Austin is hot a good nine months out of the year. Actually, hot is just the beginning: The last couple weeks of July, we move way past hot. And this is not a languid, lazy heat I’m talking about. It’s stiff and aggressive. The air seizes up around you, and nightfall doesn’t bring any relief. Harsh light fades street signs and peels paint off cars; the grass turns brown and crispy. Austin stays hot past Labor Day, past the first day of school, long after the rest of the country has cozied up to their sweater weather and pumpkin-spiced treats.
But people here live outdoors. The lines for barbecue can be just as long in April as they are in August, the bar patios just as full. A little hot weather isn’t going to stop us from enjoying this city, and I don’t believe it’s that famous Texan stubbornness at play.
The food’s just that good.
The barbecue in Austin needs no introduction: The smoked brisket, ribs, and sausage around here are world famous. And the tacos! Breakfast tacos, of course, but there’s a taco for every meal here. And we do indeed know how to pour a decent margarita, whether you like yours top shelf or strawberry frozen.
Austin’s food prowess doesn’t stop there. We’ve always had food trucks (where do you think the tacos come from?), but in recent years there’s been an entire food truck renaissance. We have more fine-dining restaurants than ever before, and a whole world of international restaurants have opened. You can now get food in Austin you wouldn’t have dreamed of a decade ago. And as for the barbecue and tacos and margaritas, they’re still around. In fact, they’re better than ever.
The world has noticed. Austin’s restaurants regularly receive national acclaim, and the city has become a destination for hungry travelers. On any given weekend, you’ll find throngs of tourists not just here for the music scene or University of Texas football (hook ’em). They come for the barbecue and the tacos and the sushi and the mezcal and the food trucks as well.
Except in August. In August, we keep the city to ourselves. Who else would wait for barbecue in that heat?
Ask anyone who has lived in Austin longer than about a year and they will sigh and tell you how the city has changed. Some of them will mourn the good ol’ days, when the rent was cheap and the beer was cheaper. But one thing that’s definitely better now than in the good ol’ days? The food.
When I first moved here in 2006—that’s right, I’m not from Texas—the Austin restaurant scene was just beginning to emerge from its hippie diner and Tex-Mex dive reputation. There were a few bright spots, of course, and Austin has always had great barbecue and tacos, but in many ways this was still a college town better known for its music scene than its food.
That was about to change. A food revolution was happening across the country, and Austin became one of its hubs. People move here from all over Texas and the rest of the country, bringing their food traditions and flavors with them. Locals and transplants alike turned the city into a buzzy home to food trucks and farm-to-table restaurants and, yes, launched a revolution in American barbecue.
Old Austin hasn’t disappeared: The air still smells like wood smoke and the tortillas are still fresh. Kerbey Lane’s still here, as are Magnolia Cafe and Matt’s El Rancho and Maudie’s and more. And while not everything has survived the city’s boom—the much-beloved Las Manitas comes to mind—many institutions still carry the torch of old Austin. We can still find our beloved cheap beer and breakfast tacos; now we can turn around the next night and dine at some of the best restaurants in the country.
Austin became such a hotbed for restaurants because this city is blessed with unbelievable natural resources: the incredibly fertile food traditions of Central Texas, a nearly year-round growing season, and a seemingly endless supply of passionate young entrepreneurs. Pair these with a hungry citizenship that has never met a patio it didn’t love—not to mention the festivals that bring sun-starved tourists to town every spring and fall—and you’ve got the ideal environment for a major restaurant city.
Here’s how I learned to love Tex-Mex, and began to love Austin.
When I was twenty-two years old, I put my cat and everything I owned into a Honda Civic and drove straight down I-35 from my college town in Iowa, basically on a whim. I had never been to Texas before. The plan was to spend a year waitressing and drinking beer in Austin and then ship off to grad school. Except I never left.
I did get a job waitressing, though, at a Tex-Mex restaurant near my house. At first it was a disaster. The clientele couldn’t understand my ridiculously thick midwestern accent, and I was so unfamiliar with the food that I had to ask what migas were before my first brunch shift.
