09/15/2026
Reading this really hits home for me. Dozier’s has always been more than a barbecue joint or meat market. It’s part of my family’s history, part of Fulshear’s history, and a place I’ve dreamed about since I was 8 years old.
When Scott and Smedley Evans took Dozier’s over from my grandpa, they kept that tradition alive. They carried the Dozier name forward, kept the doors open, and gave generations of families the chance to make their own memories there.
But for me, it was different.
When I was 8 years old, I didn’t just look at those pictures on the wall and see family history. I saw my future. I dreamed that somehow, someday, I would get the chance to carry on what my great-grandfather started.
I had no idea how it would happen. I just knew I wanted to be part of it.
Years later, I was walking my own kids down that same wall, pointing at those same pictures and telling them who they were and where we came from.
So when Dozier’s closed in 2024, I couldn’t stand the thought of it becoming another old Texas place people drove by saying, “Man, I remember when that was open.”
We had the opportunity to bring it back into the family, and we took it.
It hasn’t always been easy, but sometimes I walk through those doors, look at those pictures and realize something that still doesn’t quite seem real:
The dream that 8-year-old kid had actually came true.
I’m thankful for everyone who carried Dozier’s along the way, especially Scott and Smedley, and I’m thankful we got the chance to bring it home.
Ed started it in 1957. Others carried it. A little 8-year-old boy dreamed about one day being part of it.
Now I get to carry it forward for my own kids and hopefully another generation.
If you ever pulled off the road at Fulshear for a pound of sausage and some white bread, you were standing in a store Ed Dozier opened in 1957.
It was a meat market first and foremost. A small building on the main street of a small farming town west of Houston, and Ed Dozier cut meat for people who knew him by name and whose fathers he had known by name. Somewhere along the way the place passed out of the family's hands. Other people ran it. The name stayed on the sign and the family pictures stayed up on the wall, and the doors kept opening for sixty-seven years.
In March of 2024 they stopped. Sixty-seven years and then nothing. Lights off, case empty, one more of those Texas buildings people drive past and say they remember.
Except that a man named Tyler Risinger had been bringing his own children in there for years, walking them down that wall of photographs and pointing out who was who. Ed Dozier was his great grandfather. When the doors closed, he and his wife Stacy and an old friend of his named Keith Brochhausen went and bought it back.
They opened it up again in August of 2024. He went back to the original recipes, the ones he says his great grandfather won the first Houston rodeo cook off with. And the family pictures went back up on the wall, which is the part worth sitting with, because nobody made him do that. Nobody buys a business for the photographs.
There are not many of these stories in Texas that end with somebody getting it back. Usually the building comes down, or the sign comes off, or the grandchildren scatter and after a while there is nobody left who remembers what the room looked like full. This one went the other way.
A man walked back into a building his great grandfather put up, hung the faces of his own people back on the wall where they belonged, and turned the lights on.
