dear texas. please send breakfast tacos from taco cabana.

Lately she’s written about gumbo, queso and crawfish, making me the Homesick Texan.

Spending time with Dave and Tara this week, our conversation turned once again to our plans to Eat Through Austin — a tour we consumed back in 2004 when Omar got married. That’s the last time I’ve been to Austin, and I hear it’s gone through some changes since then.

I know my Eat Through Austin pangs are bad when I’m craving Texadelphia or a sandwich from Thundercloud. That’s not just “Wow, I wish I could eat Salt Lick today” normal Austin nostalgia. I’m craving a sandwich on Oltorf. That’s got to be more about the feeling of being in Austin on a nice day, picking up a couple of sandwiches to take down by the lake, having the laziest of Sundays.

Is it too much to ask for one real Tex-Mex joint in Los Angeles? It seems every other person around here is from Texas. Why can’t we all get together and demand some decent migas?

Dammit, now I’m going to end up making homemade migas and queso and guacamole and buy some Shiner and find myself immobile on the couch stuffed with deliciousness and pain, weeping guilty tears from trying to create a gastric time machine. All because it’s a billion degrees outside and I can’t get to Trudy’s from here.

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