"Texas does not simply have indigenous dishes. It proclaims them. I congratulates you at having escaped the slop pails of the other 49 states."

I had mixed emotions when I heard that I would be moving to Texas. These emotions ranged from dread and utter dispair to curiosity and anxiety. Strangely enough, tucked away somewhere among those mostly negative emotions was something that felt like happiness.

Was it joy? Could it be delight?

As my stomach growled with pleasure, I lost myself in a daydream. I was standing in the middle of THE mecca of Mexican food, surrounded by restaurant after restaurant that provided what I so dearly longed for. Cheese enchiladas covered in red sauce, garlic-laced rice, and salty refried beans flowed freely as if the supply would never run out. There was something good about Texas! I had found it! Surely being closer in proximity to Mexico would bring about endless delicious and exciting culinary adventures to fill our time and stomachs!

The days began to pass and the selection of "Mexican" restaurants in our little town of Denton began to dwindle. We tried so many different places but the food was tainted! What was this food that the locals bragged about? What was this hideous imitation of the food in my daydream?

Tex-Mex.

A joke- a mere caricature of the real thing. This was not going to work.

But then, just when all hope was about to be lost, a mirage came into focus on the horizon. A play on the eyes, a beacon of hope in my darkest hour.

Joe T. Garcia's MEXICAN Restaurant. My daydream perfectly executed in real-life.


Oh, the sign may be rusty, but the food is pure bliss. People wait for hours in lines around the block for their chance to partake, possibly because "Joe T's," as it is so lovingly nicknamed, is the only place in northwest Texas to get GOOD MEXICAN food. (Texans, don't even try to tell me that you know of this little "off-the-beaten-path-hole-in-the-wall-amazing" place in such-and-such town. My faith in you has simply run out.)


Yes, my friends, it is worth the 45 minute drive to Fort Worth and the fight through the traffic in the historic stockyards. It is even worth getting trampled by a longhorn in the daily cattle run. (Really, there is a twice-daily cattle run through the streets of Fort Worth. Only in Texas...)


There are only two items on the menu: the enchilada dinner and fajitas. But those two items are so delectible that they keep patrons coming back for more.

My entree of choice, the enchilada dinner, consists of the following: chips and salsa, two appetizer nachos, (each the size of a plate...) two beef tacos, guacomole, rice, beans, freshly-made corn tortillas, and two cheese enchiladas. And yes, folks, I am proud to say that once I ate the whole thing by myself. (It was long ago, at the depths of my mexican food deprivation. And I have vowed never to do that to myself again. But that is another story for another day.)

Friends, if you find yourselves in the DFW Metroplex area any time in the near future, heed this advice: don't believe the signs that you see that say "Authentic Mexican Food" at places like "Bob's Big Country Tex-Mex." They are LIARS. All of them. Big LIARS. Just brave the heat and stand in line as long as it takes at Joe T. Garcia's. Trust me, it will be worth the wait.

"Texas is a state of mind. Texas is an obsession. Above all, Texas is a nation in every sense of the word. A Texan outside of Texas is a foreigner."

The first time I drove into Texas was in March of 2007. My husband had an audition at the University of North Texas and as a devoted (and a somewhat controlling) wife, I felt the need to accompany him to our possible future home.

The 450 mile trip had taken us from the crisp end of a Missouri winter to the luscious and colorful beginning of a Texas spring. As a lover of all things warm, I was delighted when I stepped out of the car and felt the sun shining on my skin. (It was the perfect time of year for my favorite ensemble of clothing: jeans, a hoodie, and flip flops.) The crepe myrtles were in full bloom, the grass was Ireland-green, and there was next-to-no humidity. "Wow," I thought, "I can do this."

Little did I know, Texas springs last for about two weeks. Summers last for five months. Winters are brown. There is no such thing as Autumn. The Four Seasons is a resort at 4150 Macarthur Boulevard in Irving.

John Steinbeck, pulitzer and nobel prize winning author of The Grapes of Wrath, almost hit the nail on the head when he stated that "a Texan outside of Texas is a foreigner." What may be more accurate to say is that a non-Texan in Texas is a foreigner.

Call it alien, exotic, or unnatural, but one thing is for sure: one year of living in Texas has been ample time to realize that I just don't quite belong. Thus begins my ramblings of being a Midwest girl in Texas: things I love, hate, and am baffled by.