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WASHINGTON — The frontrunner in the Republican primary to replace longtime Congressman Michael Burgess of Lewisville is a 29-year-old political newcomer, Brandon Gill, who helped make a name for himself in politics by marketing the election conspiracy theory documentary “2000 Mules” with his father-in-law Dinesh D’Souza.
Trailing closely behind him is John Huffman, the mayor of Southlake — a wealthy Dallas-Fort Worth suburb that drew national attention after it became ground zero in the GOP battle against diversity and inclusion policies in public schools.
The two hard-charging social conservatives are leading with money and endorsements among the pack of Republicans vying for the party’s nomination for North Texas’ Congressional District 26.
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Burgess held the seat for two decades and is joining a train of seasoned, serious lawmakers leaving Congress as it grows increasingly partisan and decreasingly effective.
In his eleven terms in office, Burgess has joined the ranks of the most senior Republicans in the House Energy and Commerce Committee, the House Rules Committee and the House Budget Committee. The Energy and Commerce Committee covers a vast array of issues, from fossil fuels to health care costs, and is often among the most coveted assignments among Texas Republicans.
When asked about the primary race to replace him, Burgess quipped, “No one can replace me!”
His retirement leaves a rare opening for a seat in a comfortably red district: voters supported Donald Trump over Joe Biden in the district by more than 19 percentage points.
Luisa Del Rosal is among the Republican primary candidates for the 26th Congressional District, left vacant by outgoing U.S. Rep. Michael Burgess, R-Lewisville.
Credit:
Campaign website
In total, there are 11 candidates in the GOP primary, including former congressional chief of staff Luisa Del Rosal, who is touting her past experience leading the office of U.S. Rep. Tony Gonzales, R-San Antonio; and former Denton County judge and Republican scion Scott Armey, who is making another go for the seat after losing the Republican primary to Burgess when he first ran over 20 years ago.
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If no candidate wins a majority of the vote in the March 5 primary, there will be a runoff election in May. Del Rosal said the crowded primary means it’s anyone’s race.
“All of us need to overcome a lot of name ID in this massive district that has been used to voting for Dr. Burgess for 20 years,” Del Rosal said. “So it is literally anybody’s game.”
Fiery friends
A fresh face in Texas politics, Brandon Gill has already amassed the backing of some of the biggest firebrands in the GOP — both in and out of the state including former President Donald Trump, Texas Sen. Ted Cruz and U.S. Rep. Matt Gaetz of Florida.
Gill grew up on a cattle ranch outside Abilene — a city about two hours from the North Texas district. He moved to the district about a year before Burgess announced his retirement from New York City, where he worked in finance.
His profile has been boosted by his famous father-in-law D’Souza, the far-right author and documentarian, whom he worked with in the production of “2000 Mules.” The documentary, whose claims have been debunked by dozens of lawsuits challenging the 2020 election, asserted that Trump was robbed of victory that year. Gill helped with marketing on the film, which became popular viewing in right-wing circles in Texas.
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Gill said in an interview that he still believes the 2020 election was stolen. Asked if he would accept the results of this year’s elections, he said, “if they’re legitimate.”
“We’ll take a look at all the evidence at the time and we’ll decide when it happens,” Gill said.
Gill is pitching himself as an extension of Trump. He cited fortifying the border as his principal policy objective, including “deporting illegal aliens that Joe Biden brought into this country,” noting that it was a priority for the former president.
Trump has responded to the nod of loyalty.
“Brandon is Strong on SECURING OUR BORDER, STOPPING CRIME, FIGHTING INFLATION, & PROTECTING OUR SECOND AMENDMENT,” Trump wrote on social media in December. “He also comes with the love and respect of his father-in-law, a true warrior, Dinesh D’Souza.”
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Gill previously ran a right-wing news website, the DC Enquirer, where he was “going to bat for President Trump in the public square,” he said. The website, which still bears his name, said Gill stepped back from its editorial content to run for office.
“We do not claim to be without bias- we are unabashedly conservative,” the site says.
