There are times I’m proud to be Texan. There are times, no doubt, that I face-palm at something I hear in the news about Texas, but on the whole it pretty much rocks being Texan.
Here’s an example. I called my mom last week to wish her a happy birthday and after some confusion (mostly her shouting “Hello!” while I pressed play on a mini-gift) we got to talking about food. Yeah, we’re Italians from Texas, so every conversation eventually leads to food in some way. Even funerals involve lengthy conversations about where we should eat after the church service.
Anyway, the food conversation this time centered around birthday breakfast. She told me where she was going, I told her my favorite place to go when the hubby takes a free day on his diet (he’s not too fond of the place… le sigh) and she went into more detail on her place.
This place had apparently been a bar originally and the owner decided to make it a cafe of sorts. What really struck me as hilarious/awesome was the wanted ad for a cook.
Only in Texas could such an ad run. And only in Texas would someone say to themselves “Hell yeah. I can do that.” And now I want tamales. Oh dear.