But, eventually, I learned how to pepper my waitressing pitch with y’all. I learned the food and clientele well enough that I could almost predict what a table would order just by looking at them. This guy’s going to try to impress his date by adding top-shelf floaters to their margaritas, the girls’ night out table of twentysomethings are all ordering sour cream enchiladas and chicken fajitas, the older couple will have the same puffy taco combo platter they’ve been sharing each week for thirty years.
There was one woman in her seventies, Dorothy, who came in a couple times a week in the middle of the afternoon. She always ordered the same thing: a single beef tamale with chile gravy and a Colorado Bulldog.
A Colorado Bulldog is basically a White Russian with cola poured in it—it tastes better than it sounds. We served it in a tall, tulip-shaped glass, the kind that typically holds an old-fashioned ice cream sundae. The restaurant only had a couple of these glasses, and we kept them tucked away on the top shelf of the bar. (Why we didn’t stash them somewhere easy in anticipation of Dorothy’s arrival is beyond me.) It took long enough to retrieve the glass that the bartender on shift would keep an eye out for her car through the window during the after-lunch slump, and start making the drink before she even entered the restaurant.
The last week or so that I worked there, Dorothy came in and I told her I was leaving for a new job. She smiled and asked me if I knew why she ordered that lone tamale every time. Turns out her late husband used to come in with her every week and get the full order: three tamales, smothered with chili gravy, with rice and beans on the side. He’d eat two and the rice and beans; Dorothy would eat one of them.
I asked her what the deal was with the Colorado Bulldog. “Honey,” she said, “you sleep in the same bed with a man who eats that many tamales, you’re gonna need a stiff drink.”
That’s the day I learned the first rule of Tex-Mex: Always get exactly what you want. Don’t order the margarita just because everyone else in the restaurant is ordering margaritas, get the drink you truly want, the one that comes in the glass that’s a pain for the bartender to reach. Order the single, off-menu tamale as a memorial to your late husband; eat only half if you’re not hungry. One of the beauties of Tex-Mex is that it’s an endlessly customizable cuisine—that’s why they make the combo platters, after all—so if you’re not getting exactly what you want, you’re doing it wrong.
That’s the beauty of Austin, too. This is a different city for every single person who has ever loved it. If you want old Austin, those places still exist. If you want new Austin, there are endless options to explore.
The Austin I love is a mix of both old and new. Here, you’ll find Tex-Mex next to food trucks, diner breakfast next to fine pastries. My goal for this book was to include a little bit of everyone’s Austin, whether you were born and raised here, went to the University of Texas for four years, or came here once for SXSW. If you don’t see your favorite restaurant, know that it simply means Austin is too jam-packed with amazing restaurants to fit them all in one book.
No matter what your Austin looks like, I sincerely hope you see it in these pages.
The dishes in this cookbook come from some of the great Austin restaurants. In fact, in many ways this book doubles as a restaurant guide. The recipes were selected to highlight what’s unique, beloved, and/or especially Texan about each place, and they will help you re-create a taste of Austin in your own kitchen.
These recipes have not been dumbed down or simplified from the restaurant versions. While many of the recipes are easy enough for beginners, this isn’t really intended to be a book full of quick weeknight meals. Every single dish here has been tested in my home kitchen, and I promise they are all possible in yours—given enough time, a little bit of skill, and the right equipment. (To be clear, I’m not talking mad-scientist-futuristic-million-dollar food lab stuff here, I’m talking offset smokers and pizza stones.)
Often, these dishes have more components than a typical home-cooked meal, with sauces and garnishes galore. In fact, many of the garnishes are great on their own, like the corn nuts on Odd Duck’s Sweet Potato Nachos (this page), or the Grapefruit Salsa (this page) for the Swift’s Attic puffy tacos (this page).
There are also recipes that use very specific ingredients, especially when it comes to spices, seasonings, booze, and other flavorings. I urge you to use these ingredients where you can in order to get your dish as close to the restaurant’s version as possible. In other words, you can use whatever type of bottom-shelf swill tequila you like in your margaritas, but it will only taste like Fonda San Miguel’s if you use a 100% agave silver tequila.