Gill also has the endorsements of Texas congressmen Troy Nehls of Richmond, Ronny Jackson of Amarillo and Lance Gooden of Terrell. This past weekend Gaetz and Rep. Cory Mills of Florida campaigned with him in Denton County.
The House Freedom Caucus’s campaign arm also endorsed him, and Gill said he hopes to join the far-right group if he’s elected to Congress. Club for Growth, the influential conservative political action committee, is also backing Gill. His campaign raised over $478,000 as of the end of last year, more than any other candidate, and D’Souza gave $250,000 to the Right Texas super PAC that is backing Gill.
The pugnacious conservatives who are backing Gill are often vocal opponents of the cross-aisle comity that used to be more common in Congress. Gill is no different. He lamented “weak Republicans” who are “lacking backbone” in Washington and promised to hold the line against Democrats.
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“We’ve got to get conservative fighters in Washington, particularly from the red seats like this one in Texas 26,” Gill said. “The Democrat Party that we were up against 20 or 30 years ago … that Democrat Party is dead and gone, and we’ve got to get Republicans who can wake up and realize that we’re up against a much darker, much more sinister foe.”
War on woke
Huffman is contrasting his conservative resume against Gill’s by touting his political experience leading Southlake, one of Texas’ richest cities with a population of about 31,000.
“We’re running this whole race on experience,” said Huffman, who has been an elected official for nearly 10 years with Southlake. “You don’t have to worry about what I will do because you can look at what I have done.“
Huffman said he wants to do for the country what he helped do for his home city.
In 2020 and 2021, Southlake was at the epicenter of debates over diversity and inclusion efforts in public schools after administrators attempted to address racism in its curriculum through a proposed “Cultural Competence Action Plan.” The plan was a response to a 2018 clip showing Southlake teens chanting the N-word, and it came at a time of a national reckoning over racism that followed the murder of George Floyd by a police officer.
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In Southlake, however, the political pendulum began to swing back. The plan faced fierce backlash among parents, with accusations that it was introducing critical race theory into public schools — something that would go on to animate the party in Texas and nationwide.
As mayor, Huffman fought to overturn the plan and to replace members of the school board with more like-minded members. He was a founding donor to Southlake Families, a political action committee that supported conservative candidates for the board. Candidates against the plan eventually won a majority in the school board and banned additional diversity and LGBTQ initiatives in the district.
Texas has followed Southlake’s model, passing legislation last year banning diversity, equity and inclusion efforts at public universities.
Huffman hopes to do the same at the federal level, including the military and the Department of Education, where he views diversity initiatives as a waste of money.
“The administrators in the school presented a very radical DEI plan. We stood up as a community and we fought it,” Huffman said. “We’re very proud of that record that needs to happen across the federal government including the military. And I’ll tell you that I am laser focused on fighting the woke and weaponized bureaucracy.”
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Huffman said he also hopes to continue Burgess’ legacy, working many of the same health care issues Burgess tackled on the Energy and Commerce Committee and balancing the federal budget.
With over $303,000 raised as of the end of last year, Huffman was second in fundraising to Gill. But he’s garnered some of his own high profile endorsements. U.S. Rep. Beth Van Duyne, R-Irving, backed Huffman, citing his “unflinching conservative leadership.” Former Gov. Rick Perry, who appointed Huffman to the Texas State Board of Examiners of Psychologists in 2012, also supports him.
“John is truly a happy, conservative warrior who keeps his head down, gets the job done, and delivers wins for North Texans,” Van Duyne said in an email. “He’s the only candidate in this race with that kind of track record for North Texas.”
Endorsements aren’t everything
Del Rosal is unfazed by the flashy endorsements some of her rivals have and is quick to point out endorsements don’t guarantee victories.
Just last month, Jill Dutton beat Brent Money in a competitive special election runoff for Texas House District 2, despite Money having endorsements from Gov. Greg Abbott, Attorney General Ken Paxton and Cruz. U.S. Rep. Jake Ellzey beat Trump-backed Susan Wright in a 2021 special election, Del Rosal pointed out.
