Mess With This Tex-Mex

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Mess With This Tex-Mex

Tex-Mex and I go way back.

For my first college gig, I hostessed at a rowdy, Tex-Mex restaurant: Caliente Cab Company. Famous for their frozen margaritas--evidenced by the monster cocktail beckoning from the facade--this was where locals went to get their tequila on, downing syrupy sweet margaritas or slamming shots wielded by bandolier-strapped waitresses. The edible offerings were cheesy, cheap, and filling--food was merely fuel for more boozing.

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A Manly Meal For A Birthday Girl

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A Manly Meal For A Birthday Girl

Thank goodness for girlfriends. 

Mine are especially rad with their simultaneous beauty, sass, and smarts, traits that could induce extreme envy, but instead keep me inspired.  Most of them enjoy eating (these aren't those "I'll just have a salad, hold the dressing" kind of gals), yet I'm admittedly the gourmandette:  the one who insists on ordering multiple desserts, who finishes everything on our shared plates, and who has a penchant for all things porcine.  Hence, my ladies let me pick the location for our monthly dinners.  For my birthday, I chose the Parish.

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Dinner: No Utensils Required

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Dinner: No Utensils Required

When I was young, it was a special treat to have breakfast for dinner. Whether it was waffles at home or pancakes at the local diner, supper was made special by simply reversing the order of eating.  Part of its appeal was the sheer fun of shaking things up, part was that we were breaking the rules.  Nowadays, when I want to recreate that childhood tradition, I order a sandwich for dinner.  

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Baco Slideshow

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Baco Slideshow

What is my aversion to writing about my favorite restaurants? It's not a question of selfishness, and that I want to keep them all to myself for fear of overcrowding. Quite the contrary--I want to scream from the rooftops about their excellence and share unforgettable meals with friends. No, I am afraid that my words won't adequately describe their awesomeness. Like a letter to a new love, I want each sentence to wholly embody my emotions, yet fret about misinterpretation. To quell my fear, I'm going to take a cue from teenagers, who use pictures, not words, to express their adoration (see: sexting) 

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