After a fourteen hour trip from Memphis to Washington we finally arrived yesterday nearly at dawn to Washington D.C. to continue our Taco hunt. Before telling you any story of our taco confrontations in northeastern lands, I must say that in the middle of our trip from Memphis to Washington we were caught for hours in a thunder storm and the beginning formation of a tornado. The experience was extreme, and what really worried me while being in the middle of contingency, was that, believe it or not, the last eating I got was in Taco Bell (read Leah’s last post)…

Yesterday afternoon we went to El Tamarindo. Leah and her friend Patti remembered that they used to go there at the beginning of the decade when they had just graduated from college. What they liked about El Tamarindo is that eating there was a good and cheap way to get rid of alcohol. But since they ended their college studies and in consequence their alcohol consumption decreased, El Tamarindo lost some of their loyal consumers.

Visiting ethnic restaurants among U.S college students is a pretty common practice in comparison with other western countries, in part because of the migratory flows and the commoditization of cultural difference by U.S companies, but also because they are exposed to different ethnic foods in house and school since childhood. (Leah’s note: also because it’s cheap.) In other western countries such as The Netherlands, college students visit ethnic restaurants only in special situations, commonly related with ritual celebrations or special occasions, not with convenience consumption.

Leah and Patti asked for their Tamarindo favorites plate: Combinacion Guanca, a sample of el Salvadoran favorites including; one Pupusa, one Tamale, a fried Plantains, Rice and Beans. By this point you must be a little bit confused about why a couple of Taco hunters was eating in a Salvadorian restaurant. But what is particular about this restaurant is that they offer both kinds of food (or three, taking into account that they promote Tex-Mex food as Mexican) Mexican, Tex-Mex and Salvadorian.

El Tamarindo offers this mix of foods in part because Washington D.C is a city with an important Salvadorian population, but also because Mexican food is already well positioned in the U.S. In this way Salvadorian restaurants target clients from both (or also three), the nostalgic market, the everyday consumers, and the ones who are looking for Coo[c]king cultural confrontations. By offering big Mexican/Tex-Mex and Salvadorian combos, customers are able to try different bites of those food traditions. This is a well-proved common practice of ethnic restaurants to target multicultural consumers: a little bit of everything for a convenient price.

This time I asked for a Salmon Tostada, and what I got was: “A crispy Flour Tortilla filled with Beans and your choice or Beef, Chicken, Salmon or Crab and Shrimp sautéed in a seasoned Tomato Sauce, fresh Lettuce, Tomatoes, Cucumbers, and dressing; topped with grated Monterrey jack and Chedrar cheeses, a dab of Guacamole and Sour Cream. The Thing was huge! It was like 10 inches diameter by 3 inches deep. I liked how The Thing was showing all the colors and ingredients separated in different layers, and the flavor was ok. But I never saw a Tostada like this before, that’s the reason I’m calling it “The Thing”, because to me it was not a Tostada. The only clear reference to the Tostadas I know was the crispy tortilla — but not its shape or the flour as the main ingredient.  So I was wondering why they named this thing a Tostada and not a Mexican flour pail/bucket or something similar.

I wonder what would happen if Tex-Mex food sellers would radically change the name of their food products/creations. Maybe in this way inexperienced consumers would not be so confused about what the differences are between Tacos, Taquitos, Tacos dorados, Flautas, Crispy Tacos, Tostadas…But of course because of a shared history and marketing strategies that’s not so easy, and indeed, maybe it would not be so helpful.

After arriving home, Patti gave Andy the Chimichanga she brought for him. When Andy was finishing the first half I asked for his opinion and what I got for an answer was: “what I do not understand is what the difference is between a burrito and a Chimichanga?”

You really gonna eat that?

When you get to New Orleans, turn left. Otherwise,  you’ll wind up in Florida. And while there’s certainly nothing wrong with Florida, it wasn’t on this trip’s itinerary. It was time to start heading north and east, keeping our eyes on the prize of the mid-atlantic and northeast. We left the city of New Orleans regretfully, our hotel with an enormous sense of relief, and, why deny it, the state of Louisiana with a slightly perverse desire to see what damage the hurricanes had wrought. Sure enough, along the highway we followed north into Mississippi, you could still see ruined homes and fresh reconstruction. We stopped for gas in Laurel, Mississippi, and a sign in the gas station window reported that the town had had to demolish 400 homes following Katrina, most of which had been rebuilt. Imagínense, since Laurel is 140 miles (abt 200 km) from the coast.

