Lisa Fain

While you can find them all over Texas, for some reason kolaches just taste better in a small hamlet called West settled by Czech immigrants.

An homage to the breaded and baked fish at Luby's cafeteria in Texas, this tilapia goes Tex-Mex with a salty corn-chip crust.

MAKING BREAKFAST SAUSAGE is an old family tradition for us. My grandpa's family used to raise their own hogs, and when it came time for butchering day, they made sure that nothing went to waste. All parts of the animal were used—for hams, bacon, lard, and sausage. My grandpa was in charge of making the breakfast sausage—a tradition he passed on to us. Breakfast sausage is a loose sausage that hasn't been cured, which makes it appropriate for a home cook. My grandpa's recipe was typically Texan in that it was seasoned with sage. While there is nothing finer than a basic breakfast sausage, I find it's an excellent base for other flavors, such as the smoky notes of bacon and smoked paprika and bittersweet tones of molasses. This isn't exactly my grandpa's breakfast sausage, but I'm sure he would have enjoyed it just fine.

IF YOU MEET A CZECH TEXAN, he or she will politely inform you it's incorrect to use the term sausage kolache when referring to a sausage-stuffed kolache. When you scrunch up your face with confusion, the person will then kindly explain that the correct term for this savory pastry is klobasnek. But wait, let's back up here for a minute. If you're not familiar with a kolache, then you may be wondering what the heck I'm talking about. Allow me to explain. A kolache is a sweetened yeast roll that's been stuffed with a fruit, cream cheese, or a poppy seed filling. The roll is either square or round, and there's a well in the center to contain the filling. With a klobasnek, the dough is wrapped entirely around the filling, and the only way you can tell what's inside is to take that first bite. You find these pastries all over Texas, though they were first introduced in Central Texan Czech communities, such as the small towns of West and Caldwell. While the origin of the term klobasnek for the sausage-stuffed version is a little vague, The Village Bakery in downtown West has claimed provenance for the term. What's interesting, however, is that these Czech pastries are more associated with Southeast Texas than with Central Texas. The two pastries are different things, but some people still insist on calling them sausage kolaches. This doesn't bother me, but I can see how it could upset some linguistic purists. No matter what you call them, however, they are good. I like to eat them for breakfast, warm from the oven when the cheese is still melted and the sausage juicy with a snap. Though they are still good a few hours later at room temperature and can easily be reheated, too.

WHEN I WAS YOUNG and growing up in Dallas, our favorite Mexican restaurant was a family-owned hole-in-the wall called Herrera's. It's now expanded to a much larger location, but in the 1970s it was in an old adobe building that had ten tables and to reach the dining room, you had to walk through the kitchen. Dallas went crazy for its soulful cooking, and the waits to get in were often long, but it was worth it. We all had our favorite things to order: for my dad, it was the enchiladas, I loved the tamales, and my mom always went for the crazy nachos. Now, it always surprised me that my mom would order nachos since she ate them at home almost every single day for her lunch. However, she explained that while hers were good, Herrera's Crazy Nachos were the best. In those days—before nachos became a sloppy stack of "chips and stuff"—nachos were a refined, simpler dish, with each individual tortilla chip topped with just cheese, beans, and jalapeños. So when Herrera's added taco meat, guacamole, and sour cream to their crazy nachos, it was considered quite daring and wild. That said, Herrera's crazy nachos were still elegant: each chip was a self-contained bite of all these fantastic flavors. I admit that the name may seem a bit dated to some, as there's really nothing crazy about these nachos at all. But no matter what you call them, they're a fully loaded treat that is great to enjoy when watching games or sitting around and visiting with family and friends. And, if you're like my mom, they make a fine meal, too.

Texas is proud of its peaches. They're soft, juicy, floral, and sweet, and the best I've ever tasted. During the season, when you travel through lush Hill Country Texas towns such as Fredericksburg, or Central Texas towns such as Fairfield, you won't be able to go a mile without seeing a roadside stand or pickup truck filled with baskets of this cherished summertime treat. We also have a peach tree at my grandma's North Texas farm, and every July it delivers a bounty of peaches that she'll put up for later in the year. Pickling fruit is a common method of fruit preservation in Texas. Yes, there's vinegar involved, as with other types of pickles. But you also add enough sugar and warm spices to give the fruit a balance of both acidity and sweetness. If you've never tried pickled fruit, you'll be pleasantly surprised. Pickled peaches are perhaps my favorite fruit to preserve, as I love how the peaches' sweet juice combines with the piquant brine. Of course, I've added a bit of heat to my peaches, which is decidedly not traditional, but I find that the habanero's flowery notes go very well with the peaches' floral tones. These go well with a bowl of ice cream, on top of your morning oatmeal, with a freshly baked biscuit, or yes, simply eaten straight out of the jar.

在德克萨斯州的大部分地区,卷卷侵权illas stuffed with a filling and covered in sauce. But often in West Texas (and also New Mexico) the filling and sauce are instead layered between flat tortillas. They look a bit different, but the end taste is the same, not to mention stacked enchiladas are a heck of a lot easier to make. Another feature of stacked enchiladas is the inclusion of a fried egg on top. I don't know how this tradition came about, but it's a brilliant addition. When the yolk mixes with the sauce, its creamy transformation takes the sauce from merely delicious to truly decadent. I was born and raised a rolled-enchilada girl, but I can appreciate a plate of stacked ones, especially those made with an ancho chile sauce. And if I squint, I can see in the stack the rugged terrain of West Texas, with the egg standing in for clouds and the sun. It's West Texas on a plate.