Sometimes, when things go wrong, it’s for the best — as was the case a couple of weeks ago, when Mom and I discovered Fred’s Texas Cafe in Fort Worth.

We’d just been to the Modern, breezed past the Warhols, and afterwards, we were were both in the mood, turns out, for a big, fat cheeseburger. We went to our favorite burger joint, ordered up our usual burgers, and were so disappointed after one bite, that we left.

Lucky for us, Fred’s Texas Cafe, a Fort Worth institution and award-winning dive, was just a few blocks away. We took our seats on the duct-taped bar stools and ordered up half-pound Fredburgers with cheese and homemade fries, and were soon in burger heaven.

I lost track of the number of napkins needed to get through the whole burger (note the crispy, yet perfectly greasy bun), but get through it I did — and so did Mom.

Next time I’m in town, Mom says that we’re going to Fred’s again, and she’s gonna try the bleu cheese burger. Hmmm. Bleu cheese. Wonder why they haven’t thought of that here in Paris?

Fred’s Texas Cafe
915 Currie Street
Fort Worth, Texas
(817) 332-0083

When I’m home, as I was recently, my mission is to eat as many tacos as I possibly can – and that means tacos for breakfast, tacos for lunch, and if I can swing it, even more tacos for dinner.

Texas Monthly, the award-winning magazine that’s all about us, declared the tacos at Fuel City, a truck stop about a half-mile from the Dallas jail, the very best in the state, so on a recent trip home, between breakfast and lunchtime, I drove over, put some gas in Mom’s truck, and got in line.

Figured I’d try the tacos al pastor, since I’d just been in Mexico City, and saw these sold all over the place by the street vendors, especially the ones near the metro stops. You can’t miss the Middle Eastern, shawarma-style rotisserie that this pork is cooked on, and its orangey color from the smoky chile – but what’s interesting is that there’s a distinct sweetness to this, too. The secret: pineapple.

I stood outside and ate my tacos, served with a bit of fresh cilantro, a squeeze of lime, and a bit of salsa (chopped white onions are also an option, but hey, you just never know who you’re gonna kiss, right?), and thought that I was just gonna die they were so good. Plus, with tax – a buck fifty!

I know.

Then, a few weeks later, I was back in Paris, craving these silly things — with not a taco stand in sight – and what, I ask you, was a cowgirl to do?

I decided to make some of my own.

Which was tricky, I suppose, considering the no-grill and no-backyard-rotisserie rule, but I decided to forge on.

With the idea that I needed to merge the smoky chile, pineapple, and pork, I decided to get out my trusty slow cooker, and let it do the work. I used pork shoulder and cut it up in smallish pieces, but next time, will make them a bit bigger, I think. Also, I’m going to remove the cover for a bit at the end, so it won’t be quite so liquidy.

Most tacos al pastor recipes call for marinating the pork for hours and hours in the pineapple and then grilling it, which I may try next. I’ll let you know how that goes on the indoor grill pan, and what the neighbors have to say about that, since they’re always complaining about “les odeurs” from my kitchen, but I like to point out that the people next door are the constant cabbage-boilers, not me, and really, I think that they’re just jealous, anyway.

This is way too good to share, even if I wanted to.

Tacos al Pastor

INGREDIENTS

2 pounds pork shoulder, cut into 2-inch by 1-inch strips
½ pineapple, sliced and cut into 1-inch pieces
1 large white onion, 1/4-inch dice
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 32 oz can diced tomatoes in juice
½ cup Cointreau (a Frenchy twist, eh?)
3 ancho chiles, roasted
2 guajillo chiles, roasted
4 chipotle chiles (in adobo sauce)
2 teaspoons cumin
1 ½ teaspoons Mexican oregano
sea salt

WHAT YOU DO

1. Roast the guajillo and ancho chiles. With scissors, cut off the stems of the chiles, then cut them once down the middle, split them, and remove the seeds and membrane. On an ungreased comal or cast-iron skillet, over medium-low heat, press the chiles down with a spatula until they begin to turn dark. You’ll smell them before you see that they’re ready — just be sure not to burn them. Now place the chiles in a bowl of hot water and let them reconstitute for about 15 minutes.

2. Drizzle a bit of olive oil in a heavy skillet, and add the onions and garlic. Turn the heat on low and cook until the onions are translucent, about 5-10 minutes.

3. Puree the guajillo, ancho, and chipotle chiles in a small food processor or blender. To do this, add as much of the chile soaking water as necessary to make the puree smooth and easy to blend. Keep this going for at least 5 minutes — you want a super-smooth puree. The more you blend this, the better it’ll be. Trust me on this.

