In my Texan life that was such an everyday word, TexMex. It evoked culture and food and history. In my Canadian life its a novelty, its hard work, its not understood.

My racial identity hasn’t changed, I’m still pale skinned and labelled white. My heritage, primarily Czech and Scottish with some English and Irish thrown in along the way hasn’t changed. I have family that immigrated to the U.S. when it was still colonies. Some that arrived during famine on the British isles, and some that only showed up a few generations back on boats that were both sail and steam powered in 1880.

As an adult I look back and remember family things we did that I eventually came to understand were from some part of my cultural heritage. I would say the largest influence was from my Memaw’s side. My father’s Mother’s family, especially her father’s side, were the most recent immigrants. They still clung to their heritage, I even had a great-great aunt that still spoke Czech.

All that said, when I look back on my childhood I remember the TexMex more than anything. My family might deny it, but the way we dressed. The boots and hats of the vaquero. The rodeos and ranching. The longhorns and Tejano music always in the background. All of that makes me feel more at home than anything Europe may have sent along the way.

Since moving the Canadians will ask me what I miss. There’s people of course. There are familiar places. But truly what I miss is the food. I miss fresh tortillas. I miss breakfast tacos at every corner. I miss carnitas, salsa, enchiladas, margaritas, chili con queso, fajitas, frito pie, mole, fried shrimp, crab cakes, tamales, elote, chicharrones, nopal, jamaica, agua del dia, horchata, BBQ, nachos, ranchero beans, chorizo, chilaquiles, pecan pie, texas twinkies, chicken fried stake, pasole, pulled pork, Texas sheet cake, strudel, kolaches, seven layer dip, bread and butter jalapenos, cornbread, black eyed peas …

I could go on y’all. The list is long. Its flavours that are hard to find here in Ontario. Not impossible, but a lot of work. And its the thing my heart aches for. Those familiar tastes and smells. I don’t just have my family to thank for some, there were so many growing up that showed me the love of food. Maybe that’s why I bough a bushel of jalapenos and poblanos. Maybe that’s why my feet ache and my heart is happy.