Heed these words, traveler: eating four meals of red cheese enchiladas over a weekend is for those with a stout constitution, an adventurous spirit, and written permission from one’s cardiologist. It’s thankless duty, but oh, the glory to be had.

Our destination was El Paso, home to approximately one zillion Mexican joints, a graced land where enchiladas don’t, as a rule, involve ground beef or orange cheese. El Paso not only has lots of Mexican food, it has lots of good Mexican food, to an extent unrivaled in Texas.

So my husband, our twelve-year-old son, and I roared into the city one Friday night, girded for a tour of enchiladas. Our intentions were not to find the best enchilada plate but rather to revel in enchiladas with abandon, for no purpose other than our unguarded pleasure.

Read the full Texas Monthly piece at http://bit.ly/1fVnCRE