ne of my favorite foods is the breakfast taco. I’ve written about breakfast tacos before, and I will write about them again, as long as I continue to visit Austin and stuff my face. See, breakfast tacos are the phantom limb of my culinary experience in New York. For some reason, they just don’t exist here. And it makes me crazy. IT MAKES ME CRAZY. Because it never ceases to amaze me that a city that serves cod sperm, fried mayonnaise, and science experiments-as-dessert could turn a blind eye to some eggs and cheese slapped into a tortilla.

Last October, when I was in Austin for the Texas Book Festival, I went on a breakfast taco crawl. It was delicious. It was informative. And it nearly rotted out my gut. The story about it is published in the current issue of American Way.