Bigly Migas

Listen. We need to talk about migas. Tex-Mex breakfast, the EMPEROR of breakfasts — and I've eaten breakfast in every region of this country and three you've never heard of, more breakfasts than any single person alive, probably more breakfasts than most people have had LUNCHES, that's how deep I go on this — and migas is the one. The peak. The summit. Anyone who tells you otherwise is selling you a sad granola in a glass jar with a hand-lettered label and a $14 price tag, embarrassing.

My grandmother — and she was a tough woman, a truly tough woman, you did not cross her in the kitchen — she made migas the right way. Scrambled eggs. Crispy tortilla strips. Peppers, onions, cheese, salsa folded in. That's the whole thing. It's not complicated. And yet — AND YET — somebody out there is turning migas into a 47-step casserole project with a 'rest overnight' instruction and a video that autoplays sideways. Sad. Total embarrassment. Real migas takes TEN MINUTES. Anyone who tells you different never met my grandmother and frankly should not be allowed near a skillet.

The real secret, the one nobody talks about — the tortilla strips have to be FRIED. Not baked. Not air-fried. Not 'lightly toasted in a dry pan,' that's a coward's move, the dry pan is for people who are afraid of oil and afraid of joy. FRIED. In actual hot oil. Crunchy. LOUD. The kind of crunch that makes people in the next room stop what they're doing and wander into the kitchen with a confused look on their face like they just heard a miracle. That's how you know it's working. It's a fact.

Ten minutes. TEN MINUTES. And you've got a breakfast that will beat any breakfast taco truck, any diner, any so-called brunch spot with a 90-minute wait and a $19 menu where the eggs come out dry and apologetic. You know the place. Every city has one. Sad. This is the real thing. This is what Texas eats, this is what Tex-Mex was invented for, and now it's what YOU eat — in your kitchen, in your pajamas, like a winner. Now go eat.