Migas means “crumbs” in Spanish. Migas is also the name of at least three dishes I can think of. One is a Mexican soup, one is a traditional Portuguese dish, and the last is a chiliquiles-like Mexican-style plate of scrambled eggs that is most associated with Austin, TX. So when I saw the word migas in the newspaper this morning, I paid attention. Which migas did they mean?
I like the Saturday section of the LA Times for selfish reasons. I love my blog, but it can be a real chore deciding on an editorial direction day after day (after day). Sometimes I need a creative kick in the ass. I’m not bragging, but it’s a small target. So the kick needs to be well-intended. The LA Times has pretty good aim. The migas they meant is the eggs and it’s an “old favorite hangover breakfast” from when columnist Russ Parsons lived in Texas. New Mex Migas.
You see, I’m still savoring my trip to Baja’s wine country. One of the highlights was breakfast at Doña Esthela’s. Which I guess is what you’d call a restaurant, but eating at Doña Esthela’s feels more like eating at Doña Esthela’s house. She serves up big plates of eggs at breakfast. Rancheros, Chiliquiles or even Migas. Call these breakfasts what you like– I’ll just call them muy bueno. Eating in Valle de Guadalupe is everything Mexico should be (to me). But I can’t get there as often as I’d like, so New Mex Migas is something I need to accomplish (in fact master) in a big way.
So do you.
The inspiration for this post comes from Russ Parsons’s Christmas breakfast tradition and (according to him) it “has to follow a certain script”.
I worked in show biz a long time. I can follow a script.
The script I’m following seems to have been written by Russ Parsons’s daughter. Evidently she believes that they always have chilaquiles for Christmas breakfast. Don’t argue with children when it comes to the holidays. My mother always made Creamed Eggs for Easter breakfast from the colossally colored œufs we hid in the yard. So I know where from Parsons’s daughter speaks. These things– these traditions are important. Even if they’re not exactly true.
The trouble with the story is Parsons didn’t really remember Christmas breakfast quite the same way as his daughter. I won’t go into all the details of how a child’s recollection of Christmas chiliquiles became the migas of Parsons’s Texas days, that’s his story. I suggest you read it. But I will say when it comes to holiday traditions I love every one of them. Even other people’s. GREG