The Chuck Wagon:

The First Meals on Wheels

The invention of the chuck wagon is credited to Charles Goodnight around 1866. Goodnight needed a way to feed cowboys who were moving contrary Longhorn cattle up a trail. One of the most famous of those trails was the Chisholm Trail, which ran from near San Antonio, Texas, to Abilene, Kansas. According to history, Goodnight converted an old Studebaker army freight wagon into the first chuck wagon, so named because “chuck” was slang for food.

By removing the grain boards from the back of the wagon and replacing them with a box, Goodnight created a portable kitchen. Like all kitchens, chuck boxes vary, but they are typically composed of shelves and drawers for holding necessities. It was usually stocked with flour, a little sugar, beans, a few spices, coffee, and maybe a little jerky. The compartment under the chuck box, called the “boot,” held pans, Dutch ovens, and skillets.

The chuck wagon had to be strong and tough enough to cross thick country and rivers; many had to forge their own trails. It hooked up to a team of mules or draft horses and was driven by the cook. It generally rode ahead of the cattle herd for two main reasons: so the cook could get far enough ahead to be able to fix a meal before the cowboys got there and to keep from getting caked with dust. (You can imagine how much dirt two thousand Longhorns can kick up.)

Days were long and nights were short. Cowboys were usually fed two meals a day, consisting of coffee, beans, and biscuits. Not unless a steer died were they fortunate enough to eat much meat, other than a little salt pork. Their job was to move the cattle, and the boss man sure wouldn’t be happy to know the cowboys were eating his profits.

When it came time and there was a town close by the route, the cook would restock the wagon and gather any other supplies he might need. In the mid to late 1800s, after all, Walmart wasn’t just around the corner. The cook had to know how to plan a menu and what supplies he would need for the long journey.

The cook was usually a grumpy feller and often just as stubborn as the team of mules he was driving. But you can imagine, with the harsh conditions and limited supplies, he might be a little ill-tempered. I once heard an old-timer say, “That old cook looks mean and nasty but don’t judge him at first glance ’cause he might be cooking your next meal.” No one ever questioned the cook because he was second in command behind the owner or manager, and he was the boss at the wagon. On top of being a cook, he was the doctor, dentist, counselor, and mechanic.

The cook was usually a grumpy feller and often just as stubborn as the team of mules he was driving.

He mended broken limbs, stitched up wounds, and pulled teeth when the occasion arose. His coffee was always hot, and he never ate until the last man was fed. There were a set of rules that applied to a cow camp: You don’t eat till the cook calls “Chuck.” Don’t ride into camp, or you’ll kick up dust around the cook and his surroundings. Don’t spit under the wagon tarp or smoke there unless you’ve been given permission. The spot between the fire and the chuck box is sacred ground, and no one passes through it except the cook.

Just like old Cookie, I too have worked in some of the harshest conditions. From hailstorms to heat waves, dust storms to blizzards — you have to keep the wood dry and the coffee hot . . . no matter what.

I still have the same rules, and most of the time the hands abide by them. I have stitched up a feller or two, not with horsehair like old Cookie might have used, but with dental floss soaked in alcohol. The groceries are a lot better now, but the conditions and the transportation are still the same. Some of the ranches my wife, Shannon, and I cook on even use the same camps they used 150 years ago. It goes to show that no matter how far we’ve come, we can still follow the tracks of our ancestors.

Like I tell folks, we are the luckiest people in the world. We get to do what we love every day and feed real cowboys. So hop on the wagon and let’s go, ’cause those fellers are expecting supper.