Meet Gringón

El Gringón - Like a regular gringo, but mas chingón

I’ve spent sixty-three years breathing Texas air, and most of that time has been dedicated to a simple, honest mission: keeping the lights on for millions of my fellow Texans. Throughout a 45-year career in the utility industry, I’ve learned that whether you’re balancing the grid or balancing a brisket rub, details are the only thing that save you.

I’ve chased the best in Texas flavors from the red dirt of the Red River, across the plains of Texas, through the Texas Hill Country all the way out to the Starlight, to the banks of the Rio Bravo, all the way down to the Gulfo de México.

I’ve sat at the fine white-clothed tables of Dallas high-end icons and on the wobbly stools of down-home Texas cocinas where the salsa has a bite of a rattle snake and the history has a soul. I’m not looking for the newest trend—I’m looking for the tradition that survived the miles.

I’m Gringón. I’ve eaten the food, as my 270 lbs. prove. I’ve got the stories, I’ve done the miles, and I’ve got the scars to prove it. Pull up a chair, but don't expect me to sugarcoat the truth. In my book, the truth is best served with a side of brisket, some jalapeño smoked sausage, a handmade tortilla, and an ice cold Shiner Bock longneck.

Stay hungry, Texas!