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And Burgess himself beat Armey in 2002, when Armey was a Republican princeling with the blessing of some of the most powerful conservatives in the country at the time.
Armey’s father, Dick Armey, held the seat from 1985 until Burgess’ swearing in and was a giant in the House Republican conference. He served as House majority leader under speakers Newt Gingrich and Dennis Hastert. Before then, he was chair of the House Republican Conference and capped his career as the inaugural chair of the House Homeland Security Committee after 9/11. Texas House Speaker Dade Phelan worked for Dick Armey in the late 1990s. President George W. Bush affectionately called the younger Armey “Scotty.”
Scott Armey is among the Republican primary candidates for the 26th Congressional District, left vacant by outgoing U.S. Rep. Michael Burgess, R-Lewisville.
Credit:
Social media campaign page/Kate Baumgartner
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Scott Armey was the favored candidate in that race among Washington types. But Burgess cast Armey as trying to inherit the position. He filled the district with ads bragging that Dick Armey was not his father.
Armey still enjoys the support of his father and former Sen. Phil Gramm, who also endorsed him in 2002. But he has had more difficulty raising money this cycle, reporting only just $95,000 by the end of last year.
Armey said the latest fundraising numbers only reflect just over a month’s worth of fundraising and that his community has responded positively to his candidacy. He’s lived in the area for over 50 years and worked on a host of local development projects as county commissioner and county judge, including on the Texas Motor Speedway, though some of that development-focused mindset contributed to his loss in 2002.
“I’ll match up that endorsement of people who are a part of this community and people who have worked and labored and helped grow this community against anybody’s list of endorsements,” Armey said.
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Del Rosal brings Washington experience to the field. Her former boss, Gonzales, is known for his cross-party friendships and willingness to buck his party leadership. After the Robb Elementary shooting in Uvalde, he was the only Texas House Republican to vote for the Bipartisan Safer Communities Act — the first major gun safety bill passed by Congress in decades.
Del Rosal said she would run in a similar mold, prioritizing policy over soundbytes. She stressed the importance of a strong border but also emphasized kitchen table issues for the district, including improved highways to match the district’s explosive growth and affordable health care as Burgess advocated. Gonzales has backed Del Rosal’s run.
“I’m going to be somebody who’s pragmatic, who’s willing to work across the aisle for sure. But most of all, what I’m going to do is work for Texas 26. And that’s it,” Del Rosal said. “If more representatives understood that that is truly the role — it’s literally called representatives — we’d have a more successful Congress.”
As for Burgess, he is keeping his preferences to himself. He said he might endorse in a runoff, but is keeping quiet before March 5.
“When I first ran 22 years ago, I kind of made a big deal over Washington shouldn’t pick a representative,” he said. “The people should.”
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Texas Rangers rookie outfielder Wyatt Langford appeared on the GBag Nation show on 105.3 The Fan (KRLD-FM) to discuss his recent offensive surge, how he’s adjusting to the big leagues, and what kind of weight he can throw around in the weight room.
Here are some of the highlights, edited lightly for clarity.
What has been the biggest difference since you came off the IL? How eye-opening is it to get accustomed to major league pitching?
Wyatt Langford: I think a lot of it was just comfort, getting comfortable playing up here and getting accustomed to the pitching. Everyone throws hard nowadays, and they all know where to put it too.
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You’ve been very unlucky dealing with bad calls in the strike zone, how do you deal with that frustration?
Langford: It has been a little frustrating because of how frequently it has happened, but I mean it’s part of the game. I feel like I’ve handled it pretty well.
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What are the biggest differences between playing college baseball and playing in the major leagues?
Langford: I’d say the biggest difference is just playing every single day. College, you’re playing three to five days a week at the most. You’re just going about it every single day and getting your body ready to play every day.
Watch: Texas Rangers rookie Wyatt Langford blasts off with first career grand slam
How nice is it having veterans like Marcus Semien and Corey Seager and being able to see their example of dedication?
