There was a day back in June when I was driving my mom’s car around the Brazos Valley. I didn’t have a destination, I was simply enjoying the quiet country roads, a big blue sky and those Texan clouds that look like fluffy dollops of whipped cream. It was a pleasure.
Back when I lived in Texas, driving wasn’t as fun, it was simply a means to an end. But since I don’t drive in New York City and probably get behind the wheel only four or five times a year, it’s become a peaceful pastime. And so whenever I’m home, I drive as much as I can.
That day I probably put over 200 miles on my mom’s car. But wear and tear on her car aside, I found those miles well spent. See, when you don’t really have much of a destination, driving can be soothing and meditative. And as I motored along, I thought a lot about Texan cuisine.
“How would you define Texan food, exactly?” people will ask me. And I’ll reply that it’s Tex-Mex, barbecue, chili without beans and a plate of chicken-fried steak smothered in cream gravy. But it’s also gas-station beef jerky; a pot of freshly picked black-eyed peas; a kielbasa sausage smothered in sauerkraut; a bowl of carne guisada served with flour tortillas; A Viet-Cajun crawfish boil; and a corny dog eaten at the State Fair. I could continue, but I reckon my point is that the rich diversity of cultures that inhabit our state makes for a most unique regional cuisine.
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