Is there a reason why we Texans don’t eat much lamb? It’s tender, it’s flavorful, it’s not too expensive and yet you seldom see it. Heck, I even heard a statistic that said we eat less than a half a pound of lamb a year.

So imagine my surprise when I was in El Paso and saw listed on a menu lamb barbacoa with the added note, “For a special treat.”

I was tempted, but I went with the regular barbacoa—the kind made from a cow’s head. You can’t get that in New York City as the barbacoa found here is made with goat instead.

But I’ve been thinking about that lamb barbacoa ever since. And because Easter is coming up and lamb is one of the traditional dishes to serve, I decided to try making some on my own.

True to form, however, I’d never cooked lamb, let alone eaten all that much of it.

My father has always enjoyed lamb and I remember on one vacation we had dinner in a charming New England lodge where they served leg of lamb with mint jelly. He offered me a bite, and while I enjoyed the lamb I wasn’t a fan of the mint jelly—its color seemed unnaturally green and I couldn’t figure out how it could possibly compliment the meat.

It wasn’t until I was 21 that I again had lamb. I was having Easter lunch with my boyfriend’s family in a small Texas town’s finest restaurant and on offer was a choice of either ham or lamb. Ham was my family’s preferred Easter meat, but I decided to go with the lamb as it felt exotic and sophisticated.

I was served a thick pink slab crusted in black pepper that was cut from a lamb roast. On the side was the requisite mint jelly, but I ignored that and just ate the lamb unadorned. I was surprised at how tender and juicy the meat was, and the flavor had hints of earth and grass but it wasn’t overpowering. I enjoyed it—its flavor was refreshing like spring.

Since spring has finally arrived and Easter is next Sunday, here is my take on lamb, and easy lamb barbacoa. It makes for wonderful tacos, tostadas or just served on its own. Though you don’t have to be celebrating Easter to enjoy this lamb barbacoa—for any occasion it will still be a special treat.

Lamb barbacoa 
Ingredients:
3 pounds of de-boned lamb shoulder
6 ancho chiles
3 guajillo chiles
10 cloves of garlic
1 cup of coffee
1/2 cup of water
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon oregano
1 teaspoon cumin
1 tablespoon agave nectar
1 small onion, cut into slivers
1 carrot, peeled and cut into rounds
Salt to taste

Method:
Toast the chiles in a dry cast iron skillet on medium heat for a few minutes on each side and then turn off the heat and fill the skillet with water. Let the chiles soak for 20 minutes or until soft.

Cut the lamb into three-inch cubes and rub the meat with salt.

Drain the chiles from the soaking water and place in a blender. Add to the blender the garlic, the coffee, the water, the cinnamon, the oregano, the cumin and the agave nectar. Puree until smooth.

Coat the lamb with the chile puree, and let it marinate in the refrigerator for four hours.

Heat the oven to 250.

In a roasting pan, coat the bottom with some of the marinade. Place the onions and carrots on top of the marinade and then top this with the lamb.

Tightly cover the pan with foil, and then cook in the oven covered for four hours or until fork tender.

Shred meat with forks and serve in tortillas with cilantro, onions and salsa.

Serves four to six.

Now that SXSW is over and my non-Texan friends who attended the conference are back on the East Coast, all I hear from them is, “Where can I get a breakfast taco?” or “Who has the best queso?”

Austin food is addictive, isn’t it?

One of the things I love the most about Texas is its size. Because it spans across several geographical, topographical and climatic zones, naturally there are going to be variations in what people eat in each area. While I would say that the trinity of Texan food—Southern dishes, barbecue and Tex-Mex—is the same throughout the state, how each region within the state interprets these cuisines differs.

Take Austin and Tex-Mex. After spending years in the Dallas area and Houston, I was already aware that differences could exist between the two Texan cities’ cuisines, so I wasn’t that surprised when I arrived in Austin to see that it, too, did things just a bit differently than other places in the state.

The first thing I noticed was migas. I’ve written about migas before—Austin’s signature breakfast dish of scrambled eggs with cheese, chips and peppers. Every place in Austin serves migas, yet when you leave Austin you rarely see them, if at all.

Black beans are another Austin Tex-Mex distinction. It was in Austin that I first saw black beans served alongside your tacos or your enchiladas, instead of the more typical refried pinto beans. This isn’t to say that you can’t find refried pinto beans in Austin, because there are many fine, fine examples of this noble dish. But, I found that Austin’s Tex-Mex could be a little quirky and so black beans would be on offer more often than I’d see them in Houston or Dallas.