Langford: It’s been great. There’s so many guys on this team that have a lot of experience, a lot of success playing this game. Being able to talk to them and be around them helps a lot.
What’s the best advice you’ve gotten since getting to the big leagues?
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Langford: I wouldn’t say there’s really any best advice I’ve gotten. I’d say just in general, just make sure you be yourself and do what you need to do to get ready. You don’t don’t need to copy what other guys do to get ready. [Corey Seager] does his thing, [Marcus Semien] does his thing. You just got to figure out what works for you.
You’re very impressive physically, what’s the most impressive thing you could do in a weight room? Back squat?
Langford: I haven’t back squatted since my freshman year of college, so probably deadlift. The most I’ve ever done is 715 pounds over winter break at Florida. I was back home during my sophomore year.
Texas Rangers’ late-inning offensive woes persist, bats go quietly again vs. Brewers
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Bridget Townsend was just getting her start in life as a young woman in the small Texas town of Bandera when Ramiro Gonzales raped and killed her. Her mom says she was ‘a beautiful person.’
Bridget Townsend was planning for the future. The Texas 18-year-old was working full-time at a resort and eagerly waiting to hear back about an application to get into nursing school.
But on Jan. 14, 2001, a man named Ramiro Gonzales stole all that away and all the other moments and milestones that make up a life when he kidnapped, raped and murdered Bridget.
“She was a beautiful person who loved life and loved people,” her mother, Patricia Townsend, told USA TODAY on Saturday. “Every time she was with somebody she hadn’t seen in a while, she had to hug ’em … She didn’t deserve what she got.”
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Now more than 23 years later, Gonzales is set to be executed for the crime in Texas on Wednesday, which would have been Bridget’s 41st birthday. Patricia Townsend said the execution will be a “joyful occasion” for her and her family, who have been waiting so long for justice.
As Gonzales’ execution approaches, USA TODAY is looking back at the tragic crime, who Bridget was what her family lost.
A terrible night
Bridget was at her boyfriend Joe Leal’s house that terrible night.
Leal dealt drugs and Gonzales went to his house to steal cocaine, finding Bridget there alone.
After Gonzales came in and stole some cash, Bridget started to call Leal. That’s when Gonzales overpowered her, tied her up and drove her to his grandfather’s ranch, where he raped and shot her before dumping her body in a field, according to court records.
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When Leal arrived home later that night, Bridget’s truck, purse and keys were their usual spots but he couldn’t find her anywhere and called police.
For nearly two years, no one but Gonzales knew what happened to Bridget. One day while he was serving a life sentence for the rape and kidnapping of another woman, Gonzales decided to confess to killing Bridget, leading authorities to her remains in a field in Bandera, a small town 40 miles northwest of San Antonio.
Gonzales was convicted of Bridget’s murder in September 2006.
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‘Thank God I got to see her’
Patricia Townsend last saw her daughter the same day she was killed. Townsend was working at a video store and had asked Bridget to drop by and return a video.
“Thank God I got to see her. And I told her I loved her. And I hugged her,” Townsend said.
Bridget left soon after, saying she was going to bed because she had to drive to work in the morning. Townsend told her daughter goodbye, reminding her that she loved her.
After Townsend closed the video store and went home for the night, she said she couldn’t shake the feeling that she heard Bridget call out to her: “Mom.” She tried to call Bridget but there was no answer.
“And I said, ‘Well don’t fret, Pat.’ She said she had to get up early and go to work so she’s probably sleeping,” Townsend said. “But I should have known better because always slept with her phone right next to her in case somebody called her.”
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She thought about going to check on Bridget but talked herself out of it.
“And to this day I regret not going out there,” she said. “Maybe I would have been there in time to stop him.”
Patricia Townsend gets worst news of her life
For nearly two years, Townsend spent most of her time putting up flyers about her daughter and chasing leads.
Until one night a Bandera County sheriff asked her to come to the station. Although she had been holding out hope that her daughter was alive despite the odds, she instead got the worst news of her life.
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The sheriff told Townsend that Gonzales had confessed to Bridget’s murder, had led police to her body and that he had some things he was hoping she might be able to identify.