Anyway, we left New Orleans on a mission, but one which did not involve food of any kind. Our route took us the long way through Mississippi (our routes typically took us through each state the longest way possible), until south of Tupelo. All along the route, we kept a close eye out for signs of Mexican restaurants, and wouldn’t you know it, in some of the little towns like Laurel, Meridian, and West Point we saw Mexican stores or storefront restaurants. There was even one called La Costa Oaxqueña, but we did not stop.

After fulfilling my family obligations in Tupelo, we forged ahead to Memphis. I think under other circumstances I would have liked Memphis; I love blues music and barbeque (as long as I don’t have to get messy eating it), and the river give the city a pseudo coastline. But as it was,  we got to Memphis tired, broke, and ready for some relaxation. Frustratingly, we found a hotel that was even worse than the one we stayed in in New Orleans — little did we think that was possible. Yet we did it! Go us. Al otro dia, we woke up early, partly to make sure we would have enough time to pay homage to the patron saint of Memphis (Mr. Elvis Aaron Presley), and to undertake the enormously long drive that would finally plop us out in our nation’s capital. (We had initially planned to spend a day in Nashville but DC beckoned…).

Graceland was toda una experiencia.

Elvis's living room

From the headphones they make you wear to shepherd you expeditiously through the mansion, to the orderly way in which you are shuttled across the street, to the sheer size of the EPE (Elvis Presley Enterprises, I assume), Graceland is  even  more astonishing than I had imagined. And yet, the mansion was much smaller than I anticipated; I had been expecting something along the size of Versailles, but the house itself is a moderately sized place, in comparison to  some of today’s McMansions.

El nuevo dios de los Mexicanos

And yet the inside is really, really entertaining. Part of it is just the fashions of the day, preseved in  their dubious glory for eternity; part of it is that Elvis had enough money to do whatever he wanted with the place; and part of it is that there is this intense sense of reverence about the green shag carpet on the ceiling of the Jungle Room. It’s not overexaggerating to say that Graceland has a sense of religious sanctification. And yet, it’s so totally absurd, because you walk into a room and  there are like five massively bedazzled jumpsuits. Max was delighted to find the one  with the Aztec calendar — the picture isn’t entirely clear  but you can get a general idea.

So after wrapping up our devotions in Memphis, we hit the road, to drive to Washington. We were — of course — driving through both Tennessee and Virginia the long way.  The trip that day was no mean feat; 900 miles of Appalachia were traversed in about 13 hours. We stopped once to eat, an  event which I am supposed to be  chronicling here but am actually trying to postpone discussing. You see, Max is trying to get a sense of allll the different kinds of Mexican food available in the states, and por ende decided that the trip would not be complete without a stop at Taco Bell. He graciously offered to let me out at some other fast food joint if I wanted, but I figured teamwork is teamwork, so I tried to suspend my judgment. I have to admit, the fact that the cashier who greeted us had green and blue teeth was a little offputting, but them’s the breaks in White Pine,  TN, or wherever it was that we stopped.

Volcano Box

Max had the Volcano Box — a combination whose flavor is SOOO BIIIG (I’m paraphrasing,  sort of) that it comes with its own box. And yet, for anyone who has actually ever eaten Mexican food, the flavor is less BIG than chemical. Despite the advertisements that it was SERIOUSLY SPICY, Max still loaded the burrito, taco, and chalupa up with hot sauce. Curiously, or perhaps not, the burrito was loaded with rice, not meat, as a way to provide more food for less money, and to lend as much spice to the burrito without having to actually put in much food. It also had these shreds of red (red=spicy, of course) tortilla strips, which tasted like aged  cardboard dipped in spoiled Tabasco. But wait! I am trying not to be judgmental. Continuing. There was also a little paper pack of what we both assumed were chicharrones, and were both astonished to discover were little bits of fried dough with cinnamon and sugar. Of course, that fact was printed on the paper holder, but as has already been discussed in this space, reading directions is not one of our strong suits. But imagine biting into what you think is going to be a salty porky thing, and having it be a sweet, cinnamony one instead. Weird! It also made me think that as unhealthy as US fast food is, there is something even too extreme about the idea of “fried pork skin” that would prevent chicharrones from being marketable in a mainstream place like Taco Bell. Speaking of  fast food and  Mexican food,  I think — and I don’t know if any of you US readers agree with me here — that US consumers do not associate Taco Bell specifically with “Mexican Food” but rather with fast food. Despite the company’s exhortations to “Think outside the bun,” when people want Mexican food, they do not “head for the border” at Taco Bell. When they want fast food, they do.

