In this dramatic exposé on the culture shock of moving to New York City from a small Texas town, we’ll dive into the food – and how much taste buds differ across the country.

When I first came to New York for the fall semester, I was ecstatic to discover local dines that would satiate my foodie desires. After the first week, I slowly realized there was just something missing; some crucial piece that without it, made the food taste…bland. Before I go any further, let me say this: I am NOT dissing all of New York’s food. I appreciate the americana and imported blends. However, everything’s bigger in Texas. The nonsensical football scene, larger than life homecoming mums, and all you can eat BBQ. The tri-state area mind cannot comprehend spending the day on Lady Bird Lake, eating a full Tex-Mex meal, THEN going back out into the city for the night.

What is Tex-mex?

Tex-mex is a religion. It’s a lifestyle.

Texas is deeply infused with Hispanic culture, with much of the areas speaking Spanish in addition to English. Tejano cuisine defines much of the state and can be enjoyed by anyone – regardless of their food preferences. Some staples are queso, enchiladas, dips and spicy bites, and sopapillas. One of the most shocking things I had ever heard in my eighteen years was my boyfriend asking, “What are sopapillas?” He was single for the following 10 minutes.

Sopapillas, comparable to fluffy beignets coated with delicious powdered sugar, are made simply by combining flour, shortening, baking powder, water, and salt. After that, you pop them into the frying pan with oil and wait for them to puff up. Their slightly-crunchy shell and sugary powdered coat makes them a crowd favorite, especially for those with a sickening sweet tooth. 

In New York, the restaurant scene is bursting with individuality and multi-cultural influence. My favorites have been the Chinatown dumplings and fried rice – I thank the universe every day that I can truly use chopsticks without making a fool of myself. Nothing is more rewarding than tasting that hard-earned dumpling after failing to grab it the first four times. Next up are the food carts that litter every nook and cranny of the city. These range from gyro to halal, traditional American, and much more. As a non-meat eater, I enjoy the inclusivity of the restaurants here. Back home, I had grown accustomed to ordering sides instead of a true meal, and picking out bacon bits from my mashed potatoes. 

I wouldn’t even be depicting New York cuisine if I didn’t mention the mouthwatering Italian food that promotes itself on each street in the city. 

Controversial take: I do not like pizza. 

But WAIT one second before clicking off the page…I can explain. 

As a kid, we ordered Dominoes, Pizza Hut, and Papa John’s one too many times. I have an aversion, but my love for this city is making me battle demons to get the total experience. There are so many unanswered questions, though, like deep dish or regular, triple cheese or plain, and where are the chili peppers so I can have my normal spice?! More importantly, which is truly better, Joe’s or 2Bro’s?? I do, however, eat pasta at least four times a week. It’s my lifeblood, apart from Tex-Mex, and fuels my day-to-day comings and goings. In Little Italy, I explored the billion places that serve unbelievably nummy plates. During my walk through the feast of San Gennaro, the sheer amount of food carts enticing to say the least- my wallet cried many tears… Through the badgering hosts standing on the street and crowds of tourists looking for the year-round Christmas store, my friends and I sat down at a restaurant just off the cobblestone pathway. It was here that we ordered Shirley Temple’s and gabbed about our new courses and friends; the food came out steaming, plates filled to the brim with pasta and perfectly crafted sauce. One thing New York does better: Italian food, and everything that genre encompasses. 

I may miss Texas, but the warm embrace of cheesy ravioli soothes the desire to plead with my mom to ship over my comfort enchiladas. Between the buttery pasta of Little Italy, steaming plates off a street cart’s grill, and dumplings with rice, I know I’ll survive. If anything, I’ll expand my pallet and better understand “sauerkraut” – but that’ll take a few more years.