Fat Jacks Oyster and Sports Bar

Texarkana, located in the Ark-LA-Tex region, is a town with a unique name that confoundedly straddles two state lines.

I arbitrarily stumbled into Fat Jack’s, located on State Line Avenue. Even though this local sports bar has been serving Texarkanas for decades, it wasn’t listed on Google maps. That didn’t matter to locals, Fat Jack’s is an iconic institution.

As soon as I ambled through, I was greeted by a large, burly man with the stature of a linebacker named Billy Bob who checked my ID card and raised five fingers.

“There’s a cover tonight – we have a band from Memphis.” And sure enough it was packed to the gills.

The covered patio was decorated wall-to-wall with local memorabilia. A couple of local patrons in ball caps and blue jean cutoffs were busy shooting pool. A cloud of smoke drifted up to the corrugated tin-roof. Although I was overly dressed and an out-of-towner, I felt surprisingly warm and welcomed – surrounded by a dozen new friends who were happy to drink a toast with me or let me bum a cigarette for a story or a joke.

Unlike your average dive bars, Fat Jack’s serves real, wholesome cooking . It’s an oyster bar with a twist of Cajun, catering to locals and passer-bys driving south from Memphis or north from Dallas who heard about it from their neighbors or their in-laws, many for generations.

They love the Arkansas Razor Backs and cheer for them during every game. Even college baseball is watched religiously like it was the Majors. And they pay homage to their alma mater with a large boar head greeting loyal fans clad in red and cardinal.

I approached the bar – one side in big bold letters: “Go Hogs”, the other side: “Hook Em’ Horns”

“What’s good here?” I asked.

“We’re known for our oysters, crawfish and jambalaya,” stated Joseph, a friendly bartender who offered a warm handshake and a lazy smile.

“How are the gator tots?”

“They’re the Bomb – If you like seafood, you should try the trifecta: shrimp, oysters and gator?”

I sat down, my table was weathered and people over the years had written on them with sharpies. I continued to enjoy my drink while soaking in the atmosphere. A baseball game played in the background. A young couple in the booth across from me were enjoying their Po’boys while chain smoking like a rockstar.  An older couple were playing foosball – this bar game sure ain’t what it used to be as I watched with passive amusement.

“Been coming here 30 years.  This place is truly a borderline landmark!”

“I see. The bathrooms need some attention but the service and hospitality are beyond reproach,” I added.

“But you gotta watch out for these alkies. A few years ago a Texas man chased and rammed a female’s car on State Line Ave after she turned down his advances.

And there have been more bar fights here than KOs by Floyd Mayweather. You better keep your head on a swivel tonight.”

I thanked the couple for their advice and made a mental note not to overindulge.

Before long, the smell of fresh jambalaya hit me right in my nostalgia, bringing back drunken moments on Bourbon Street. Then as my dishes arrived, I gleefully devoured my meal – pan fried and searing – the oysters were lightly breaded and juicy.  And the morsels of gator meat were tender and chewy – a perfect combination.

My dirty rice was brimming with fresh sausages and the slow cooked baked beans simmered in its juices – it was simply the most amazing Cajun casserole I had outside of the Big Easy.

Black and White and photos of life and living in the heartland adorned the walls. Nascar memorabilia was displayed with pride. A collage of Jack Mills, aka Fat Jack plastered another wall. I took a moment to read his obituary:

Jack Mills skill on the gridiron led him to Texarkana, where he played for the Texarkana Titans, a semi-pro team. An injury cut short his football career and spurred him to work toward a dream he’d had since childhood opening his own bar. He wanted a New Orleans-style neighborhood establishment, where patrons could enjoy oysters and gumbo, cold beer and good conversation. He achieved that dream when Fat Jack’s opened on Feb. 6, 1985. The sports bar and restaurant quickly became the most popular watering hole in town, drawing a crowd from all walks of life, from professionals to blue-collar workers. They all felt at home and they all came back. And Jack was there every day, making everyone feel welcome, making everyone feel like they were family. 

At the bar, both Shiner Bock and Diamond Beer were readily available on the tap and overflowing in frosty 25 oz beer mugs. There was a Country Western band performing. The artist picked his Gibson acoustic strings like he was Johnny Cash reborn. His voice had the sweet, scratchy sound of Hank Williams.

I could pat myself on the back for giving Jack’s a shot.  I was treated to southern hospitality at its finest. A hidden gem practically straddling the state line that every road tripper should patronize.

My palate was content and I was soundly in my elements. Once again, I learned not to judge a town by first impressions. There is much life after sundown in Texarkana and as I sipped my Shiner chased down with a shot of hickory smoked whiskey, there was nothing better than the rhythmic sound from a honky tonk strumming away.