The truck stop – that truck stop. One more time.
It’s still the best. I was trying to explain to Grace, that the measure of “huevos y machaca,” the yardstick that few – none so far – have to live up to is that one truck stop, south side of I-10, in El Paso. It’s just good food. Plentiful. Hot, huge plate of eggs and beans and rice and shredded beef. Perhaps the second best hot sauce in the world.
Grace’s homemade pico – c.f., Friday night dinner – that’s easily the best. Nothing beats fresh pico de gallo.
But the truck stop? Pretty damn good.
I tried to pick up the tab, but I was threatened, and I’m man enough to know that I couldn’t take Grace down, besides, I’ll let her, if she insists on paying. It never pays to argue with a Leo female.
Back to Austin this afternoon.
