A writer and chef are on a quest to tell the world about Texas Mexican food, the cooking of South Texas and northern Mexico that predates and spans the border. A customer eats at El Puesto No. 2, on San Antonio’s West Side. The 17-year-old restaurant serves what the chef and writer Adán Medrano calls Texas Mexican cooking, the indigenous food of South Texas.CreditJohn Taggart for The New York Times
HOUSTON — This city’s Second Ward is full of temptations for Adán Medrano, a writer, and chef who lives just a few miles southeast.
The Mexican-American neighborhood is home to the perfect flaky tortillas at Doña María Mexican Cafe, scratch-made in flour or corn, and ready to be folded around eggs with the fine threads of dried beef called machacado. It has the off-menu roasted tamales at the Original Alamo Tamales, with blackened husks and caramelized edges of masa and meat. And there’s Taqueria Chabelita, where the owner, Isabel Henriquez Hernandez, makes pinto beans whose smoky intensity comes not from pork fat, but from a slow char in a hot pan.
For Mr. Medrano, who grew up in San Antonio with generations of relatives on both sides of the Rio Grande, this is all his comfort food, his culinary heritage, his comida casera, or Mexican home cooking.
Just don’t call it Tex-Mex, he said. He prefers to describe it as Texas Mexican, which is also how he describes himself.Adán Medrano, right, eats breakfast at Doña María Mexican Cafe in Houston. The restaurant has perfectly prepared flour and corn tortillas, said Mr. Medrano, who considers both traditional in Texas Mexican cooking.CreditJohn Taggart for The New York Times
Texas Mexican is the indigenous cooking of South Texas, according to Mr. Medrano, 71, whose second cookbook, “Don’t Count the Tortillas: The Art of Texas Mexican Cooking,” will be published in June by Texas Tech University Press. It’s the food that’s been made by families like his on this land since before the Rio Grande marked a border when Texas was a part of Mexico, and long before then. You have 3 free articles remaining. To The Times
Don’t get him wrong: Tex-Mex is a cuisine that should be respected and celebrated, he said. It’s just that Tex-Mex standards like queso and combo fajitas piled high with chicken and shrimp don’t speak of home to those whose Texas roots go back some 12,000 years.
“That’s not our food,” said Mr. Medrano, who has spent the better part of a decade defining his cuisine, inspiring a growing number of Texas Mexicans in the process. “We don’t eat like that.”
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You can find Texas Mexican here at Mr. Medrano’s Houston go-tos, and at decades-old San Antonio West Side lunch spots like Old Danny’s Cocina, or even newer favorites like El Puesto No. 2 down the street. It’s at Maria’s Restaurant in downtown McAllen and at Cafe Amiga in Brownsville, both run by granddaughters of their founders.
It is dishes like chicken poached with striped green squash and corn, the tomato-noodle soup called fideo, and gulf shrimp and cactus stewed in a mix of dried red chiles. It’s the simple ground beef picadillo or the beef-and-potato stew called Carne guisada, both subtly seasoned with a pounded paste of black peppercorn, garlic, and cumin, which Mr. Medrano describes as the Texas Mexican version of the Cajun holy trinity. Sopa de fideo, a tomato-noodle soup, is a Texas Mexican dish eaten all over San Antonio. At Old Danny’s Cocina, a cup comes free with the daily lunch specials.CreditJohn Taggart for The New York Times
It is what Juan Hernandez, of Doña María Mexican Cafe, has always described as “mama-style cooking”— the mama in this case being his wife, Anna Hernandez, who grew up a block away from the restaurant and is a co-owner. Mr. Hernandez would never call the food she makes Tex-Mex; in fact, it inspired Tex-Mex.
That began in the early 1900s, when local Mexican-American home cooking was first adapted in restaurants run “by Anglos for Anglos,” Mr. Medrano said. In the 1970s, writers started referring to that hybridized cuisine as Tex-Mex: refried beans as smooth as pancake batter; chili made with powdered spices and stock, instead of the carne con chiles based on whole dried red chiles; fajitas with anything other than the skirt steak that gave the dish its name; and extra cheese on everything.Juan Hernandez, of Doña María Mexican Cafe in Houston, has never used the term Tex-Mex to describe the restaurant’s food; he calls it “mama-style cooking.”CreditJohn Taggart for The New York Times
The idea of distinguishing Texas Mexican from Tex-Mex came to him after he enrolled in the Culinary Institute of America program in San Antonio in 2010, after careers in producing and writing for television, and awarding foundation grants to nonprofit arts and education projects. Mr. Medrano, who also founded San Antonio’s annual Latino film festival in 1977, originally took the classes for fun, he said, but they led him to an epiphany: After decades in the shadows, his food needed not just a champion, but a name.
