Marfa and a plate of stacked enchiladas

“Oh Texas, rise and sing along, forever a part of you is gone. Oh Texas, say a word today in praise of the Old Borunda Cafe” From the song "Old Borunda Café" by Bob Campbell

Last week, I hungered for a big bowl of sky. Stuck in New York City, I decided to satisfy my appetite by looking at West Texas real estate web sites.

Enter an amazing piece of property in Marfa, Texas. The real estate agent (yes, I’d gone so far as to place a call) told me that it wasn’t officially on the market but with the right offer the owner would sell. I asked for a ballpark and she quoted me a figure a bit out of my price range, but very reasonable for what you get: an old adobe compound comprised of five buildings that could be filled with several living and work spaces. There’s also a gorgeous private yard with stone patios and pathways, a fire pit and a garden with one of the most impressive patches of lavender I’ve ever seen.

But here’s my favorite part: one of the buildings used to house a café. But not just any café. This building used to house the Old Borunda Café.

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Peach ice cream on a summer morning

I was talking to my grandmother the other day, and she mentioned that she had just eaten a peach from her tree. “It was a perfect peach,” she said. The season is almost over in Texas, but it’s just begun here in New York so last Saturday I scooped up a few at the farmers’ market.

While our peaches aren’t as famous as Georgia’s, it’s difficult to find a more sweet, juicy and tangy peach than a Texas peach. And while, yes, we Texans like to brag about many things, peaches are near the top of my list.

My grandmother freezes bag upon bag of her peaches every year, and there are also plenty of peach pies and cobblers made with the harvest. But it’s reached that point in the summer when I no longer want to heat up my apartment by baking—I need my food to be quick and cool. So when it comes to peaches—what I’ve been craving is the soft floral flavor of peach ice cream.

Back home, we had Blue Bell’s Peaches & Homemade Vanilla available by the gallon during the summer months when you needed a taste. But here in New York City, I’ve seen peach sorbet but no peach ice cream. That’s not a problem, however, since homemade ice cream is always better than store bought.
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Carnitas, Houston style

The last time I visited Houston, I arrived at midnight. I was exhausted, but my mom was waiting for me with a to-go container filled with my favorite restaurant dish: enchiladas verdes—corn tortillas wrapped around crisp, juicy cubes of carnitas, dressed with a green salsa thick with avocados, tomatillos, cilantro and onions. And while it’s not the most traditional of Tex-Mex dishes, it’s what I often crave as there is no finer combination of flavors than salty sweet pork paired with tart tomatillos.

Carnitas, which means little meats in Spanish, come in several guises. Some people serve it stringy, like pulled pork. Some people serve it in huge chunks, with bits of bone still attached. And some serve it in smaller cubes, perfect for popping in your mouth. Though no matter how it’s presented, it’s always succulent slow-cooked pork that’s tender on the inside and crunchy on the out.

The state of Michoaca, Mexico is renowned for its carnitas. And for good reason—they cook huge hunks of pork shoulder in oversized copper pots filled with lard. It’s a decadent eating experience as the pork is slick and smooth with just enough texture to keep things interesting. Of course, after eating Michoacan carnitas you immediately fall into a pork-fat coma and can’t get up for days. I adore the Michoacan carnitas and have even made them a couple of times when I have had pounds of lard on hand. This past weekend, however, I was a bit short on pig fat and decided to try another recipe to see if I could approximate their porcine excellence without going whole hog.

After experimenting with a host of recipes (and suffering a spectacular failure with milk-braised carnitas that ended as an insipid pile of mush), I decided to try Diana Kennedy’s method. She recommends cooking the pork shoulder in water until the liquid has evaporated. Because you haven't trimmed the fat off the pork, after the water is gone the pot is filled with rendered pork fat (aka lard!) that browns the outside to a caramelized crisp. It’s such a simple method that I had my doubts but figured it was at least worth a try.
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Easy as fried pie

Cake or pie? That’s a question often posed, with much weight attached to the answer. For me, the choice is simple: I’ll take the pie.

I don’t know what this says about me exactly, but I do come from a pie-eating family, which might hold some sway over my decision. Likewise, I have more of a salt tooth than a sweet tooth, and the flaky, tender, slightly salty crust has always been my favorite part of a pie, so much that you could bake me pie-crust scraps and sprinkle a little sugar and cinnamon on them and I’d think that was the best treat ever.

This isn’t to say that I don’t love cake because I do. But if someone was offering a portable dessert, such as the choice between cupcakes or fried pies, it would be no contest. Much to my chagrin, however, fried pies are nowhere near as ubiquitous as cupcakes. Matter of fact, I have a hard time finding them anywhere except at fast-food places, and what they offer is not even close to the glory of a fried pie made with two hands, a fresh filling and love.

Fried pies are a longstanding tradition in Texas, found at fairs, cook-outs, restaurants, bakeries, and, of course, in home kitchens. They are a terrific dessert for big picnics and other outdoor feasts because they’re portable, don’t melt and taste just as good either hot or cold. And they are very warm-weather friendly. If it’s oppressively hot outside, wouldn’t you rather stand over a skillet for a few quick minutes than be subjected to an oven's overheated wrath for one very long hour? That’s what I thought.
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