Please Feed the New Guy: Wherein You Tell Me What to Eat in Order to Feel Like a Texan

Here’s the deal: I’m new in town. I was brought in to slowly turn Richie Whitt into a love-advice columnist. It’s going well so far, I think; he hasn’t kneed me in the groin since late Tuesday.

I’ve learned over the years that the best way to get to know a city is through its food. But finding that food is a task I usually leave to my wife, since my idea of culinary variety means using multiple dipping sauces at Chick-fil-A.

But she’s not in town yet. This is where you come in. Let’s fatten me up, shall we?

Over the next month, until my way-better half joins me in Dallas and starts finding taco places our own Taco Guy has never heard of, I’m only eating at places you — the dear, loyal, dashing readers of City of Ate — recommend.

I won’t likely hit them all; that would require a budget and stomach lining with which I am not blessed, regretfully. But I assure you this: I will not eat at any establishment not recommended by this esteemed panel of commenters. And I’ll tell you about every experience in enough detail to make you take your lunch break at 10:30.

The goal is to speed my transformation into credible Texan. Because while I came here from Kansas City, where the streets are lined with brisket, my roots are in northern California, the proud home of all things dainty — including, but not limited to, vegetarianism, the West Coast offense and my frame. You’ll meet me eventually, but in the meantime, just picture the girl from Little Miss Sunshine with a paunch and a haircut that, despite hearty attempts to divert it, is definitely veering uncontrollably toward faux hawk.

All right, go. Feel free to suggest specific dishes and beers to go with them. The more choices I have to make, the more likely I am to screw it up.