Long before every restaurant had an Instagram account, a loyalty app and a social media manager posting photos of brisket against distressed wood tables, there were matchbooks.

Tiny little billboards that rode home in shirt pockets, rattled around in pickup truck ashtrays and spent years hiding in kitchen junk drawers next to rubber bands, expired coupons and mysterious keys nobody could identify.

This one came from the legendary Houston honkey-tonk, Blanco's.

If you’re a Houstonian—and you liked country music, Lone Star and two-stepping—you know that legendary name.

In the middle of River Oaks, surrounded by luxury cars, manicured lawns and some of Houston's most expensive real estate, sat a dusty little blue building with a crushed-shell parking lot, cold beer, chicken-fried steak and a dance floor worn smooth by thousands of two-steps and Cotton-Eyed Joes. 

Opened in 1982 under owner Barry DeBakey, the former daycare center became one of Houston's last true honky-tonks. For more than three decades, Blanco’s stood defiantly out of place among Houston’s modern glass and concrete. Artists including Gary P. Nunn, Lyle Lovett and Cory Morrow all played Blanco's.

The feel of the decor with its flags, license plates, head mounts, game fish, rodeo photos, horseshoes and neon signs put patrons in a country state of mind right away—no matter who you were. You'd find toolpushers sitting a few tables away from IP lawyers. First dates. Business lunches. Birthday dinners. Folks fresh from the rodeo. Folks who hadn't seen a horse since a kindergarten birthday party. All were united by the universal Texas belief that a cold Lone Star and some Waylon can solve an awful lot of the world’s problems. 

We Stopped Loving Her in 2013, when the beloved institution finally closed, leaving behind a legend far larger than the little building. It ended an era. These days Houston is in a bad way when it comes to the honkey-tonk scene. You want to two-step in Houston now? There’s Neon Boots and Shady Acres. Other than that you’re driving out to the suburbs. 

The design of this matchbook has a real Neon Moon feel. Black background. Bold script logo. A confident Solo Cup-red brushstroke underneath the name. Nothing fussy. Nothing fancy. It has the look of a business that understood its tight fittin’ jeans audience and didn't feel the need to put on airs. And perhaps the best detail of all is right there at the bottom: 3406 W. Alabama, Houston, Texas. 

This particular matchbook survives as a small artifact from a Houston that many people remember but others never experienced. Not the Houston of franchise salad restaurants, toll tags, sad desk lunches and electric cars but the city of smoky bars, wildcatters, big hair, Luv Ya Blue and Friday nights at Blanco’s that started with "just one drink."

Unlike the state of honkey-tonks in Houston, the matchbook itself remains in good condition. The black cover retains its flat black color, while the white and red graphics remain sharp and highly legible. Unlike many surviving matchbooks, this example still contains its original complement of unused matches, making it especially satisfying as a display piece. 

Details

• Original Blanco's Bar & Grill matchbook

• Approximate era: 1990s

• Original unused matches present

• Good overall condition

• Black cover with white and red graphics

• Approximately 1.5" wide × 2" tall × 0.25" deep

• Hangover not included 

If you've ever spent an evening two-stepping at Blanco's—or simply wish you had—this tiny bundle of cardboard and sulfur carries more Tall Texas Tales than its size would suggest. Once they're gone, they're usually gone for good.