One of the exciting things about being on the southern boundary is the inundation of Mexican food. To be fair, though, I started noticing a lot of authentic Mexican restaurants from as far back as the north-central panhandle (yeah, think about it). As unlikely as it seems, I've been eating good Mexican food for about 1500 hundred miles.
However, facility and ease are important to me, especially being on foot. Before hitting El Paso all the way until now, I had to sort of take the Mexican food whenever I chanced upon it. I got burned a couple of times, but I also found some real gems in the desert.
In Del Rio, locals and tourists alike really enjoy Fisherman's Headquarters, a little bar-restaurant attached to a gas station. For me, I could walk there from the Broke Mill RV park where I stayed on Hwy 90 (which, as far as RV parks go, is a swank place; I still can't believe the owner Mike cut me a deal at $12 bucks a night). I've been on a chicharron kick lately (also known as 'pig skin'), and this place did a pretty good job.
In Quemado, I couldn't figure out what locals most enjoyed, but I went to a little grocery which also had a restaurant. I missed the name, but it's the only place in the north of town (and it's a really small town). I wanted some quick tacos, but they didn't have chicharron. All they had was barbacoa (barbecue) and chorizo con papas (hot sausage and potatoes). I didn't care too much for the former, but the latter was fantastic. I got the last of it, and I was glad for it. I got Raisin a scoop of barbacoa, and she was really really excited (Quick disclaimer: I'm not saying it was dog food. It was good, just not as good as the other.).
Smack in between Quemado and Eagle Pass was a little place called M&M Cafe. There was literally nothing around it, not in the way of development. I stationed Raisin in some shade and went in. It was mom and pop operation, and I greeted the woman in English. She wouldn't have it. She replied in Spanish, saying - and I'm guessing here - "Now, now. We'll have none of that in here. Why don't you speak Spanish to me?" I obliged and asked her how she was doing. She smiled and asked what I would like. Chicharron, I said. Haven't these people figured this out by now? She brought it out about ten minutes later, a single perfect taco of pig skin. The skin was crispy and mixed with eggs, and there was salsa on the side. I carefully put some aside for Raisin (if she's going to hike with me, she's going to eat pig skin). Delicious. Outside, Raisin looked at it and was skeptical at first, but in a moment devoured what I'd given her. My kind of dog.
In Eagle Pass, I foolishly filled up on camping food on the outskirts of town. I'm also wondering what happened to my infinite appetite. While I'm processing trail mix and what not, I'm keeping an eye out on every place I pass, and I've passed several. To borrow a phrase from Clerks, I feel like a salsa shark.
Anyway, we're having a good time and enjoying all this good food. Andale, perro!
Until next time...