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FEATURE:
I like it here. A lot. I don’t want to live anywhere else … not in
the “intellectual capitol of the country” up there in Massachusetts,
or in the “financial capitol of the world” on the Hudson, or in the
oh, so very cool “City” (they always capitalize it) on the bay in the
over-taxed so-called “Golden State.” Even the foggy, misty super-
progressive city up in Oregon where a bunch of my relatives live,
and which does indeed have many virtues (and fine wines and din-
ing) can’t pull me away.
Why, you ask, am I so hooked on San Antonio? One of the major
reasons (besides the lack of snow, reasonable traffic, laid back atti-
tude toward almost everything and friendly people) can be expressed
in two words: Mexican food. One of my daughters once said that
she would never eat Mexican food north of Dallas or east of Hous-
ton. I think she spread her net too widely: I might say “…north of
Boerne or east of Universal City.”
“What set off this tirade?” you might wonder: On May 30th, 25
or so friends from the band I’m in ended up at a Mexican restaurant
after the Memorial Day concert we were supposed to play was can-
celed because of the rain. Another man, originally from Cincinnati
and I commented on just the fact that we were really enjoying the
goodies, and how different it was from our youth, and how our
tastes had evolved with time. I commented that every now and then
my serum enchilada level got so low that I had to get a hit of Tex-
Mex.
Now, you have to understand that I grew up in the 1950s in an
area where salt is considered a spice, and in a family with a tradition had a tamale-making hen party each year at someone’s home. It filled
of midwesternized Germanic/Scandinavian cuisine. Mexican food
on the north side of Chicago consisted of tamales that came out of
a can. They were wrapped in a sort of waxed paper and you could
open a can of chili to put over them. No one ever had heard of salsa.
On the rare occasions that I got out of the Midwest it was to visit
other family or with a youth organization where our choices were
limited by how much cash we had. My mother’s and grandmother’s
cooking was, if nothing else, nutritious, but no one would ever call
it exciting. In 1961, right after graduation from the University of
Illinois (not a culinary center), my wife of two weeks and I came to
Fort Sam Houston for six weeks of Army indoctrination and we had
a tiny exposure to Mexican food at La Fonda on Broadway. It was
good, but by our standards today it was pretty bland Alamo Heights
Tex-Mex. After two years in Philadelphia we came back here and I
went into veterinary practice.
One of the doctors at the first animal hospital I worked at invited
us over for a party that first summer and served jalapeño poppers.
EVOLUTION
OMG! How could anyone eat those? Slowly, slowly I learned to ap-
preciate increasing levels of cumin and chile powder and cilantro
and various capsicum peppers. We tried tacos and burritos and
chorizo and migas and barbacoa and lengua and flour tortillas and
pan dulce and tomatillos and all the rest of it. We went to different
Mexican restaurants with different styles and learned the differences.
Then I went to medical school here in San Antonio and, ultimately
to the University of Arkansas Medical Center to do my orthopaedic
residency. There was one episode of deprivation in between: I did a
six-week rotation as a senior student in Portland, Oregon. At the
time, the only Mexican food available there was an early Taco Bell.
It helped, but just didn’t compare.
Little Rock in the mid ‘70s was not a hub of ethnic food choices.
Someone told us that there was a really good Mexican restaurant
across the river in North Little Rock, so we went over there. Let me
limit my criticism to the most egregious thing they did: they put
chopped cabbage in their guacamole. The rest of the food wasn’t
very good either. We drove home to San Antonio once a year. We
packed light so that we could carry essential supplies back to
Arkansas: the cooler and the trunk were loaded with frozen tortillas,
salsa, preserved jalapeños, etc. and my culinarily talented wife
learned to make really superior enchiladas and other delights.
We got back to S.A. as soon as possible and I went into or-
thopaedic practice and kept the capsaicin levels above deficiency and
need for supplementation. After a few years, my wife learned to
make tamales from my office manager and she and my staff ladies
the house with great smells … and lots and lots of words. Today,
there are still more new restaurants to try, new flavors and combi-
nations and life on the taco front (all types, crispy, soft, puffy, etc.)
is good.
So, all of you native Texans are sort of thinking “Big deal. He likes
Mexican food.” My friend, go without for a few years. Tex-Mex and
real Mexican restaurants abound all over the country now. But, from
what I can tell, there’s nothing like sitting in a little storefront restau-
rant here at home, where we are the only native English speakers,
and chowing down on their special lengua and nopales. Can’t do
that in Duluth.
Fred H. Olin, M.D., is a semi-retired orthopaedic surgeon
and a member of the BCMS Communications/Publications
Committee.
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