Some of these dishes are super traditional, while others take modern liberties. This might not be how your grandmother makes chile con carne (or kolache, or macaroni and cheese, or pecan pie), but rather how each restaurant envisions the dish. Austin’s restaurants pride themselves on their tasty creativity, and that’s what is highlighted here. Accordingly, some of these recipes will seem more intensely seasoned than what you’re used to, or maybe a bit fussy. Know that every step and ingredient is included to help you achieve restaurant-quality results.
Austin and the surrounding regions are blessed with multiple growing seasons and access to regionally beloved ingredients, such as fresh flour tortillas, local grapefruit, a wide variety of fresh and dried chiles, and multiple styles of “party cheese” (Velveeta being the most common nationwide). Here’s a quick guide to using common regional ingredients, with substitutions listed where it’s appropriate.
BLACK PEPPER: More than any other flavor, Central Texas tastes like black pepper. It flavors Texas-style barbecue, plays prominently in Tex-Mex, and is used in everything from cocktails to breakfast dishes. It may seem like kind of a basic spice to form the backbone of a regional cuisine, but when you use it in the quantity Texans do, it becomes pretty distinctive. This is not a time to fuss with a pepper mill—some of these recipes call for up to ¼ cup (28 g) of pepper. In these cases, the preground stuff is suitable. Stock up.
BLACKENING SEASONING: Blackening seasoning is a spice blend typically associated with Cajun cooking, but it occasionally pops up in Texan food as well. Several recipes in this book call for blackening spice, and instructions are provided for blending your own (this page). (Leftovers of which will keep in an airtight container in the pantry for months.) However, store-bought blackening spice is a totally acceptable shortcut.
CHAYOTE: Also called mirliton, chayote is a vegetable related to squash, cucumbers, and melons, and it is often used in Latin American cooking. If you can’t find it, you can substitute any summer squash, but chayote has a unique texture that’s worth seeking out.
CHEESE: First of all, you must use processed cheese where it is called for. Get out of here with your cheese snobbery. The recipes that call for processed cheese will not work with any other kind, so don’t even try.
The most common brand of processed cheese is Velveeta, but any variety will do. American cheese is slightly different from processed cheese, although you can use them in recipes more or less interchangeably. (The texture will be slightly different.) If you cannot find blocks of American cheese in the cooler at your grocery store (you don’t want to use the plastic-wrapped, presliced stuff), ask at the deli meats counter.
Recipes that require a yellow, melty cheese typically call for mild cheddar, but Colby would also work.
As for Mexican cheese, this book makes use of three: Oaxacan, Cotija, and queso fresco. If you can’t find Oaxacan cheese, you can substitute Monterey Jack. The textures of the other two cheeses are a bit harder to replicate, but a mild, crumbly feta would work in a pinch.
FRESH CHILES: The spiciness of a fresh chile will vary depending on the season. Removing the seeds and veins will tone down the heat, but even the relatively mild jalapeño can light a fire if it's in the mood for it.
CHILE POWDER: Many different varieties of dried chile powders and blends are available, from chipotle to pasilla to ancho to Sneaky Pete’s 17-Alarm Texas Chili Seasoning. (I made that last one up, but specialty blends abound.) Try to use the variety called for, but in a pinch you can swap it out for whatever you can get your hands on—even if it’s just a generic jar labeled “chili powder.”
CHILE SALT: Chile salt blends are more common in Mexico than in the United States, but they’re incredibly popular in Texas. Brands like Tajín are delicious sprinkled on freshly cut fruit or used to rim drinks like margaritas or the Cucurbit (this page).
CHIPOTLE: Chipotles are smoked jalapeños. You can get them canned in a tangy vinegar-based adobo sauce, as dried whole chiles, or ground into a powder. Recipes throughout this book call for all three varieties.
CHORIZO: Mexican chorizo is a spiced bulk ground sausage. (There’s also a Spanish chorizo, but that’s entirely different from what we’re talking about here.) Buy the highest quality you can find because, first of all, it tastes better, and second of all, some low-end varieties contain fillers.
