Yearbooks, Queso and Middle-aged Teenagers

 

Almost a year ago I traveled to my hometown in East Texas to have lots of queso.  Well, I also went to visit lifelong friends, have a book signing and speak at my old high school, but my main focus was the queso, or in layman’s terms, cheese dip.  You see, queso is not a ‘thing’ in California; it’s not part of the authentic Mexican menus at the restaurants we have in Long Beach or Los Angeles or San Francisco or San Jose or Sacramento or Palm Springs or San Diego. 

Whenever I’ve requested queso, I usually get confused looks.  When I try to clarify that it’s cheese dip or melted cheese, I still get confused looks, although one time they brought me a fajita skillet filled with melted cheese that I had to cut like it was meat and eat it on a tortilla like a taco.  Don’t get me wrong, it was delicious, but I wanted something I could dip my tortilla chip into.  Y’all picking up what I’m throwing down? 

                When I landed at DFW, Terminal A, I made a beeline for Pappasito’s Cantina where they have delicious queso available as early as 9:30 am.  After my craving was sated I Uber-ed to the hotel where I had queso as my lunch (with a brisket taco or seven).  Later that night I had dinner with a friend, and we ate Korean BBQ tacos or some other bougie fusion delight.  After searching for BBQ chicharrons at Whole Foods, Ricky and I called it a night.

                The next morning Juli (½ of the infamous Wood Twins of Red River County) swooped into Dallas proper, flung me into her Buick and we made a beeline for the bustling metropolis of Bogata, TX, population 1,100 (which I find hard to believe, but didn’t feel was my place to say).  After gathering the other ½ (Denise), they asked what I wanted to eat and I asked for Tex Mex, specifically queso.  We drove toward Clarksville and stopped at a tiny, locally owned place and had two different types of queso, yellow and white.  I have returned to the land of my people, y’all.

                Later that night I believe Denise made homemade chicken and dumplings and cornbread and we ate that plus some sock-it-to-me cake and possibly a steak sandwich from Braum’s and maybe a caramel sundae (also from Braum’s) and enough sweet tea to give 36 grown men diabetes.  I don’t know if it’s just men, but when I am on vacation, I have the mindset that I am impervious to the excess weight and gas brought on by such activities. 

Unsurprisingly, the next morning I was in gastric distress.  So much so, that I actually brought it up as a topic at breakfast. Even though Denise and Juli know the real me, I still hold onto the delusion that I am considered fancy by all and sundry and everyone is enamored of me with few exceptions.  I’m not sure what we had for breakfast that morning, but I swear it was tater tots of some sort and possibly leftover queso, which I ate despite how I felt. I didn’t want to be rude to my wonderful hosts.  When I mentioned my ailment, Denise called her venerable mother Dee to ask if she had any medicine for my condition. 

                Not having seen Miss Dee since we moved from Bogata in 1986, I was not surprised that the first thing she mentioned after giving me a hello hug was that it was good to see me and that she had not forgotten that I was responsible for losing Denise’s senior yearbook.  In my defense, I told her I hadn’t lost the yearbook, that my cousin Kendra had lost it, which she had (sorry to throw you under the bus Kendra).  Her response was that it was sent to me and was not returned, therefore it was my responsibility.  Knowing it was true and having always been slightly terrified of Miss Dee, I agreed that her logic was flawless, turned about six kinds of ashamed, apologized again and wished I could have teleported to that restaurant with the two kinds of queso.   I may have a problem, y'all.  

                Of course, Miss Dee being the mother of all mothers, had a remedy and sent Mr. James (her husband) to the rescue of those vacationers who had been eating queso non-stop for three days. When he rang the doorbell at Denise’s house, where we were staying, I opened the door and he handed me a box, stepping back.  I invited him in, but he said, “No, I don’t want to catch whatever y’all have.”

                I laughed and said, “No sir, this is Gas-X, no one is actually sick.”

                He stepped further back and said, “I definitely don’t want none of that” and walked quickly back to his mini-van.  Wise is the one who avoids the turbulence of life, y’all, said the 48 year-old irresponsible teenager.

               Kendra, can you help me out here?