The December issue’s Top Tables article on old-school Tex-Mex restaurants—“Candy or Sherbet?”—makes my taste buds crave that extra cheesy enchilada dinner with carne sauce (double rice—no beans, please) every time I read it. Dick Holland’s piece, while spot-on in describing this distinctly Texas experience (sorry, New Mexico and California don’t even come close!), just scratches the surface when it comes to naming some of the top traditional Tex-Mex dining in Austin, let alone the state. For starters, one of my faves not mentioned in the story is El Gallo, at 2910 S. Congress Ave. Time seems to stand still there, from the ’60s-era Spanish dark wood/wrought-iron decor, serape-covered tables, lack of trendy scenesters, and also their prices. My two-enchilada dinner was a mere $ 7.95, which included—yes—choice of candy or sherbet for dessert. (I chose candy—pralines.) And my frozen margarita came in a tall pilsner-style glass, like how I imagine they were served back in 1971 when this frozen libation was first concocted in a Dallas restaurant.  This is one of my favorite places to escape when I’ve had too much of our ever-upward-and-upscale city and need to be somewhere more down-to-earth, where life feels a bit simpler.So, where’s your favorite #2 enchilada dinner in Texas? Best salsa, queso, fajitas, or margarita? Best Tex-Mex for the soul that ignores all foodie fads? We’d love to hear from you.

I make the trek up to the Red River and beyond on I-35 several times a year to visit family in Oklahoma, and now that the holiday season is officially upon us, I’m starting to steel myself for the trip, planning several stops to allay road fatigue and facilitate conversation once we arrive in the Sooner State. “How was the drive?” my grandmother will surely ask. And rather than comment on the traffic (same-old, same-old, ho-hum), I’d like to contribute an interesting experience to the conversation.

On my last journey, I got a late start out of Austin—what with the dogs and the packing, and the gift-wrapping and the last-minute tidying-up—and I found myself zooming into Gainesville a mere two-and-a-half hours before I was expected at dinner in Oklahoma City. I hadn’t planned to be so late, of course, and I had imagined sitting down to a leisurely afternoon meal at a little teahouse called Sarah’s on the Square, which came highly recommended by nearly everyone I called in Gainesville, from the folks at the Texas Travel Information Center to a Gainesville native I happened to run into at a museum opening a few months prior. “ Go check out Sarah’s on the Square,” they told me.

Well, I did check it out. But only briefly. I scanned the historic building, admired the brick walls (it used to be an old hardware or dry-goods store, I’m guessing), sat down for 15 minutes at one of a dozen antique wooden tables, and ordered a savory cup of corn-and-crabmeat chowder—perhaps not eye-rollingly out-of-this-world, but satisfying nonetheless.

On my next visit home, if I make it to Gainesville with time to spare, maybe I’ll try the Sarah’s Salad, made with mixed baby lettuces, sliced pears, toasted pecans, feta cheese, and champagne vinaigrette. And the triple-chocolate brownies with chocolate sauce and chocolate shavings sound tempting. If I succumb to a sugar coma, after all, Sarah’s operates a three-room B&B upstairs.  My waiter told me that the place used to be a brothel. I know my grandmother would be intrigued by that tale.

My father was an avid gardener well into his 70s, and living in southeast Texas, always had both a spring and fall garden. When I was growing up, most of the vegetables we ate came from his garden, and he gave away almost as much to friends and neighbors. I enjoyed the tomatoes, corn, peas, green beans, potatoes, etc., but my favorite by far was okra, especially when my mother fried it. Many a supper ended with my brother and me squabbling over who should get the last serving of fried okra.

These days, I still go a little nuts when my mother serves fried okra, but when I’m at my own home, I try to avoid frying altogether. Thanks to an abundance of okra from my sister Laurie’s garden (the okra she planted in the spring is still producing in November), I’ve had a chance to experiment with different recipes for “oven-fried okra” in a quest to find a low-fat alternative for my favorite vegetable dish that’s still crisp and delicious. And by George, I think I’ve done it. I wish I could say I developed the winning formula myself, but I have to credit The Low-Fat Way to Cook (edited by Lisa A. Hooper, Oxmoor House, 1993) with the basic recipe. My adaptation follows.

If you don’t have an inside source for fresh okra, you’ll probably have to wait until next summer to try the recipe. That’s about the time I expect my brother to visit. I plan to make it for him then, and we’ll give it the real test. If it passes, those 12 servings will just about be enough for both of us.

Crispy, Oven-Fried Okra
If you have enough small pods, just wash them and trim the ends before dredging them in the cornmeal mixture. The results are sometimes referred to as “okra fingers.”

1 ¾ lb. fresh okra
1 ½ c. yellow cornmeal
¾ tsp. salt
¼ tsp. pepper
1 egg, lightly beaten
½ c. nonfat buttermilk (nonfat milk works, too)
olive oil (or cooking spray)

Wash okra; trim ends and cut into ½-inch pieces. Combine cornmeal, salt, and pepper in a medium bowl; stir well, and set aside.

Combine egg and buttermilk in a large bowl; stir in okra. Let stand 10 minutes. (Set a timer; it’s important to get this step right.)

“Drain” okra in a wire basket or coarse strainer, and dredge it in the cornmeal mixture. Place okra (separate the pieces) on a large baking sheet that has been sprayed lightly with olive oil. Bake at 450º for 40 minutes or until crisp, turning occasionally. Yield: 12 ½-cup servings.