I had a burrito, which was  not at all wonderful, but  was on the whole less espantoso  an experience than it could have been. I guess. The restaurant itself was weirdly decorated, with these sort of fake oil paintings trying to give the place a sort of hip and cosmopolitan vibe. But mostly it was functional and, despite the bright colors, anemic.

Taco Bell Art

At least Taco Cabana had a salsa bar with limes and  lemons and salsas that were from identifiable  ingredients. Taco Bell had three containers of hot sauces (mild, hot and death) with apparently arbitrary sayings on  them. It was also freezing inside, we were in the  middle of this endless drive, and all in all, I would not repeat the experience. One of the philosophical or political problems of eating at a place like Taco Bell, of course, is that the reason they can provide 79 cent tacos or 99 cent burritos is that the supply chain is so massively exploitative, and the work conditions for everyone who is involved in the business cycle — from the people who work feeding the chickens to the slaughterhouses to the prep plants to the cashiers and servers — is treated so badly and paid so poorly. But is the solution to say, this company treats its people so badly so I’m not going to eat there ever? Does a micro boycott like that work, when you serve 2 billion people a year at 5800 restaurants?

For whatever reason, the universe decided to liven things up for us by sending a hurricane to accompany our drive for the next two hours or so. So from northeast Tennessee until about Lexington, VA, we drove in blinding rain, massive lightening strikes, and dire tornado warnings (none of which, thank goodness, materialized).

Zydeco festival in NOLA  –>  click here to see a video of some music and dancing we saw

And all the little interactions we had in the city, with Valeria the tourism guide who lived in La Paz, Baja California for 5 years, who loves Oaxacan food and who wants to open a tortilleria-slash-bar in the city, with Jim the bartender and his funny wife, with the multiple people who very correctly told us to go to Frenchman’s Street for nightlife…what a lovely experience.

And to top it all of, meeting Lalo the Oaxacan artist at Jimbeaux’s bar, and discovering what a small pañuelo world it is. Thanks, New Orleans, for smothered okra with smoked sausage, for a shrimp po’boy so glorious that ten different people asked where Max bought it, for no cover jazz and late night sausage vendors, and for the dozens of other moments that made our day in the Crescent City such a joy.

“A country where you can find an Alligator burrito is a country you can believe in”. Those were the words expressed by Leah’s mother when she told her that we just got this particular gastronomic hybrid at the New Orleans’ Creole Tomato festival. And indeed, as a cultural melting pot the U.S offers to its inhabitants the possibility of mix all kind entities to open markets. Just as Kogi Korean bbq tacos does in L.A (see post from the eighth of June).

            I must say that actually what we ate in the New Orleans Tomato festival was an Alligator Wrap, not a burrito. But since I did some fast research through the Internet, I haven’t found any clear difference between those two dishes. And if there is any difference, it is not clear for all U.S consumers. As a consumer I have noticed that Wraps usually are kind of the light version of a burrito. They are made with “healthier” ingredient: fruits, vegetables, cheese, and any kind of cold meet. Another difference is that most of the time they are served cold, while burritos commonly include a warm, highly processed guisado; beans, Mexican red rice, sour cream, Guacamole, salsa, vegetables and any kind of meat (Asada, Chorizo, Cabeza de cochino, Korean bbq). A wrap is a new food entity targeted to a young, middle-class multicultural market, while burritos are a gastronomic tradition from northwestern México and southwestern USA. Burritos are associated with Mexican, high caloric, fatty food, and are usually consumed by men (Leah’s note: I’m not sure I agree with this assertion, but he’s the expert). While the former is an “innocent” market creation, the second is the organic innovation of a highly evocative food tradition. But what to say about an alligator burrito/wrap? Is this a market target creation or the organic evolution of a food tradition? If a country where you can find an alligator burrito is a country you can believe in, does that mean that countries where you can’t find alligator burritos are not to be trusted, or perhaps entirely fictional?