“And I walked on down the street. I couldn’t hear it anymore,” she said.
Towsend says she didn’t even have a body to bury on Oct. 16, 2002 because Gonzales “wanted to see her body decay.”
Townsend rejected arguments from Gonzales that a childhood filled with trauma and neglect helped lead him down a path that ended in her daughter’s murder.
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“He doesn’t deserve mercy,” she said. “And his childhood should not have anything to do with it. I know a lot of people that had a hard childhood … He made his choice.”
It’s Gonzales’ own fault that he no longer has a life.
“He could be going to school or have a wife and kids,” she said. “I don’t feel sorry for him at all and I don’t want other people to feel sorry for him. Some people I feel sorry for are his grandma and grandpa that raised him.”
What has also brought comfort to Townsend amid the grief is that Gonzales is set to leave the world the same day Bridget came into it.
“When they told me June 26, I started crying, crying and crying,” she said. “That’s her birthday.”
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Instead of celebrating her daughter’s 41st birthday, she’ll drive four hours from her home in San Antonio to the Texas State Penitentiary in Huntsville and watch Gonzales die.
Silvia Hernandez, with her hair pulled back into a long ponytail, is visible from the kitchen only when she comes to the metal-framed pass, where the server grabs plated dishes to run to customers. Her glasses are precariously balanced on the lower bridge of her nose, but she snaps them back into place as she turns to attend to the cooking at her restaurant, Taqueria Gael, in Andrews.
Crossing north five years ago was the easy part of her life’s journey, Hernandez says. Growing up in El Salto, a small, quiet town in the northern Mexican state of Durango, she worked long hours hawking street food and cooking in her parents’ restaurant. She opened her own business, a hot dog cart, as a teenager, and got married at sixteen to a husband who eventually became abusive, she says. Moving to Texas was, Hernandez believed, her way out. Once she arrived in the Permian Basin town of Andrews, she began to work at local food trucks and would feed fellow food truck employees home-cooked meals of sopa de fideo, chicken, and caldo.
One Christmas, she brought the workers a holiday meal of lengua, fries, and soup. It wasn’t much, but the six young men who had no family to spend Christmas with were delighted and thankful. “It’s one of my favorite memories,” Hernandez says. So it’s no surprise that when Hernandez visited Mexico for fifteen days, the workers in Andrews messaged and called her, pleading with her to return. To their relief, she did. Then, a year ago, she opened Taqueria Gael.
Until my recent trip, my experience with tacos in West Texas had been disappointing at best. Tex-Mex in general, and the burrito in particular, was where restaurants in the area shone—that is, until my visit to Taqueria Gael, a bastion of Mexican home cooking that stands alongside the best of Texas’s Mexican restaurants.
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The same goes for the previous business that was located inside the yellow building that houses now Taqueria Gael, near the Andrews Highway. It was called La Morena and was owned by famed curmudgeon Greg Revelez. Back in 2020, the Tex-Mex joint was more of a community hub than a good restaurant. Not that it was bad—the Kitchen Sink Burrito, a smothered package of carnitas, refried beans, fries, and pearls of yellow rice topped with melted cheese and smothered in spicy brown gravy,was one of my favorite dishes of that year. Otherwise, the food was, with all due respect, forgettable. In other words, I didn’t expect such exciting and soothing comida casera (home cooking) in the oil patch town about 45 minutes north of Odessa, much less the matron behind the taqueria.
Taqueria Gael is a symbol of Hernandez’s resilience. Through her food, Hernandez shares with customers the traditions and craft passed down through the generations of women before her as well as through a life of extreme hardships.
Exterior of Taqueria Gael in Andrews.Photograph by José R. Ralat
Hernandez’s grandmother, Teresa, was a single mother of twelve children. To support her family, the matriarch, who could neither read nor write, sold menudo and other dishes she learned from her elders and passed on to her children and grandchildren. At twelve years old, Hernandez’s mother, Modesta, moved from Durango to Mexico City to work in a hospital. About a decade later, she returned to El Salto to work in Restaurante Anita. It was at the restaurant that she met her future husband. The two were immediately inseparable and married in eight days. To help provide for the growing household, Modesta opened a small restaurant, Comedor Valeria, in the family’s living room. She sold carnitas, chicharrones, gorditas, and, of course, the clan’s specialty, menudo.
