The Great Enchilada Tour
Part 1
There comes a time in the life of every healthy, fit, and right-thinking man the need for a quest. Since I have devoted the better part of my life to quests of various kinds, undertaking yet another is always an adventure in itself. Since I was in the mood for something low key, and since my favorite wife would be accompanying me, I settled on a quest to find the best plate of enchiladas in West Texas, a noble and important endeavor, I claim.
When I say West Texas, I mean that area west of the Pecos River clear to El Paso. The real West Texas. I know some people who live in places like Lubbock, Amarillo, and Dumas think they live in West Texas, but they don’t. They live in a geographic region that is called the Panhandle. The Panhandle has its own charm, and is aptly and beautifully treated in the songs of the great Butch Hancock, but it is not West Texas. Lubbock, for example, is about 400 miles north and east of El Paso.
Speaking of El Paso, for the purposes of this expedition we eliminated eateries found in that town, the only big city found west of the Pecos River. We will undertake a quest for the best enchiladas in El Paso in the near future. Stay tuned.
Some who live in Odessa and Midland may wish to quibble about this selectivity. These two cities lie about 100 miles east of the Pecos River and just at the bottom of the Panhandle. There may be some fine enchiladas to be found thereabouts, but like El Paso, they should be treated separately.
Stop number one on this journey was Del Rio. Del Rio is not quite west of the Pecos River but it’s close, just down the road. Doesn’t matter, though, because not a single high quality enchilada could be found in this town.
Lots of places that offered fine enchilada-type cuisine in years past we no longer in business. Though we searched high and low for a decent enchilada joint, not one could be found that left a truly positive impression.
In order to salve our loss, we decided to cross the border into Ciudad Acuña and snag an enchilada plate at Ma Crosby’s, long one of my favorite restaurants. This turned out not to be as easy as it has been in the past, For one thing, the free parking lot on the U.S side was fenced off and there was no place to park close to the border. We could chose to drive across and park at Lando’s for three dollars or drive a half-mile back to the north, pay for a parking space, and hike across. We chose the latter. After parking the car, we stepped briskly toward the crossing. Moments later, an SUV pulled up alongside and the driver, a pleasant woman, asked if we needed a lift.
Normally I wouldn’t hop into a vehicle driven by a stranger this close to a troublesome border town, especially with FW by my side, but I had a good feeling about the woman. During the short trip across the border, the driver was telling us about how bad things had gotten in Acuña because of drugs, immigration troubles, and more, and warned us to take care.
The driver dropped us off at the front door of Ma Crosby’s and bade us goodbye. To my dismay, the restaurant was closed. We learned it had different hours than I had long grown accustomed to. We looked up and down the street and saw little foot traffic and only a few vehicles. Not wishing to check out a couple of other eateries I knew deeper into the town, I suggested we start back.
On reaching the Mexican side of the crossing, I decided I was glad we didn’t drive across – cars and trucks were backed up for a great distance and the line seemed stagnant. Several cars had been targeted for searches, and while drivers and passengers stood in the sun, customs officers searched trunks and interiors, tossing out suitcases and other belongings as they did so.
The crossing and the hike back to the truck were uneventful. On arriving at our motel room in Del Rio, we began to look forward to the next day’s adventure, for our enchilada search would take us to Marathon.
There comes a time in the life of every healthy, fit, and right-thinking man the need for a quest. Since I have devoted the better part of my life to quests of various kinds, undertaking yet another is always an adventure in itself. Since I was in the mood for something low key, and since my favorite wife would be accompanying me, I settled on a quest to find the best plate of enchiladas in West Texas, a noble and important endeavor, I claim.
When I say West Texas, I mean that area west of the Pecos River clear to El Paso. The real West Texas. I know some people who live in places like Lubbock, Amarillo, and Dumas think they live in West Texas, but they don’t. They live in a geographic region that is called the Panhandle. The Panhandle has its own charm, and is aptly and beautifully treated in the songs of the great Butch Hancock, but it is not West Texas. Lubbock, for example, is about 400 miles north and east of El Paso.
Speaking of El Paso, for the purposes of this expedition we eliminated eateries found in that town, the only big city found west of the Pecos River. We will undertake a quest for the best enchiladas in El Paso in the near future. Stay tuned.
Some who live in Odessa and Midland may wish to quibble about this selectivity. These two cities lie about 100 miles east of the Pecos River and just at the bottom of the Panhandle. There may be some fine enchiladas to be found thereabouts, but like El Paso, they should be treated separately.
Stop number one on this journey was Del Rio. Del Rio is not quite west of the Pecos River but it’s close, just down the road. Doesn’t matter, though, because not a single high quality enchilada could be found in this town.
Lots of places that offered fine enchilada-type cuisine in years past we no longer in business. Though we searched high and low for a decent enchilada joint, not one could be found that left a truly positive impression.
In order to salve our loss, we decided to cross the border into Ciudad Acuña and snag an enchilada plate at Ma Crosby’s, long one of my favorite restaurants. This turned out not to be as easy as it has been in the past, For one thing, the free parking lot on the U.S side was fenced off and there was no place to park close to the border. We could chose to drive across and park at Lando’s for three dollars or drive a half-mile back to the north, pay for a parking space, and hike across. We chose the latter. After parking the car, we stepped briskly toward the crossing. Moments later, an SUV pulled up alongside and the driver, a pleasant woman, asked if we needed a lift.
Normally I wouldn’t hop into a vehicle driven by a stranger this close to a troublesome border town, especially with FW by my side, but I had a good feeling about the woman. During the short trip across the border, the driver was telling us about how bad things had gotten in Acuña because of drugs, immigration troubles, and more, and warned us to take care.
The driver dropped us off at the front door of Ma Crosby’s and bade us goodbye. To my dismay, the restaurant was closed. We learned it had different hours than I had long grown accustomed to. We looked up and down the street and saw little foot traffic and only a few vehicles. Not wishing to check out a couple of other eateries I knew deeper into the town, I suggested we start back.
On reaching the Mexican side of the crossing, I decided I was glad we didn’t drive across – cars and trucks were backed up for a great distance and the line seemed stagnant. Several cars had been targeted for searches, and while drivers and passengers stood in the sun, customs officers searched trunks and interiors, tossing out suitcases and other belongings as they did so.
The crossing and the hike back to the truck were uneventful. On arriving at our motel room in Del Rio, we began to look forward to the next day’s adventure, for our enchilada search would take us to Marathon.
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