            An Alligator Wrap/Burrito is the quintessence of a disruptive innovation and self-governed process only possible in the U.S. In part because it’s a country that promotes an endless innovation of markets and life styles in order to satisfy the production of capital. But also because as a society it is engaged in a nonstop course of dynamic obsolescence, constant processes which create, push and abolish entities, subjectivities and markets…. By the way, the Alligator wrap/burrito was delicious, as were the Cajun pork tamales, whose concentrated spicy flavors could easily pass for Mexican to an  inexpert Cajun food consumer.

After several days in Texas, I have to confess that I was glad to be leaving the great state. I tried not to mess with Texas, but it’s still a  little  unnerving  being told continually not to mess with the place you are. How am I to know what Texas will consider inappropriate?? Between being pulled over by the cops for speeding (this time it was me, I admit it) and getting a warning, having a slightly more aggressive exfoliation from the cacti in El Paso, and punishing amounts of grease and cheese during meals in San Antonio and Houston, I was looking forward to a little bit of a change. Maybe some green bayous, with a side of gumbo

And so it was that we headed ever east out of Houston, into the foot part of the Louisana boot. Straight across, on terrain that was so flatito that you can see why hurricanes head for this part of the world. Turns out, they’re lazy bastards, those hurricanes. Instead of aiming for land where they’d have to beat themselves against peaks or cliffs, they cruise on over to this flat land where they can spin themselves into a frenzy without any resistance. Fortunately, we did not run into a hurricane in the Delta. We did encounter one (or as good as) in Tennessee, but that’s a story for another day.

En todo caso, I had declared a moratorium on Mexican (not on Mexicans, obviously!) during our sojourn in the Crescent City, a/k/a New  Orleans. There is sooo much amazing food to try, and we had so little time to do it. No way was I going to pass up the chance to enjoy some jambalaya or gumbo or etoufee or red beans and rice or any of the other delicacies for which the city is duly famous. Ya veremos, me dice Max. If there’s some kind of fusion thing going on, cajun and mexican, or creole and Mexican, of course we’ll have to check it out, right? Uh huh, le digo, sure…thinking, meanwhile, right, like THAT’s gonna happen. But wouldn’t you know it, not twenty minutes after we had this conversation in the car — what do we see, but a sign for EL CAJUN: LA-MEX RESTAURANT! This sign was irrisistible. And so, about 30 miles east of N’awlins, we pulled into the Cajun County Casino / El Cajun LA-Mex Restaurant / Nocko’s Trading Post Truck Stop. Vaya combinación.

The restaurant menu proved to be heavy on the Tex-Mex items; the most notably Cajun influences were a couple of dishes made with crawfish. Max ordered the crawfish enchiladas, and although I would have loved to, I bravely avoided the temptation and chose a chicken chile relleno instead. The enchiladas were very nice; the fishy sauce that bathed the crawfish was rich without being heavy and the seafood flavor was fresh and robust.

The chile relleno was, sadly, pedestrian, and notable only for its astonishing amount of cheese.

The restaurant itself was very spacious; the entry hall was as big as some of the other restaurants we’d been in over the course of the preceeding week. The eating area was likewise quite large; oddly, however, there was music playing only in the entrance and none at all in the dining area. The sound of quiet conversations dominated, and we both noticed a couple of tables at which couples were sitting on the same side of the table. Unusual. The clientele was exclusively white; some people were dressed up as if El Cajun  were a special destination, while others were dressed in  very casual clothes as if dinner out were sort of an afterthought. The decor was a semi-sincere hybrid; there big sombreros  painted with crawfish and the names of the surrounding parishes hung on the wall, and there was a sign that promised “Frogs Legs / Alligator / Burritos” or something along those lines. Sadly, though, there were no frogs legs tacos or alligator burritos. I wonder if perhaps the restaurant does not offer these kinds of things because they are daily food — or at least unexotic — for the local folks; when people who live in this area go to a restaurant like El Cajun, maybe the last thing they want  to have to eat is yet more gator?