4. Now, put the pork and onions/garlic mixture, chile puree, pineapple chunks, spices, tomatoes and Cointreau in the slow cooker, set to low for 4 hours.

Serve with homemade corn tortillas, chopped cilantro, white onion, lime, and your favorite salsa.

Note: If you don’t have a slow cooker, this will also cook nicely on the stovetop, on low, for 2-3 hours. It’ll be ready when the meat falls apart.

When I was in Texas recently, Brian Hofeldt, the lead singer/guitarist of the retro honky-tonk band, The Derailers, invited me down to his place in Austin for lunch. He wanted me to taste his green chile stew – and, as a surprise, he invited the rest of the guys over, so they could play the song that he wrote for me, “Cowgirl.” Oh yeah.

Turns out, they were pretty good sous-chefs, too. And the song and the green chile stew?

Take a look and see for yourself. Enjoy the show.

Brian Hofeldt’s Green Chile Stew

INGREDIENTS

12-16 Hatch chiles, roasted, peeled and chopped
1 pound pork
1 medium onion, chopped
2-3 cloves garlic, minced
1 large carrot, sliced
2 medium red-skinned potatoes, chopped into large chunks
4 tomatillos, chopped into 1-inch pieces
1 pinch cumin
1 pinch chile powder
1 cup cilantro, chopped
1 lime, squeezed
1 bottle beer
sea salt
pepper
olive oil
cilantro (for garnish)

WHAT YOU DO

1. Drizzle a bit of olive oil in a heavy stockpot, add onions and garlic, and cook on medium heat until onions are translucent, 5-10 minutes.

2. Add pork to mixture and cook until meat cooks through, about 5 minutes.

3. Add tomatillos, potatoes, carrots, chicken stock, beer, lime and spices, and let cook for an hour, at least, until all of the veggies are soft and the flavors have come together.

Garnish with more cilantro, pop open a beer, and turn up the music.

Just back from Austin, Texas, where we shot the first “Cowgirl Chef: In the Kitchen With…BRIAN HOFELDT.” He’s the frontman of the super-cool honky tonk band, The Derailers — think Beatles meets Buck Owens — who play the kind of music that goes best with longnecks, faded jeans, and vintage boots.

Not only does Brian know his way around a circa 1960s Fender Telecaster, he’s a superstar in the kitchen, too. He showed me how to make his yummy Green Chile Stew, inspired by a dish that The Derailers order up when touring through New Mexico. Since he and the guys were on a short break from promoting their latest album, “Guaranteed to Satisfy,” they came over and helped, too (man, can that drummer chop cilantro!).

Afterwards, they set up in the living room for a little jam session. I just love saying that.

The song of the day: a little tune that Brian wrote for the Cowgirl Chef show, called — guess what? — “Cowgirl.” (I think that the “Chef” part is implied.) It’s a bit retro, a little surfy, with some rockabilly thrown in for good measure. In short, the perfect Cowgirl Chef song.

The guys like the song so much that they’re planning on putting it on their next album, which they’ll release next year. The video will be posted soon, here and on the Cowboys & Indians magazine website. Is this cool or what?

After a long sleep to recover from the flight, I hopped into my mom’s truck, and went to the K. Roger store in town (that’s Kroger to most of y’all) for some provisions — Fritos, BBQ Honey Fritos, Dr. Pepper, a squeeze bottle of Hershey’s syrup, Little Debbie Nutty Bars for my brother, some taters to smash for dinner (to go with Mom’s meatloaf), and the latest issue of Texas Monthly.

That ought to tide me over for a day or two.

Right now, I am sitting at my desk and I am eating popcorn. It is raining, and I am eating popcorn – perfect, crispy caramel corn, in fact – as fast as I can, because I’m afraid that if I don’t eat it soon, it will go soggy in this very damp, very cold, Parisian air. So, really, when you think of it that way, I am not being piggy. Rather, I am only trying not to waste this wonderful popcorn that I just received in the mail yesterday from my two new best friends, Tara and Katherine, the pop gals behind the hugely successful and soon-to-be famous Papa Dean’s Popcorn in San Antonio — a whole 3 ½ gallon tin of corn, in fact, and besides caramel, there’s a whole ton of BBQ popcorn, and jalapeno nacho cheese, too! (Can you imagine my glee?!)

Perhaps this is a good time to mention the popcorn problem here in France; the problem being that they, the gastronomes of the world that they are here, don’t have a clue about popcorn, which as anyone knows, is key to any truly enjoyable movie experience. Most of the little teensy movie theatres here don’t have popcorn at all (and I’m sure that I don’t need to tell you that the boxes of Milk Duds are noticeably absent, too), but the big ones, the movie chains, have popcorn, but it’s often already in boxes, and stacked on a shelf (!!!), behind the rows of helpy-selfy candy worms and bears and bananas and all of that other chewy stuff that they love here.

