Long before I understood how much food could connect us to a place, West Texas had already left its mark on me.

For me, West Texas is mesquite smoke hanging in the air, hot summer evenings, and the feeling that something good was always cooking somewhere nearby. Merkel was where we stayed, but Abilene was the day we looked forward to.

My family had moved to Tennessee before I was born, but every summer my uncle and I would make the trip back to Merkel to spend two weeks with my great-grandmother. Those visits gave me a connection to a place I never technically called home, but somehow always felt like part of me.

Food is wrapped through nearly every memory I have of those trips. We’d bring home barbecue from The Mesquite Bean, and I can still remember that unmistakable smell of mesquite and live fire. Every trip also had an Abilene day, and there’s a steakhouse there that left enough of an impression on me that the steaks I cook today are still influenced by the way I remember theirs.

I haven’t been back in years, but I still carry those places with me.

‍Abilene isn’t a recreation of one meal or an attempt to make a West Texas classic. It’s a dish built from what I remember: smoke, fire, a good piece of meat, summer fruit, and the feeling of being somewhere that mattered.