Day One: About to board the flight to London and then Nairobi, I had time for lunch. My usual go-to lunch at DFW is a veggie burger and baked fries at U Food in Terminal B. However, I'm living the high life in D today so the choices are more upscale and the Admiral's Club is enormous. For a grand adventure, there must be Mexican food lest I never eat it again.
The Cantina Laredo has my vegan recommendation for sit down service: enchiladas with avocado, artichoke heart and poblanos topped with tomatillo sauce with a side of jicama slaw. I am fortified, but I regret to tell you that I do not post pictures of my food. By the way, I am not eating vegan food for ethical reasons, and I'm not religious about it. The reduced level of pain and increased energy I've had since trying this in August 2012 has been truly remarkable. If anything hurts, you might want to try it.
This association between travel and Mexican food goes way back with me. I remember flying into my hometown in Shreveport on a Delta flight out of Atlanta. It was only the second time I had ever flown, and I was in retreat from Boston. I had moved there in the summer of 1976 (Bicentennial and World Series year) to see something of the world. My old high school boyfriend was a student at MIT, and I crashed in the dorm for a long time. But finally I found an apartment on Green (near the old Orson Wells Theater) and a job in a Brattle Square boutique only to be KO'd by winter.
I prowled around the frigid streets of Cambridge looking for fixes of corn muffins, Dr. Peppers and a concoction of fire-breathingly hot beef chunks in a bowl that someone had the nerve to call chili. I spent Christmas by myself in a snowstorm. I can't say that it was a bad day really, but I was whipped by Boston's winter in February and headed for home.
A middle-aged gentleman sitting next to me as we flew toward my home chatted me up about my life. There is so much ignominy in packing away a dream and heading home once again, but my family was taking me out to supper at a Mexican restaurant as soon as I arrived I told him. "They will hail the prodigal daughter and kill the fatted taco," he proclaimed. And they did.
The Cantina Laredo has my vegan recommendation for sit down service: enchiladas with avocado, artichoke heart and poblanos topped with tomatillo sauce with a side of jicama slaw. I am fortified, but I regret to tell you that I do not post pictures of my food. By the way, I am not eating vegan food for ethical reasons, and I'm not religious about it. The reduced level of pain and increased energy I've had since trying this in August 2012 has been truly remarkable. If anything hurts, you might want to try it.
This association between travel and Mexican food goes way back with me. I remember flying into my hometown in Shreveport on a Delta flight out of Atlanta. It was only the second time I had ever flown, and I was in retreat from Boston. I had moved there in the summer of 1976 (Bicentennial and World Series year) to see something of the world. My old high school boyfriend was a student at MIT, and I crashed in the dorm for a long time. But finally I found an apartment on Green (near the old Orson Wells Theater) and a job in a Brattle Square boutique only to be KO'd by winter.
I prowled around the frigid streets of Cambridge looking for fixes of corn muffins, Dr. Peppers and a concoction of fire-breathingly hot beef chunks in a bowl that someone had the nerve to call chili. I spent Christmas by myself in a snowstorm. I can't say that it was a bad day really, but I was whipped by Boston's winter in February and headed for home.
A middle-aged gentleman sitting next to me as we flew toward my home chatted me up about my life. There is so much ignominy in packing away a dream and heading home once again, but my family was taking me out to supper at a Mexican restaurant as soon as I arrived I told him. "They will hail the prodigal daughter and kill the fatted taco," he proclaimed. And they did.
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