Chilaquiles are following me. Let me explain... if you'll recall, we first met the Mexican mishmash about a month ago, in Del Rio. They popped up a week later on my neighbor's stove on Sunday morning, coupled with homemade fried potatoes. Then they peppered my receipt from Taco Taco, and 24 hours later they landed atop my plate at the Liberty Bar. Four times in one month, though I haven't seen them since. Maybe their season is over and they've begun migrating north, alongside the Chupacabra.
One thing is certain: there doesn't seem to be a standard definition for the dish, but that may just be because I'm not asking the right people. At our bi-weekly Refried Breakfast Club meeting this morning we all agreed that chilaquiles are migas without the fried tortillas. Then our waiter, the only one among us with any sort of ethnic legitimacy on the matter, said that yes, they are like migas, but with peppers and tomatoes. Which is total bullshit.
In the end, it seems to me that chilaquiles can be whatever one interprets them to be. Like why Mona Lisa smiles. Or the broader social impact of Saved by the Bell. Or the Constitution. Ok that last one was a joke.
145 E. Hildebrand
San Antonio, TX 78212
Liberty Bar's take on Chilaquiles Nortenos... sauteed legumes, poblano peppers, red onion, totopos, eggs, creme fraiche and feta with corn tortillas, beans, and pico.
Fried Egg Sandwich on homemade bread with Gruyere and South Texas-raised lamb