Tex-Mex Food is the One Reason I Will Never Leave Texas

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1972

Abstract

t’s right; I put up with things no normal human would tolerate simply because we have the only real Tex-Mex in the universe (the “Tex” part makes that kind of obvious). Contrary to my Italian heritage, while I love a good lasagna occasionally, I can eat enchiladas every day of the week.</p><p id="c038">Now you may be thinking I can get Mexican food anywhere, and you’d be right. Though I’ve never tried it there, I would imagine that with a name like New Mexico, the state right next door would have awesome Mexican food. But without the “Tex” in front, it’s just not the same. Tex-Mex is a unique combination of Mexican, Spanish, and American influences that simply does not exist anywhere else.</p><p id="9a39">Here’s a perfect example. While I was in the Army, I was stationed at Fort Stewart, Georgia. In the little town just outside the front gates of the post (there is always a little town just outside the front gates), there was a restaurant claiming to serve Tex-Mex food. Eager for a taste of home, I gave it a try one night, starting with their cheese enchiladas.</p><p id="a06c">Tex-Mex tip: always try the cheese enchiladas first. If those are no good, nothing else on the menu will be either.</p><p id="7ae8">My enchiladas arrived, and I immediately noted the absence of the chili con carne sauce (this is what truly separates a Tex-Mex enchilada from all others). Cutting into one, I was stunned to see queso blanco (white cheese) rather than cheddar (if you are from San Antonio, I understand you sometimes use American cheese instead; it’s still yellow, and thus still Tex-Mex). When I asked the waiter about this abomination, he simply replied: “that’s the way we make them in Puerto Rico.”</p><p id="81b8">The last time I checked, Puerto Rico was not part of Texas. Calling their restaurant Tex-Mex (in a brazen attempt to lure unsuspecting, homesick Texan soldiers) was as wrong as pouring ketchup over egg noodles and calling it Italian. It took mo

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st of a bottle of Jack Daniels to console me afterward (Tennessee makes crap Tex-Mex too, but they produce a fine whiskey).</p><p id="7147">Don’t get me wrong; I like food from across Latin America. If my vegan friends ever tried roasted goat from a Colombian street vendor, they would repent of their silly meatless ways immediately. But the mere thought of not being able to get chili con carne, steak fajitas, refried beans, puffy tacos, queso, and enchiladas with <i>yellow</i> cheese throws me into an existential crisis non-Texans could ever understand.</p><p id="86a6">So yes, I will remain in Texas even if civilization crumbles around me, even if Greg Abbott is still governor in 2041, simply because of the chili con carne. If the Visigoths really are just outside the gates, I’m going to down another order of nachos before they get here. And if it’s the end of the world and not just civilization, I’m in the perfect spot. When Jesus comes back, his first stop will be at Joe T. Garcia’s in Fort Worth for those famous cheese enchiladas. Seriously, it’s in the Bible.</p><figure id="0791"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*owKGWfwZGJlHVAUjtDG2NQ.jpeg"><figcaption>Image:<a href="https://joetgarcias.com/menu/joe-t-garcias-enchiladas/"> Joe T Garcia’s</a></figcaption></figure><div id="ad82" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/classic-but-boring-titles-rewritten-for-stunning-online-results-b1ba284b27bf"> <div> <div> <h2>Classic But Boring Titles Rewritten for Stunning Online Results?</h2> <div><h3>How has it come to this?</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*JDrLaqSCPL_u-rLCIxDGcw.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Is life without chili con carne really worth living?

I’ve written extensively about the problems we have here in the Lone Star State, and I rarely miss an opportunity to take a swipe at our idiot governor. This has caused several of my friends here to ask an obvious question: why don’t you just move? Why indeed?

It’s a fair question, and one I have pondered quite a bit lately as I avoid working on a new novel (any excuse, right?). For one thing, my kids are here, but they’re grown and would probably be happier if I was in a different time zone anyway. My elderly parents are here as well, though they had the good sense to move about two hours away 30 years ago (they didn’t tell me where they moved, though my mom swears she did; it took me a while to track them down).

We have no state income tax, so that’s a plus. But that meager savings is gobbled up by electric bills that exceed comprehension as we try to stay cool in 100+ degree temperatures six months out of the year. Gasoline is usually cheaper here, but I hate driving because the roads are roughly 20 years behind what the traffic capacity demands. And as those who have been part of the mass migration here from California, New York, and the rest of the US can attest, except for the woods of deep East Texas, it’s one of the ugliest places on earth.

So why do I stay? In a word, queso. That’s right; I put up with things no normal human would tolerate simply because we have the only real Tex-Mex in the universe (the “Tex” part makes that kind of obvious). Contrary to my Italian heritage, while I love a good lasagna occasionally, I can eat enchiladas every day of the week.

Now you may be thinking I can get Mexican food anywhere, and you’d be right. Though I’ve never tried it there, I would imagine that with a name like New Mexico, the state right next door would have awesome Mexican food. But without the “Tex” in front, it’s just not the same. Tex-Mex is a unique combination of Mexican, Spanish, and American influences that simply does not exist anywhere else.

Here’s a perfect example. While I was in the Army, I was stationed at Fort Stewart, Georgia. In the little town just outside the front gates of the post (there is always a little town just outside the front gates), there was a restaurant claiming to serve Tex-Mex food. Eager for a taste of home, I gave it a try one night, starting with their cheese enchiladas.

Tex-Mex tip: always try the cheese enchiladas first. If those are no good, nothing else on the menu will be either.

My enchiladas arrived, and I immediately noted the absence of the chili con carne sauce (this is what truly separates a Tex-Mex enchilada from all others). Cutting into one, I was stunned to see queso blanco (white cheese) rather than cheddar (if you are from San Antonio, I understand you sometimes use American cheese instead; it’s still yellow, and thus still Tex-Mex). When I asked the waiter about this abomination, he simply replied: “that’s the way we make them in Puerto Rico.”

The last time I checked, Puerto Rico was not part of Texas. Calling their restaurant Tex-Mex (in a brazen attempt to lure unsuspecting, homesick Texan soldiers) was as wrong as pouring ketchup over egg noodles and calling it Italian. It took most of a bottle of Jack Daniels to console me afterward (Tennessee makes crap Tex-Mex too, but they produce a fine whiskey).

Don’t get me wrong; I like food from across Latin America. If my vegan friends ever tried roasted goat from a Colombian street vendor, they would repent of their silly meatless ways immediately. But the mere thought of not being able to get chili con carne, steak fajitas, refried beans, puffy tacos, queso, and enchiladas with yellow cheese throws me into an existential crisis non-Texans could ever understand.

So yes, I will remain in Texas even if civilization crumbles around me, even if Greg Abbott is still governor in 2041, simply because of the chili con carne. If the Visigoths really are just outside the gates, I’m going to down another order of nachos before they get here. And if it’s the end of the world and not just civilization, I’m in the perfect spot. When Jesus comes back, his first stop will be at Joe T. Garcia’s in Fort Worth for those famous cheese enchiladas. Seriously, it’s in the Bible.