Hernandez joined the family business as a teenager when she opened a hot dog cart, which she later expanded to sell carnitas. Soon after, her troubles with her husband started. Hernandez hadn’t known the kind of man he would become: a womanizing and abusive drug addict and alcoholic, as she describes him. She dealt with it as best she could, through work. “I promised myself that my children would never know cold or poverty,” Hernandez says.
Their first child, daughter Valeria, was diagnosed with epilepsy at three months old. To pay for Valeria’s treatment, Hernandez added tamales and buñelos to her street cart’s menu. Her daughter’s epilepsy disappeared at the age of four. Four years after that, Hernandez says her husband raped and impregnated her. She gave birth to a boy, Adrian. “My son is the product of abuse, but he is a blessing. He’s my baby,” Hernandez says with joy and pride in her voice. The young man is now studying information engineering, a field that blends computer science with math. “He is a man in every sense of the word. He is responsible. He is a man of his word. He isn’t lazy, nor does he drink or smoke,” Hernandez says.
In April 1998, Hernandez’s father passed away. At this time, violence was at a disastrously high level in Mexico. Her brother was kidnapped and eventually released. On another day, her husband said he was going to work and never returned. “I was left alone to raise my kids and work harder,” she says. Hernandez continued to add dishes to her cart’s menu. She did whatever she needed to do to provide for her family. She was also once more pregnant. To her anguish, the baby was stillborn.
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As soon as she could, Hernandez began the paperwork for a visa to come to the United States. She knew however hard she worked in Mexico, it wouldn’t be enough to give her children the educations and futures she dreamed they deserved. The only option was to find work north of the Rio Grande. Finally, five years ago, she was able to settle in Andrews, where she eventually opened Taqueria Gael, named after her supportive, caring partner, whom she met while working at various food trucks in Andrews. Love and the gratitude for a better life are evident in every dish.
The tacos she serves are all tacos de guisado wrapped in soft, nixtamalized-corn tortillas that are made in-house. The green picadillo, stewed with tiny potato cubes, translucent chopped onion, and invisible but fiery chiles, was a delight. The asado verde—rough-chopped chicken blanketed in a dark green salsa—was even better and hotter. The asado rojo, plump with pork obscured by an inky red sauce, left me silent. My eyes closed, and I smiled. The barbacoa was a dark bramble peeking out from below freshly grated queso blanco. For the quesadilla, queso blanco is enveloped in a corn tortilla and cooked on the flattop until the cheese melts into a milky, stretchy consistency. It only took one bite for me to feel at home.
The pozole—deep red, almost clay-colored—was a bowl of guajillo chile–punctuated stew bobbing with tender, juicy bits of pork chop. It was a hot day when I visited Taqueria Gael, but as I recalled the voices of many women in my life, I remembered hot days are made for hot food. The small, round, Nutella-filled doughnuts, glazed and shiny in the midday sun coming through one of the restaurant’s windows, were so good. I wanted to eat them all lest I offend Hernandez, who brought them to the table herself. Alas, the stop at Taqueria Gael was one of several I had planned en route to the Panhandle. Otherwise, I would’ve lingered, asked for coffee to wash down the dessert, and likely consumed the whole plate of doughnuts.
The worst of Hernandez’s life is behind her. She has made peace with the past and how it has formed her, thanks to her children and her partner. She welcomes every customer like she’s welcoming her own children to eat. As trite as that sounds, the proof is in the amazing pozole. Eating it, I felt like I belonged in Taqueria Gael, like Hernandez was happy to see me enjoy her food. Hernandez expresses it better: “I have been able to overcome obstacles with food. Everything I cook, everything I do, I do with all my heart and with love.”