CREMA: Crema is similar to sour cream, except it doesn’t separate when heated. If a recipe calls for crema, don’t try to substitute sour cream—crème frâiche or even heavy cream would be a better substitute.
CUMIN: Cumin is another prevalent spice in Texan cooking—a cook I interviewed for this book referred to it as “Tex-Mex pepper.” You can buy ground cumin, but if you want full impact, buy the whole seeds, then toast them and grind them yourself.
GRANULATED GARLIC POWDER: Over the course of writing this book, it became very clear that if a dish had a secret ingredient, it was either going to be soy sauce or granulated garlic powder. Granulated garlic powder is a very specific ingredient: It is not simple garlic powder, or garlic salt, or roasted garlic powder. It has a different texture and flavor. I’m not saying these dishes won’t be good if you substitute one of these inferior garlic powders for granulated garlic powder, I’m just saying they won’t be correct.
GRAPEFRUIT: We’re lucky enough in Texas to have access to local citrus. Texas grapefruits often have juicy, red interiors—Ruby Red grapefruits first appeared here—and can be kind of, well, ugly on the outside. Don’t let that deter you: The fruit itself is tart and bright and much more flavorful than standard grocery store citrus.
MASA: Masa is made from ground, nixtamalized corn—the same process used to create the corn nuts on this page. Masa is what goes into corn tortillas and corn chips, as well as puffy taco shells (this page) and masa empanadas (this page).
PAPRIKA: Paprika is another spice that’s prevalent in Texas cooking, likely due to the influence of nineteenth-century Czech immigrants. It’s often used for its brick-red color as much as its flavor. There are several types of paprika out there; generally speaking, mild paprika will work best in these recipes.
PECANS: Pecans are everywhere in Austin. Everywhere. My house has five pecan trees on the lot, and starting in October it thunders pecans on the roof every time it gets windy. Thankfully, there are all kinds of ways to put this natural bounty to work.
If you don’t live in Texas, use the highest quality pecans you can. They’ll be expensive, but it’s worth it for good pecans. If you do live in Texas (or Louisiana, or Arkansas, or Oklahoma, or . . .), make friends with someone who lives with a pecan tree and get cracking. Have you heard how much your northern friends are paying for nuts that are literally falling from the sky for free? Don’t be ungrateful.
PEPITAS: Pepitas are the dried hulled seeds of pumpkins. You can buy them raw and toast them and salt them yourself, or buy them preroasted. These are mostly used as garnishes that add a vital crunch and earthy flavor.
PRICKLY PEARS: Prickly pears are the fruit of the nopal cactus. You can also find them in stores under their Spanish name, tunas. Prickly pears are most often a deep, delightful pink, making anything made from their juice unmistakable. They’re called “prickly” for a reason—this is a cactus we’re talking about—and they need to be carefully peeled before consuming. It’s easiest to stick a fork in the fruit’s end to hold it steady, then use a sharp knife to cut off the outermost layer.
SEAFOOD: Gulf seafood is recommended for all the seafood recipes in this book. Austin is a few hours’ drive from the Gulf of Mexico, and eating fresh seafood here is not as outrageous as our landlocked status might lead you to believe. It was not that long ago that the future of the Gulf and its seafood was uncertain, thanks to the horrific damage done by the Deepwater Horizon oil spill. Thankfully, good-quality shrimp, oysters, and fish are still available from the Texas coast. So eat them.
TEQUILA/MEZCAL: Always 100 percent agave, but beyond that, use what you like.
TORTILLAS: Walk into almost any Austin supermarket and you’re going to see a pile of freshly made corn and flour tortillas, steaming up the plastic bags they’re sold in. I understand that good tortillas can be hard to find, especially flour tortillas. No matter what you have access to, get the freshest tortillas you can and make sure you heat them before serving (see this page).
WILD BOAR: Wild boar is an invasive species to Texas, and they cause crop destruction, property damage, and car accidents all across the state—see Chef Jesse Griffiths’s explanation on this page. Thankfully, they’re also delicious. You can order wild boar online, or, if you live in Austin, you can purchase it at the Dai Due butcher counter. Otherwise, substitute pork.