Ole-gator

Since we were in San Antonio, Taco Cabana’s fluorescent pink signs started to show up to us everywhere. For some reason Taco Cabana’s typography reminds me of the Flintstones’ one: crazy letters written by somebody out of control over the typing process such as a child or one of the Flintstones prehistoric subjects. The texture of letters also resembles something backwards, but not as old as stones. Predominant colors inside of the restaurant are pastel gradations of pink, yellow, blue, green, red and purple. Although quite new, the furniture design suggests that their timing is at least a couple of decades old, and invites consumers to position themselves in a cheesy artificial set of a beach restaurant. Maybe like those one next to the Copacabana in Brazil. The intention is to create an atmosphere “infused with a festive Mexican theme”.

The first Taco Cabana restaurant was established back in 1978. Nowadays, they have more than 140 establishments and are part of Carrols corporation which operates and franchises more than 540 restaurants under the Burger King®, Pollo Tropical® and Taco Cabana® brands. Taco Cabana is a clear example of how in the USA, the fast food industry has made vulgar transformations of culinary traditions from all over the world, and even from their own Tex-Mex food.

Taco Cabana’s menu offers clients a series of Tex-Mex fast food stereotypes. And here fast food appears in an italic font to point out that what is important is that it is fast food, not necessarily that it is truly or authentically Tex Mex. Contrary to common beliefs among Mexicans, Tex–Mex food is not necessarily fast. Although hard to find, there is also a slow Tex-Mex food full of tradition. But this is not the Taco Cabana case. In order to get a fast testing I asked for the Tex-Mex combo, which offers: one red enchilada, one crispy Chalupa, and two tacos accompanied by rice, beans and guacamole. The only thing that I am going to says about Taco Cabana food’s flavor is that while there is usually nothing left on my plate after I finish eating, this time a whole red enchilada was wasted (just as Fox and Bush’s last intent to promote a fake migration reform)… it was simply disgusting.

I was thinking about finishing this post by saying that if there were a Mexican restaurant in Bedrock city this would be the Taco Cabana. But for sure Flintstones would not eat this kind of food having the possibility of eating fresh pterodactyl eggs everyday.

Like at Chico’s tacos in El Paso, Blanco Cafe, is an intergenerational point of reference for some Sanantonians. To eat into those places is a shared family and friend tradition. They have become emblematic points of references for their cities and inhabitants. California Mexican food style, Southwestern food and Tex-Mex food are not only the consequence of the way Mexican food has been marketed in the U.S, but in fact they are also culinary traditions shared by people from different ethnic background and races living in those states. Maybe that’s the reason why expatriate U.S citizens living in Europe use Mexican restaurants as point of encounter. They grow up with those flavors, and because of this fact they see themselves as bodies allowed to evaluate the authenticity of foreign Mexican entities.

Cascabels menu

Crissy, we did it! We made it to San Antonio, and ate at Cascabels! I have been hearing about this place for two damn years, so you’d better believe I was going to go try their food. If I had come to San Antonio and NOT gone to Cascabels or Blanco Cafe, I think I would have been scared to go back to San Diego and face the wrath of the residents of casa Ringo. So on our first evening in SA, Max, Balta, and I trooped into Cascabels after a long meander through downtown San Antonio, a stroll along the Riverwalk, and a TOTALLY amazing encounter with John and Nataly at the Alamo! Hey guys! Who would have thought…we had just seen them like three days ago in Phoenix, and then all of a sudden they popped up at the Alamo. Teachers, I tell you.

But I digress. Cascabels is south of downtown San Antonio, tucked into a small lot with a lovely patio which reminded Max and Balta very much of Mexican beach style. Small tables covered with palm palapitas lined one wall, while we sat in the middle at a pretty painted wrought iron table. The bugs mostly left us alone, although between the bites from the SA skeeters and the lashings from the EP cacti, Texas definitely left its mark on me. We were the only diners there; it was late on a Tuesday evening so perhaps we did not arrive at the most happening time. But the ladies working at the restaurant were very gracious, and even came out and chatted with us for a while at the end. The owners of the restaurant, who are originally from Piedras Negras, have another location north of the city somewhere off the 281; it’s called Picadillo and serves more Tex-Mex style food. But Cascabels, as we were told, specializes in Authentic Mexican Food.