I wasn’t a stranger to black beans. My mom fed me all sorts of beans when I was growing up in Houston and black beans graced our table probably once a week. But there was something about black beans that made me feel they were more upscale. Perhaps it was the color of the bean (black is always stylish!) or perhaps it was its more diminutive size, but I adored black beans just as much as my beloved pintos.

I know I’ve written a lot about beans lately—and if you’re not a bean eater, I apologize. I reckon you could say it’s the grim economy that has me returning to beans so frequently—they are, after all, such a healthy, inexpensive protein. But as beans have been a staple of my diet my whole life, I also just really enjoy cooking and eating them. And since they’re what I had for dinner last night, I thought I’d share them with you.

This is my basic black bean recipe. It takes little effort and has a rich smoky flavor that comes from chipotles instead of the usual ham hocks or bacon. And, of course, if you’re bored by black beans at least now I have something to point to when I write in the future about really fun things, such as black-bean salsa, corn and black-bean salad or that Austin late-night staple, Mag mud.

Basic black beans
16 oz. dried black beans
1 tablespoon of lard, bacon grease, peanut oil or canola oil
1 onion, diced
4 cloves of garlic, minced
1 carrot, diced
4 chipotles in adobo, chopped
1 tablespoon of epazote or 2 sprigs fresh
1/2 teaspoon of cumin
1/2 cup cilantro. chopped
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1/4 cup lime juice
Six cups of water
Two cups of chicken or vegetable broth
Salt to taste

Soak the beans covered in water—either overnight or the quick soak method in which you place the beans in a pot, cover with water, bring to a boil, cover and remove from heat and let sit for one hour.

Drain the soaked beans.

In the pot you’re going to cook the beans, sauté the onions and carrots in your preferred fat for 10 minutes and then add the garlic for one minute. Add the beans, chipotles, epazote and cilantro.

Cover beans with water and chicken broth, bring to a boil, and then reduce heat to low (liquid may still be moving and all the ingredients may still be jumping around the pot, just not as vigorously as when the heat is high. That's fine.). Stir occasionally.

After 1 1/2 hours, add the cumin, tomato paste, lime juice, salt and remaining cilantro and cook for 30 more minutes or until beans are tender. At this point, smash a few against the side of the pot with a spoon to thicken the broth a bit, stir the pot and serve.

Feeds six or four hungry people.

Notes: If you don’t want to serve the beans with the carrots, onions and garlic—leave them whole and then remove when beans are done. And if your store doesn't stock either dried or fresh epazote, you can order it from Penzey's or you can just omit it from the recipe. Though it is supposed to help with the beans' tendency to cause intestinal issues, so omit at your own risk!

I spent part of my junior year of college living in Spain. I was in the southern part of the country, in Granada, which is not too far from the Mediterranean Ocean. Because of this proximity, my host family ate a lot of seafood. And during Lent, it seems that’s all we ate.

We had fish stew, shellfish paella, tuna pizza, fish mashed potatoes and fish croquettes. But one of my favorite dishes served was flaky white fish covered in a tomato sauce studded with green olives. All at once it was salty, acidic and sweet.

The Mexican state of Veracruz is on the Gulf of Mexico and is said to be where the Spanish first made their entry into Mexico. Because of this, much of the Veracruzana cuisine is still heavily influenced by Spanish cuisine.

The Spaniards introduced the herbs thyme, marjoram and bay laurel, which have become hallmarks of that state’s cooking. They also brought along olives and capers, so it’s no surprise that the signature salsa from that state uses all of these ingredients.

Salsa Veracruzana is a rich tomato-based sauce that isn’t too spicy. It’s cooked, so the ingredients meld together into one complex flavor instead of the several distinct flavors more often found in raw-blended salsa. Also, the bay leaves, thyme and marjoram give it a distinctly different flavor than your usual tomato salsas made with just cilantro, jalapeno and lime salsas. That said there is also cilantro, jalapeno and lime juice in this salsa, which makes it still taste distinctly Mexican.

And then there are the olives and capers that are found in this salsa. I love salty and acidic foods—they remind me of the sea. For this reason, I think that olives and capers also go very well with fish, thus making this salsa a perfect topping for a Mexican fish dish such as a tostada or a taco.

We have a few more Fridays in Lent, and I think if you aren’t eating beef or pork during this time, these fish tostadas are a hearty, meaty dish. I also enjoy it, however, because it takes me back almost 20 years to when I was a young student living in Spain.