It’s anyone’s guess how long those boxes of popcorn have been sitting on those shelves. I’ve never seen anyone eating any of it, and only one time was I brave enough to try popcorn, a la Francaise, when I was about to see “Dreamgirls,” which seemed to demand popcorn, as any movie does, really.

“Sucre ou sale?” said the guy behind the counter, who was, at this particular movie house, standing in front of a mountain of what appeared to be popcorn that was popped in the last decade. The lobby, as I recall, even smelled faintly of popcorn, giving me hope that I had perhaps been too quick to judge, as I often am.

Sugary or salty, I wondered. Hmmm. I’ll stick with what I know — good old salty, with fake butter flavor, I hoped.

Well. What can I tell you other than the popcorn near the counter was only a ruse, a fake, a lure? It was cold. It was soft. But yes, it was salty – until I accidentally came across a piece or two that was sprinkled with sugar. Even worse, I had no Dr. Pepper to wash it all down with.

I felt so naïve, so silly, for getting my hopes up like that.

So for now, I will just order my popcorn from San Antonio from the gals that do it right – and wear Dr. Pepper lip gloss (!), too.

Found on ebay for $27! (This photo was obviously taken in Texas — notice the sun shining?)

It’s the weirdest thing. Back in June, my brother opened his burger and bbq joint, Rooster’s Roadhouse, in our hometown of Denton, while I was on the other side of the Atlantic, starting to teach Tex-Mex to other homesick ex-pats.

We didn’t plan it, or even discuss it with each other, but somehow, at almost the very same time, we both found ourselves in the kitchen, making food that we loved – and trying to make a go of it as a business.

Rooster’s menu is a hilarious reference to our small town, countryfied roots, with the Double Wide Salad, topped with Fritos, ground beef and Catalina; Steak-on-a-Stick; and Red Neck Sushi, a bbq brisket that’s rolled up, sliced and served all fancy-like.

But Rooster’s really makes its name with its quarter-pound burgers (the Chez Bubba Double Burger has truffle mayo and a fried egg and sounds suspiciously French) and pit bbq – smoked beef, pork, sausage, and turkey – all of which are served on two pieces of Texas toast (for those of you who aren’t from our great state, Texas toast is thick sliced white bread, toasted on a flat grill) and come with homemade potato chips (I opted for the fries with bleu frommage, below).

A few months ago, I told him that he was crazy to offer cheeseburgers and chopped brisket sandwiches for $4.95 (also with HPCs), but he didn’t listen. Then the country slipped deeper into a recession, and his business hasn’t fallen off one bit – in fact, he’s got a packed house at lunch and dinner for his burgers and his desserts-in-a-jar, a crazy-good concept from none other than his Charles-in-charge of all things cake and pie, Mansion on Turtle Creek alum Johnnny Law (yep, that’s his real name). I’m talking coconut pie, chocolate chip pie, pecan pie, and a banana pudding with loads of Nilla wafers…and cuter than hell in those little jars.

Don’t you agree? I’m off again in a few days, but I’m definitely thinking of trying a dessert or two in a jar – I already found some cool jars that I’m using to put my salsa in at BHV, so, ya know, pourquoi pas?

Rooster’s Roadhouse
113 Industrial St.
Denton, Texas
940-382-4BBQ

Two days ago, it was 84 degrees. I was hanging out with some friends on the patio of the Love Shack in Fort Worth, eating a pile of onion rings and a double-cheeseburger (it’s the meatiest trip ever), and wishing that I’d packed my flip-flops so I could fit in with the crowd and show off my freshly painted Chanel Blue Satin toes.

Today, I woke up to freezing rain mixed with snow, that would last all day…which made me start to wonder, just where am I, anyway?

Is Texas becoming Frenchified, with its brutal, Arctic-like winters and silly little hats?

Look what I saw in Nordstrom’s the other day — berets!

And at the food court at Northpark Mall — crepes!

I stopped at Starbuck’s for a coffee for the road, and was Frenchy-smacked again.

Then, just as I was about home, driving east on Highway 380 towards my brother’s house, I saw this:

Which made me think, naturally, of all of the beautiful Haussmann architecture in the other Paris, and the fountains, too.

I guess we’re not that different after all.

Getting up early enough to catch the sunrise, coming up over the horse barn to the east. Talk about cowgirl heaven.