We had a sort of multi-regional dinner: Balta ordered the cochinita pibil

cochinita pibil at Cascabels

(achiote in the house! yucatan presente!), Max (of course) opted for the birria, and I had the famous chicken enchiladas with salsa verde that Crissy will not shut up about. And I mean that in the most loving way! Because she was right. They were very, very good. The chicken was seasoned enough so that you could taste tasty chicken inside the enchiladas, the sauce was nicely spiced and I even ate the ensalada de nopales that came with it! I know! Y’all know how I feel about ensalada de nopales…like eating pickled slugs.

enchiladas verdes de pollo

And yet, it was irresistible. The birria was also excellent; Max was highly opposed to sharing even a bite so we could try, but he finally acquiesced. Balta was much nicer about letting me try his cochinita; it was not quite Oxkutzcabeño but the restaurant did a nice job with it.

One of the yummiest parts of the meal, actually, was the little copita of soup that they served as an antojito while we waited for our dinners. It was sort of a sopa de fideo with little bits of queso fresco in it…absolutely delicious with a big dollop of salsa

birria at cascabels

roja!

And I should mention that the inside of the restaurant was covered with graffiti — sort of a communal word mural. I didn’t actually spend much time inside but here is a picture so you can get an idea.

The next couple of days we spent hanging out with Balta and brother Andres and Andres and Linka’s family. Muchísimas gracias to the broders Thompson for showing us such a good time, consintiendonos tanto, and showing us their San Antonio lives. We went to Canyon Lake and made carne asada, we had dinner at Andres and Linka’s house and met their beautiful daughters (why we have no pictures of this is a total mystery), and we spent a very productive day at the central library in San Antonio. It’s a graceful city with easygoing people and  much more Mexicanity than I imagined. But, I have to admit, San Diego (and El Comal, naturally!!!) still have my heart…

We try, when possible, to do something active in the mornings before getting in the car, since eating big food (everything’s bigger in Texas, yo) and sitting still all day are a potentially hazardous combination. So on Monday morning of last week we decided a quick hike in the Franklin Mountains, in the north central part of El Paso, would be fun before hitting the long and boring road to San Antonio. And indeed, it was….well, fun is maybe stretching it but it was definitely active. Things started out okay; we were the only ones there besides a prison work crew doing some maintenance. The paths looked clear, and the day wasn’t too hot. We headed for some low cerros, over white rocks and along paths between vicious cacti, and crested a hill easily. There was a dry arroyo below, so naturally we went to try and figure out how on earth a car could have wound up in it. We are nothing if not investigators! No clue, though. (NOTE: pictures  of all this are pending)

Anyway, there was another small hill on the other side of the arroyo, so we decided to climb it, the lack of an actual path notwithstanding. It turned out that if you are trying to climb a dry rocky hill with lots of loose stones, being surrounded by vicious cacti is maybe not so wonderful. There was a lot of swearing, shall we say. But we persevered, finally getting to, if not the top, then the end of our collective patience with this rather obtuse plan to hacernos el camino al andar. Anyone who knows either of us, though, will not be at all surprised to find out that we decided to arrojarnos at the mountain with no path or specific plan  or escape route. And it’s that last part — the escapatorio — that almost proved our downfall. Haha, get it? Cause we had to go down? And I fell…? Anyway.

Right, so having gotten to the top of the hill, we obviously had to get down. Turns out, climbing DOWN a pathless hill covered with dry loose stones and surrounded by vicious cacti is also really challenging. Perhaps even more than the way up. Imagine if you start to slip, and the only thing you have to grab onto is a cactus? Eeesh. Fortunately, I didn’t tumble until the very end, when it was “only” rocks and small bushes, and the damage was minor. My legs still bear the marks of the — como se dice espina? thorns? — vicious cacti, but we emerged victorious and STARVING from our wilderness adventure cactus safari.

To assuage the hunger pains sustained by so much poking and prickling and climbing and slipping we went to Carnitas Querétaros, as recommended by one of Crissy’s infallible friends.

