These taquitos are an all-night breakfast of champions.

The little taco! It’s a little dream in a tortilla: simplicity incarnate, infinitely docile. Hardly as ubiquitous as its sibling the taco, and slightly less elaborate than the enchilada with salsa, it can come smothered in queso fresco and lettuce, if you prefer, or ungarnished in a paper wrapper, or scattered on steaming pastel plates.

Recipe: Chorizo ​​Taquitos

Also known as golden tacos or rolled tacos, taquitos, “little tacos” in Spanish, generally consist of a tortilla (most commonly corn, though sometimes flour) wrapped around a protein base and pan-fried or deep-fried in oil. . Its many iterations vary across regions and seasons. You can stuff yours with chicken or shredded beef, or opt for refried beans and diced avocados.

The dish evokes time and place. Although its roots may be traced to the Mexican flute, the taquito’s origins are tied in various ways to early 20th-century California. They manage to speak directly to your immediate situation, whether you’ve landed them on your dining room table, bar stool, or dashboard of your car.

On the Whataburger menu, a less traditional form of taquito occupies a place of distinction. Established in 1950 in Corpus Christi, Texas, the burger chain has since spread to more than a dozen southern and southwestern states, with more than 940 locations. They all feature the familiar orange and white W, which can be seen on a clear, wide day along I-10, or late at night through the thick Houston fog.

In the decades since its inception, Whataburger has become a semi-regional icon: many Texans rely on their local locations, opting to only order specific dishes at specific, god-forsaken times. While the chain is known for its burgers, the Whataburger taquito, available from 11 p.m. to 11 a.m., is especially notable, and the experience varies depending on your mood, tolerance, or sobriety.

What makes taquitos especially dreamy is how they intertwine with the rhythms of daily life.

If you ask a Houstonian of drinking age for a Whataburger story, there’s a good chance they’ll throw a litany in your face: I’ve eaten Whataburger taquitos late at night after Pride parades, deliciously buzzing and lazing next to a drag queens table out of order. I’ve frosted them while running from Terminal B, the only terminal with a Whataburger, to E through George Bush Intercontinental Airport. I’ve sat in front of trays full of them, commiserating with my friends about bad boyfriends and boring sex. But what makes taquitos especially dreamy is how they weave into the rhythms of daily life: I’ve picked up sacks of Whataburger taquitos along the way to help paint my friends’ houses. Or as make-up gifts after half-hearted disagreements. Sometimes, after staying up late, I bring a couple home, stuffing them with kimchi and gochujang-mayo spread, to eat over the stove as I marvel at the possibilities of joy in simplicity.

Memories allude to a deeper truth: where we share a plate is just as important as the food itself. And for many people in Texas, particularly those from underserved communities, those spaces can be few and far between. As anti-queer and anti-trans legislation continues to brew and circulate across the state, it’s hard to overstate the importance of rooms that are implicitly open to all. And that’s enough to magnify its versatility: a Whataburger can be a queer bar, if you need it, or an after-party spot, or a road trip reflection point, or just a convenient outlet for a bite to eat yet. more convenient. The presence of the taquito in its menu makes it a wide accomplice.

Cooking taquitos at home can be as simple or complex as you want. A simple tortilla wrapped around chorizo, scrambled eggs, and shredded cheese does the trick, but garnishing that base with herbs and layers of sauce can help. Because you are contributing flavors, of course, but also a moment and an emotion. No matter the template of a recipe, this build looks different for everyone. And that’s fine.

It’s been a while, but my last taquito came at the end of a very fancy dinner in downtown Houston, the kind where you leave without having eaten anything. The chefs were impeccable. The atmosphere of the restaurant felt exquisite. But I still found myself at a Whataburger on the way home. Someone was shooting at Lizzo from a truck in the restaurant parking lot. Some gay men, probably on their way back from Montrose, the city’s queer haven, were sitting in booths. Behind them, stoned-looking teenagers were laughing over nothing, next to two women who were cracking up about the end of a relationship, and an older couple munching silently in tandem from their own booth, illuminated by the lights. from the street by the window.

So I ordered a taquito. She ate it on a curb in the parking lot. It was a reminder that there are as many ways to enjoy a meal as we allow, and as many people to participate.

Recipe: Chorizo ​​Taquitos