This summer, Texas restaurateurs waited with bated breath to hear if the state’s long standing “curse” at the James Beard Awards would finally come to an end. Texas has lagged behind other states at the annual awards (known as the Oscars of the food world), winning just three national titles over the last 34 years. And despite a solid showing of 39 semifinalists in January, only one chef from the Lone Star State took home an award in June: Ana Liz Pulido of Ana Liz Taqueria in Mission.
It should’ve been a celebratory moment, but not everyone was in a congratulatory mood. In response to the news, D Magazine ran a piece about Dallas’ losing streak that didn’t so much proclaim the city’s merits as it did cast doubt onto Pulido’s.
“It’s at least understandable to see restaurants from Chicago and D.C. taking home big awards. But a taco spot in Mission, Texas?” asked writer Brian Reinhart.
Reinhart continued, characterizing Pulido’s menu of fajitas, carnitas, and quesadillas as “not headline news in the rest of Texas,” insinuating that she wasn’t awarded on her talents, but rather under the guise of “making a statement” and “patronizing a lovable underdog.”
It’s gross, it’s disappointing, it’s… predictable.
Eight long years ago, Texas was thrust into the Great Taco War — a culinary feud sparked by an Eater Austin article that put the state’s capital city at odds with San Antonio. At its height, this debacle made national headlines, roped in city officials, and even got heated enough for celebrities to weigh in. (Pedro Pascal was team San Antonio, obviously).
In a reasonable world, this rivalry would never have gotten off the ground, not just because the article never actually declared San Antonio inferior, but also because, to anyone of sound mind and taste buds, Austin was clearly way, way out of its league. But we don’t live in a reasonable world, and while the feud has simmered, it hasn’t been forgotten.
When it comes to conversations about Texas, we’ve gotten into a nasty habit of letting Austin, Dallas, and Houston suck up all the oxygen in the room.
So why dredge up the past and open up this tense chapter in Texas food history? Because one aspect of the taco war deserves to be revisited: the complete and utter shutout of the Rio Grande Valley.
As Pulido told reporters after her win: “People go to San Antonio, but they don’t know the Rio Grande Valley.” The RGV is spoiled with options for good Tex-Mex and Mexican food. In addition to Ana Liz Taqueria, there are the mouthwatering barbacoa tacos at Vera’s Backyard Bar-B-Que in Brownsville, upscale Mexican eatery Salomé on Main (owned by James Beard Semifinalist, Larry Delgado), or El Pato — a Valley institution best known for its guisados — just to name a few. But it’s not just D Magazine that’s guilty of overlooking the Valley. Last month, when the Michelin Guide revealed that it would finally be coming to Texas, the announcement included Austin, Dallas, Fort Worth, Houston, and San Antonio, but not the RGV.
On some level, it makes sense. The Valley is huge — 4,300 square miles spanning four counties that stretch from the plains to the coast, and includes roughly 1.3 million people. But the vastness of the Valley isn’t the only factor. Its status as a bicultural, binational melting pot has made it a nexus for incredible art, music, and food, but also a target of misinformation about immigration and border violence. And given that its predominantly Hispanic, bilingual population is only predicted to keep growing (the RGV is currently one of the fastest-growing regions in the state), it might be easier for some to dismiss the Valley as an “underdog” instead of a cultural force.
Let me back up for a second and explain that I’m a San Antonio native who grew up on the city’s West Side — the kind of place that’s overflowing with incredible Tex-Mex spots, mostly no frills, family-run restaurants that serve the kind of tacos that make life worth living. I also grew up in a Mexican family, with a grandmother whose hands were impervious to the heat of any comal, and who could make a simple tortilla con mantequilla feel like a 5-star meal. (This is me bragging, but also backing up my credentials.)
When I moved to Austin ten years ago, and eventually became a journalist, it was only natural that I started writing about the things I missed: my family, my hometown, and the music and food I’d grown up with. Writing so much about Mexican-American culture, I started getting assignments that led me further south, and further south… and further south.
Eventually, I found myself going on reporting trips all across the Rio Grande Valley, from Brownsville to Raymondville, McAllen to Los Fresnos, and San Benito to Port Isabel, writing about hot peppers, the Regional Mexican music renaissance, and farm-to-table food. The more I did this, the more I heard a common refrain from the people I’d come to interview: “I’m so glad you’re writing about this. People act like Texas just stops after San Antonio.”
I didn’t fight them on it. I knew it was true.
Aside from a summer trip to South Padre Island, I’d spent most of my life in Texas never venturing further south than Corpus Christi, and I think most Texans who grew up north of San Antonio would likely say the same. If it wasn’t for the beach, a lot of Texans might simply forget about the Valley.
So it’s no surprise that the “Great Taco War” was focused on the wrong players, because when it comes to conversations about Texas, we’ve gotten into a nasty habit of letting Austin, Dallas, and Houston suck up all the oxygen in the room.
Texans are prideful; there’s no denying we love to celebrate our contributions to the global culture, whether it’s through our musical icons, film and TV legends, or of course, our food. But for the state’s Mexican-American population, that pride is often a double-edged sword.
Our cowboys, our rodeos, our tacos, Tex-Mex, margaritas — even the names of the streets we drive on and cities we grew up in — wouldn’t exist without Mexican influence. Yet, more often than not, we’re left on the sidelines.
It’s why critics like Reinhart feel comfortable casting doubt on the quality of a South Texas restaurant he admitted he hasn’t even patronized.
Our culture and our history is so divorced from their everyday realities that it must be inconceivable that Tex-Mex food might be different — or even better — closer to the border. Or that a chef from a “taco spot” in a town like Mission, might make food that is genuinely better than a restaurant in a major metro area like Dallas.
The truth is, people who never venture further than San Antonio are missing out. We can’t have a real taco war until the Valley is given the spotlight it deserves, and a real platform to compete with the rest of Texas. Because if you’re going to call yourself a Texan, if you’re going to live and die for good Tex-Mex, keep going south, because James Beard-worthy tacos are just the tip of the iceberg.