Leah about to dive into some barbacoa de borrego

Carnitas Querétaros is a local place specializing in, of all things, mole. No, not really…if it comes from a land animal and you can put it on a grill, they serve it. Grilled pork, grilled beef, grilled chicken, grilled lamb, grilled goat, todito. Max explained to me that carnitas are often made with some kind of alcohol and are eaten throughout Mexico. Queretaro is not necessarily the birthplace of the dish, but is likely the birthplace of the restaurant owner.  There are three locations in El Paso; we were at the North Zaragoza location. Inside, it looks like a sort of generic chain restaurant, new furnishings in the “tasteful suburban development” mode. We ended up ordering a half pound of carnitas — grilled pork — and a half pound of barbacoa de borrego — sort of a pulled lamb. The carnitas were dry and not especially memorable, but the barbacoa de borrego was delicious. A little on the greasy side, true, but really flavorful. The lamb taste was totally discernable, and went very nicely with the tortillas and the salsas. The platters were also served with a side of frijoles charros, which reminded me very much of the beans served at Cactus Cantina in DC. Not, probably, a coincidence. It’s essentially a small cup of bean stew with hunks of celery and carrot and bacon. Apparently it’s usually served as a whole dish in Mexico, but in the states has become part of Tex-Mex cuisine.

The food was filling and tasty, but the road called…so we packed a little snack bag of pineapple empanadas (SOOOO good) and headed east, ever east, towards southern texas and San Antonio and friends…

.

Baltazar, amigo ixhuateco radicado desde hace un par de años en San Antonio nos llevó a desayunar en la Taqueria El novillero Jalisco, que se encuentra a pocas cuadras de su casa. Al llegar al lugar la mesera que se acerco para ofrecernos los menús saludo a Baltazar con una sonrisa amable como la que sólo ofrece alguien con quien se tiene contacto cotidiano. Y es que en este caso, cliente y mesera se encuentran por lo menos dos veces a la semana. A Baltazar le gusta desayunar en este lugar a las seis de la mañana, justo antes de entrar a su trabajo. Su platillo favorito es el Pozole, especialidad que sólo sirven los fines de semana. Lamentablemente, en el lugar no ofrecen ningún platillo de origen oaxaqueño, ni mucho menos con ese sabor istmeño que resultaría tan reconfortante para alguien que desde hace dos años esta lejos de su tierra originaria.

Lucy Gómez, la propietaria del lugar, es originaria de California. Su familia proviene de Atotonilco y su esposo es de Jesús María, pueblos vecinos en los altos de Jalisco. Al igual que lo han hecho un numero importante de migrantes originarios de estas comunidades, tras mudarse de California a San Antonio Lucy y su esposo decidieron abrir su restaurante en el año 2003. Según comentó Lucy, ella le sugirió a su esposo que vendieran comida similar a la México o la de Jalisco, sin embargo él le comentó que no podían hacer eso ya que la gente de San Antonio estaba acostumbrada a sus sabores y esto no era algo fácil de cambiar. Ya después, Lucy se percató de que ni siquiera podían ofrecer burritos de asada como los de California, ya que para empezar aquí a la Asada se le llaman de Carne guisada y además existe una variación importante en el sabor y los ingredientes. Es por eso que mejor conformaron un menú Tex-mex estilo San Antonio, que además de Taco salads y Nachos, ofrece Mijas y Puffy tacos, especialidad distintiva de la ciudad.

Lo Puffy de estos tacos se encuentra en la consistencia y apariencia de la tortilla blanda de harina inflada sobre la cual se sirve alguna variedad de carne acompañada de lechuga y cebolla rallada, tomate picado y queso Cheddar liquido. En el menú también ofrecen algunos alimentos referenciados como jaliscienses, aunque en realidad no son platillos distintivos del estado mexicano o al menos yo no estoy enterado de que exista un consenso local sobre el sabor, olor y aspecto del Jalisco omelette. Lo cierto es que referenciando geográficamente algunos platillos e incluyendo una foto de la plaza central de Jesús María en el menú, los dueños de este restaurante se muestran orgullosos de sus orígenes al tiempo que intentan distinguirse del común de los restaurantes Tex-mex en San Antonio.

Cuando a Lucy y su esposo se les antojan las enchiladas bañadas en salsa roja casera en lugar de Gravy Tex-mex y queso Cotija de los altos de Jalisco en lugar de Chreddar, visitan un restaurante a las afueras de San Antonio que es frecuentado casi exclusivamente por sus paisanos. Aunque ella no nació en Jalisco, esta segura de que el sabor es similar al de los Altos y lamenta que en San Antonio sea difícil experimentar con esa autenticidad.