Ask any displaced Texan if they miss home, and undoubtedly you’ll get a response that more or less contains 4 constants :
1. Family-it would be inhuman not to miss one’s family, also it would be insensitive not to say ‘family’ first.
2. Friends- who do you turn to when your family drives you mad? Also, the fun in troublemaking is best accomplished with old friends.
3. Tex-Mex- the spices and flavors we’ve all been born to love just aren’t the same once you cross the border.
4. Heat- we love to hate it, but there are few places in the world that will ever be warm enough for a Texan.
It’s normal to miss these things, they form a safety next that we relinquish when we leave home. It’s impossible to replace one’s family, friends, and even the weather, but what about Tex-Mex? It’s a fact of life that great Tex-Mex is somewhat difficult to reproduce and even more difficult to find outside the Lone Star State. But in theory,with the bittersweet help of globalization, I should be able to find some decent, or at least passable,Tex-Mex 5,000 miles away in southeast France, right?
One of my first missions after moving here was to find the right ingredients to make my favorite dish: nachos. A simple, classic standard, bastardized nearly everywhere by chains like Taco Bell, so my fertile imagination misled me to believe that I’d have no trouble making my own here. After some searching and creative thinking, I managed to find quite a few Tex- Mex staples: cayenne pepper, cumin, chili powder (here called Tex-Mex chili poudre), cilantro, avocados, and even tortillas. While I’ve only found pickled jalapeños once, 3 euros for a small can, I have found a place that sells Thai peppers year round, so I’m set in the heat category. With all of these spices and ingredients on hand, I am eternally grateful to be able to make great tasting tacos, fajitas, guacamole and salsa at any given moment. It’s a small victory that you never consider when you’re living in a 75 feet radius of 3 Tex-Mex restaurants and a Fiesta market.
But my quest continues because I’m still struggling to replicate my beloved nachos. I’ve tried making queso by melting american singles (think Kraft singles) with some shredded emmental, and adding a bit of cumin and diced peppers to the mix. It’s actually tasty, but the consistency isn’t right and it dries up quickly. In the nation that produces the most cheese in the world, I have yet to find anything that resembles cheddar. On the other hand, with such a massive supply of inexpensive and excellent fromage, I see why they wouldn’t care to import any queso for my nachos, let alone Velveeta.
All is not lost, though. My kitchen contains the world’s largest artillery of chili peppers, cayenne and cumin this side of the Atlantic and I’ve managed to convert a few French skeptics to the wondrous magi of Tex-Mex. Without fail, confusion is the initial reaction from my French guests upon their first rendez-vous with a homemade taco bar; I guess there’s something overwhelming with table full of colorful bowls of guac, salsa, chopped peppers, tomatoes, cilantro, and onions. The apprehension usually subsides after the obligatory lesson on taco construction and eating methods, and they seem to really dig their “Texan crêpes”. I’m always proud when able to please the French palate, and am especially triumphant when I can do so defending my native cuisine. It’s times like these; surrounded by the warmth of new friends, a new family, and under the influence of a Tex-Mex-induced coma, when home doesn’t feel so far away.
