Part Two
The early morning drive from Del Rio to Marathon, our destination for this day, was pleasant and relaxing. Favorite Wife and I passed though small West Texas towns such as Comstock, Langtry, Pumpville, Dryden, and Sanderson. These towns, for the most part, were founded as a result of the railroad and once bustled a bit more than they are now. If there were enchiladas to be found in these places, it was not evident. As we made our way to Marathon, Brewster County, at the crossroads of Highways 90 and 385, we reveled in the smells of the desert, the creosote bush, and the clean air.
At Marathon, we checked into the historic Gage Hotel. I like to stay at the Gage whenever I am I the area. The accommodations are superb and the ambience is second to none if you can relate to ranching and western culture. After carrying our bags into the room we set about on foot and via vehicle in search of some places that might serve up a superb enchilada. Sad to say, none were found, but as suppertime drew close, we were to accidentally stumble onto a wonderful surprise.
We decided to dine at the restaurant adjacent to the Gage. It is a well-known eatery and had been reviewed positively in several newspapers and magazines. It is a pricey place, but that is because they serve high quality meals prepared by experienced chefs. I’ve eaten at one version or another of this restaurant over the past few decades years and have always been pleased.
After FW and I entered the establishment, we headed for the bar for a pre-meal drink. I was in the mood for a margarita. I’m picky about margaritas, requiring only high-quality 100% blue agave tequila, fresh squeezed limes, and triple sec. None of those sweet foo-foo and flavored margaritas for me like they serve in the South and north of the Mason-Dixon Line. I asked the young man tending bar how be made his margaritas and he replied, “How would you like them?” That was the perfect response, so I told him. He got to work, and crafted a fine drink.
Following drinks we moved into the dining room and perused the menu. To my delight, I discovered one of the entrees was enchiladas. Not just any old enchiladas, but duck enchiladas. I had to have them. FW, as is her habit, ordered a salad.
When the food arrived, it signaled an elevation into another realm of delight. FW’s salad was beautifully constructed, colorful, and delicious. And the enchiladas! They were stacked, the way I had them when I was growing up, and layered with duck meat, and a tasty pico-style sauce. Atop the stack was a fried duck egg! I can’t remember what kind of wine I ordered to go with the enchiladas, for everything else was forgotten when I bit into them. The enchiladas were perfect: flavor, texture, presentation, everything. Thus far, these were the finest enchiladas encountered on this expedition, and they set a standard that would make any others encountered on this expedition difficult to beat.
But we were certainly going to give it a shot.