-0 victory.4 We’re not in a hurry, so we sit and watch the roof open for the post-game fireworks show.
10:11 p.m.: Bang. Pop pop pop. Pow. Fizzle. Kaboom.
10:24 p.m.: We’re at the corner of Crawford Street and Texas Avenue hiking our way back to the car. It took them longer to open the roof for the fireworks than to put on the actual show. I don’t want to say I’m disappointed by my experience at Minute Maid Park, but it definitely wasn’t my favorite of the trip so far. That’s being too nice. I anticipate this will probably be a bottom five stop for me. There’s nothing offensively bad about the park, there are just so many places that are doing it better and are more enjoyable places to watch a game.
11:15 p.m.: Hit another Buc-ee’s on the road out to Lexington, this time for gas, ice for the cooler, and some much needed canned caffeine for our overtaxed and overtired nervous systems. The lizard brain adrenaline activated by the fireworks will only get us so far.
1:00 a.m., Saturday, July 27: Everyone I’ve told about Snow’s BBQ looked at me like I was trying to rob a trash can with a banana when I said I’d be getting in line there in the middle of the night, most of all, Scott. God bless him, he’s following me with a level of trust I probably don’t deserve on this adventure, but I know it’s all going to pay off. When we arrived, the lights were on over the barbecue pits, a scattered few cars were parked on the street and stray dogs wandered around in search of a snack. Cattle in the nearby Lexington Livestock Commission barn are mooing incessantly ahead of the auction starting at noon. A small tent was pitched on the deck next to the main entrance, flanked by a handful of camp chairs on the ramp leading to it. The door won’t open until 8 a.m., seven hours from now. Scott and I are 10th and 11th in line. I crack open a nightcap from the cooler while Scott sleeps in the car.
2:00 a.m.: Another group of meat seekers shows up, setting up their camp chairs, table, cooler and lanterns. I can’t tell if they’re getting ready to rage for six hours or just settling in for comfort. They’ve been making their way around the Texas barbecue circuit, rattling off some of the biggest names in the state: Franklin, Louis Mueller, Black’s, and the current Texas Monthly BBQ champ, Goldee’s. Now they’ve made the pilgrimage to Snow’s, open only on Saturdays, to test the wares of the Queen of Texas barbecue, Tootsie Tomanetz, 89 years young. Snow’s took the top spot in the Texas Monthly feature back in 2008 and has been a bucket list BBQ destination ever since. Unable to keep my eyes open any longer, I do my best to get comfy in the camp chair, close my eyes and let the sound of bellowing cattle and the smell of post oak smoke whisk me away to dreamland.5
5:00 a.m.: The bustle of the incoming barbecue fans rousts me from my slumber. There are probably close to 50 people in line at this point, and more just keep trickling in. Our fellow early arrivers started to wake up too, including the father and son in the tent, who told me they showed up around 9:40 the previous evening to be first in line. Phil III is originally from Detroit, moved to Houston, opened an authentic coney dog shop that unfortunately had to close due to COVID, started making cooking videos with his son, Phil IV, and now runs a small catering business to share his love of food and cooking. The family directly ahead of us in line, who showed up virtually at the same time we did, were touring Texas on vacation from their home in Germany, and made a special trip just to get barbecue from this iconic spot.
6:30 a.m.: Snow’s owner Kerry Bexley comes out to address the line and let everyone know how things are going to run. They hold a raffle with a small number of prizes, including a Snow’s t-shirt and the ability to jump 50 spots ahead in line. Would you believe me if I told you that the first person to have their number drawn picked the t-shirt?
6:50 a.m.: Miss Tootsie has entered the building. She’s not getting to work in the wee hours to throw pork steaks on the fire and the younger boys do most of the heavy lifting anymore — Tootsie has been cooking barbecue and shoveling coals longer than most of them have been alive — but it’s pretty clear she’s still calling the shots.
7:30 a.m.: All rise for the national anthem. I’m pretty cynical about demonstrative shows of patriotism, but for whatever reason, this moved me. Maybe it was seeing the now more than 300 people of all stripes and from all over unite around the barbecue pit to share the experience of some of the finest smoked meats on the planet. God bless America.