Mr. Medrano didn’t want to use the word Tejano, because it is sometimes used to highlight Spanish colonial ancestry rather than native heritage, and because spelling Texas with a J instead of an X is a European practice.
He came up with a better term after learning about the distinct regional cuisines of Mexico, realizing that he had essentially grown up with one of his own. “You have Oaxacan Mexican, you have Jaliscan Mexican,” Mr. Medrano said. “Why not Texas Mexican?”
His initial research on the history of this food became his first cookbook, “Truly Texas Mexican: A Native Culinary Heritage in Recipes,” published in 2014.For his cookbooks and documentary, Mr. Medrano spent hours discussing Texas Mexican food with chefs like Isabel Henriquez Hernandez of Taqueria Chabelita in Houston.CreditJohn Taggart for The New York Times
Since then, Mr. Medrano has traveled the region, cooking, lecturing at schools and museums, and gathering knowledge from chefs, anthropologists and home cooks, many of whom are quoted in “Don’t Count the Tortillas.” (This summer he will even make carne guisada tacos at a Fourth of July celebration in Moscow, at the residence of the United States ambassador to Russia.)
Mr. Medrano is also the executive producer, writer and host of a forthcoming bilingual documentary, “The Roots of Texas Mexican Food,” slated for release this fall. (He is pitching it to TV providers in the United States and Latin America.) The film focuses on Texas’ archaeological and historical sites, and on the women who have been the primary architects of the cuisine.
His work has been revelatory for restaurateurs like Sylvia Casares, a well-known Houston chef who operates Sylvia’s Enchilada Kitchen. “I had been searching for 20 years for how to describe my food,” said Ms. Casares, who is originally from Brownsville, at the state’s southeastern edge.
Ms. Casares met Mr. Medrano after he recommended her restaurant to a Houston reporter as a place to taste hallmarks of the cuisine, especially her enchiladas. Her crew makes hundreds a day the Texas Mexican way, each tortilla bathed in chile sauce and softened in hot oil before being rolled around its filling.
And what about the blanket of cheese on top? “There’s a little on there for looks,” Ms. Casares said.The enchilada sampler platters at Sylvia’s Enchilada Kitchen in Houston showcase the flavors of this region. The chef Sylvia Casares makes more than a dozen kinds, each named after the areas of Texas and Mexico that inspired them.CreditJohn Taggart for The New York Times
Ms. Casares said Mr. Medrano’s work corrects both a lack of vocabulary and a lack of knowledge about history, even for some Mexican-Americans. “The problem with most people is they can’t get their heads around Texas’ indigenous foods,” she said.
Like many Mexican-American restaurateurs, she puts both Tex-Mex and Texas Mexican items on her menu. (Some dishes can overlap, or fall somewhere in between.) Most of her customers assume those that appear more traditionally Mexican were imported.
Yet these are not “south-of-the-border” creations, said Mr. Medrano: “Texas Mexican didn’t cross the border, the border crossed it.”
Until the Mexican-American War ended in 1848, much of southern Texas was Mexico, and for centuries before that part of the Viceroyalty of New Spain. That’s why, to Mr. Medrano, the heart of Texas Mexican culture is an area that includes southern Texas — the Rio Grande Valley, Corpus Christi and greater San Antonio and Houston — but also part of the northern Mexican states of Chihuahua, Coahuila, Nuevo León, and Tamaulipas.
Those lie on the other side of the Rio Grande, but they share the same terroir, which includes mesquite and pecan trees; thickets of yucca and prickly pear cactus; staples like squash, beans, potatoes, chiles and corn; and seafood from the river and the Gulf of Mexico. It’s a subtropical zone that also supported thousands of head of cattle that followed the arrival of the Spanish in the 16th century.
In his research, Mr. Medrano was elated to find scholars who had occasionally used the term Texas Mexican, or had interviewed others who did. One of those was Mario Montaño, an anthropologist at Colorado College in Colorado Springs, whose focus is on food near the border. (His thesis was on barbacoa de cabeza, a cow’s head traditionally slow-cooked in a pit with hot stones, which Mr. Medrano’s family recently prepared on camera for his documentary.)
When Mr. Montaño grew up along the river in Eagle Pass, Tex., the water “was not a cultural separation,” he said.
Mr. Montaño describes this area’s cooking as influenced by centuries of mixing influences from trade, colonization, and migration from Europe, the Middle East, and Africa, as well as by Mexicans living in southern regions moving north.