If I had to sum up Texas in one phrase that didn’t include any of the state’s clichéd phrases like “everything’s bigger,” I’d say this: the Lone Star State stands as a testament to why we Americans are so uncontrollably, grotesquely overweight. Now, that’s not to say I’ve experienced a larger number of hefties since my arrival in DFW’s sprawling bosom. Really, there are no more here than anywhere else I’ve lived. The truth is, the way the state (and in particular, the Dallas-Fort Worth “metroplex”) has been organized lends itself to an unavoidably lazy existence that, unfortunately, has become the 21st century American standard.
Unlike back east, where cities are self-contained and outlying areas are separately categorized as suburbs, cities out west seem unfettered by zoning laws or town lines. Here, a Dallas job listing could as easily be found within the city’s glimmering skyline as it could 20 miles from downtown! Thanks to this heinous geographical neglect, I find myself trapped in the car for ungodly stretches of time to run even the simplest errands. This, of course, is catalyzed by the area’s unrelenting traffic boom. To say DFW is becoming a miniature Los Angeles is an understatement. An unending sprawl of strip malls and suburban look-alike blocks is anything but pretty at 15 MPH. Such is suburban life.
Lacking any locally defining characteristics, these doppelganger blocks feature row upon row of suburban bliss: fast food and generic family restaurants as far as the eye can see. One would be hard pressed to find anything healthy, much less green, in these parts. It’s no wonder my gastronomic state has been in a state of panic ever since touching down. If it hasn’t been deep-fried or slathered in butter, it probably hasn’t found its way onto my plate these past few weeks.
One could argue I was spoiled living in such a culinarily broad place as New York, but the reality is I was just lucky to be living in a real city. The benefit of real, self-contained cities is the forced clustering of many different groups of people. We pasty Americans have never been particularly diverse in our culinary exploits, so it should come as no surprise that a place as “red-blooded” as Texas finds my tongue uninspired and my waistline begging for mercy.
Of course, all of this isn’t intended to suggest Texas doesn’t have beauty or interest to be found. It’s certainly different from anywhere I’ve lived before. The state just didn’t turn out to be quite my speed. At least I learned this before letting my roots plant too deep. Still, I don’t think anyone could call me geographically flaky. Being in one’s 20′s is about exploration, after all. I suppose all I can hope is my next destination will feature a few more unique destinations and a few less gridlocked freeways. Is that really too much to ask for these days?