7:35 a.m.: They decided to open the doors early and we barely had time to run our camp chairs back to the Mazda 3 before it was time for us to step up to the counter and place our order. Once again, Scott put trust in me and I delivered: a pound and a half of brisket — with slices from both the lean flat and the fatty point — a pound and a half of Tootsie’s famous pork shoulder steak, a half rack of pork ribs, a smoked sausage and a pint of coleslaw for use as a palate cleanser between bites of meat.6 The ladies behind the counter got to work with their electric knives and dutifully loaded up our tray.
7:47 a.m.: Time to dig in. We grabbed a table right next to the smokers and got to work on this hefty pile of meat, going straight for the brisket first. If you’ve never had Texas brisket, you’ve never had brisket. The brisket at Snow’s is perhaps the best I’ve ever tasted: bold, tender, smoky, juicy and seasoned to perfection with just salt and pepper. Even the slices from the flat, trimmed very close to remove nearly all of the fat cap, were better than any brisket I’ve tasted north of Texarkana. This is world shattering meat, making the two hour drive to get there, the six and a half hours spent in line, the precious few hours of sleep we were able to get, and the six hour drive to our next stop in Midland totally worth it. The pork steak and ribs were phenomenal as well. The sausage, eh, nobody’s perfect, but with brisket like this, you don’t have to be.
8:17 a.m.: Bellies full, we thanked Tootsie and Kerry for the unforgettable experience, said goodbye to Phil III and Phil IV, the Germans and the BBQ tourists, packed up our leftovers and hit the gas for Midland.
2:30 p.m.: I’m not 100% sure how we got to Midland. I know Scott drove part of it and I know I drove part of it, but I was so full of exquisitely smoked meat that the six hour traversal from central Texas to the Permian Basin all just seems like a blur. Scott booked us a hotel just a few country blocks from Momentum Bank Ballpark, home of the Midland Rockhounds, whom we would be watching later that evening. I’m sure I intended to catch a real siesta after checking into our room, but couldn’t sleep.
6:15 p.m.: More than a little ragged but not fully exhausted, we drove the half a mile to the ballpark in the upper 90s west Texas swelter. The ballpark offers free parking, which I suppose you have to in the heart of oil country when you’re trying to lure people out of the air conditioning. I called my friend Matt, who’s currently the interim GM of the ballpark’s food and beverage service, and he hooked us up with a couple of tickets and some promo goodies. Matt and I have been friends since college, working at the same restaurant, hanging in the Venn diagram overlap of a couple of social circles, baseball junkies to the last. We took the half hour or so leading up to first pitch to catch up.
7:00 p.m.: After Matt gave us the quick tour of the park, we settled into our seats just after first pitch. I can’t give you much detail from this game, given that I was in some kind of sleep deprived, beef-induced state of limbo between this world and nirvana, but the Midland Rockhounds delivered lumps of coal to the visiting San Antonio Missions’ stockings on Christmas in July night by a score of 8-2.
9:00 p.m.: We couldn’t make it through the entire game as our grueling 36 hour odyssey across Texas finally caught up to us. First game I’ve left early in many, many moons, but on this night, it couldn’t be helped.
Misread one train schedule and you’ll never live it down for the rest of your life. We’ll be in the retirement home playing pinochle and Scott will be like “Remember when you fucked up in Minneapolis and we had to get that Uber after the game?” Even if the ravages of time strip that memory from me, I know Scott will always be there to help me remember.
$94 each, all-in, but sitting in the bleachers at Wrigley is an experience and, theoretically, you can sit in the front row if you get there early enough to stake your claim.
Three days later, the Astros shipped Loperfido along with two other prospects to Toronto in exchange for veteran pitcher Yusei Kikuchi. Happy trails, kid, thanks for the memories.
Home teams are now 8-12 on the trip. I think Scott’s the good luck charm.
Not to be confused with the Alabama barbecue chain of the same name.
Earlier this year, I got to hear author Randy Mosher give a talk on the neuroscience of smell and taste; it was absolutely fascinating. Check out this interview if you’d like to get a little deeper into the weeds before the release of his upcoming book, The Tasting Brain.