Eating Authors: Arianne ‘Tex’ Thompson

1 Comment » Written on October 6th, 2014 by
Categories: News
Arianne 'Tex' Thompson

For many writers living within a reasonable traveling distance of New York city, today is an especially exciting Monday, as it marks the evening of the annual SFWA Authors and Editors Reception. I’ll be boarding a train to Manhattan, heading in early to visit with my agent before braving the throng at the party, and maybe I’ll see you there too.

Meanwhile though, it’s business as usual here at the EATING AUTHORS blog feature and our guest this week is Arianne ‘Tex’ Thompson. I first met Tex when a small group of up and coming writers banded together to create the authors’ consortium known now known as Novelocity (and if you’re not following our various Vectors, I encourage you to click this link and do so — after you’ve finished reading today’s blog).

Her first novel, One Night in Sixes, is just the first book in her Children of the Drought series. Book two, Medicine for the Dead, comes out next March (but you can avoid the rush and pre-order it now). And trust me, there will be a rush. Arianne Thompson is a force of nature trying (and failing!) to pass as a human being — just look at that smirk in her author photo — and once you’ve read her western-inspired fantasy (or maybe that should be fantasy-inspired western) you’ll never be the same again.

LMS: Welcome, Tex. So, what’s the story on your most memorable meal?

AT: Can’t lie, Lawrence – when you invited me to submit my most memorable meal, my thought process went like this: “What a cool blog idea! But what would I write about? I’m no foodie, and I barely remember what I had for breakfast, so what would I… oh. Oh, right. THAT.”

One Night in Sixes

See, my family does Christmas a little differently. Traveling during the holidays is a hassle, gift-shopping sucks, and you can’t go do much because everything’s closed. So instead of buying presents, we save up our money and meet in a different city every year, usually in October, to hang out and see the sights. (This is exactly as rad as it sounds, by the way – highly recommended.)

Anyway, a couple years back, the Thompson Tour convened in New Mexico. And it was as relentlessly grand a time as anyone could want. We walked through the streets of old Santa Fe, visited the Acoma and Taos pueblos, hit up the Manhattan Project museum at the Los Alamos National Laboratory, and so much more. One night, we stopped at a really nice Mexican restaurant for dinner.

The thing is, though, it was late – really late. And we’d had a big lunch. And my stomach generally goes to bed long before I do. So I wasn’t that hungry at all.

Still, I didn’t want to be the awkward one with nothing but a glass of water, so I ordered the smallest thing I could find – a two-enchilada dinner.

hypnotic sushi

And oh my gravy – when it showed up, it was ruinous. A mountain of rice. A sea of beans. Enchiladas like cheese-smothered fetal dachshunds. I could no more get that inside me than unhinge my jaw and swallow the infant Zeus.

[[photo caption: historical reenactment, courtesy of the sushi place down the street. And before you go thinking ‘family-style’, this was served with a cup of miso soup, an individual salad, and that one fork. That one smug, insufferable fork.]]

At home, this would not have been a problem. But we were staying at a hotel, so I had no fridge to house leftovers… and everybody else had their own ludicrous food, so nobody would want any of mine… and it was a nice restaurant, considerably pricy, with my aunt picking up the bill… so this huge, expensive, elaborate meal that I’d ordered on her dime was about to go to waste.

I couldn’t help it. After days of non-stop socializing and relentless adventure, I was exhausted. My eyes filled on the spot.

My husband leaned across the table. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

“It’s too much,” I confessed, and excused myself to the ladies’ room as discreetly as I could.

Medicine for the Dead

Suffice to say, discretion is not my specialty. My husband was a gentleman and a trooper, though, heroically consuming all of his dinner and most of mine. Between the two of us, we got it done – and I assured myself that nobody else had noticed my momentary mexi-meltdown.

Until we got out to the parking lot. “So why were you leaking?” my sister said.

Hubbles didn’t miss a beat. “MY WIFE,” he roared, “WAS CRYING. BECAUSE HER DINNER WAS TOO BIG!”

It was true. I knew it. He knew it. And in that moment, everyone within a two-block radius knew it.

And now, gentle reader, you know it too. In the years since, it’s become our homespun version of #firstworldproblems, trotted out every time I start to wibble over some surfeit of riches. Feeling guilty about all the book-launch love from friends and family? Dinner too big. Verklempt at the lovely inscription in your birthday card? Dinner too big. Misty-eyed because you had a great visit and can’t stand to go home? The bigness of your dinner is unquestionable.

Well, I tell you what, world: I will see your #firstworldproblems and raise you a #sorrynotsorry. More often than not, my dinner is too damn big to handle. May you be so lucky!

Thanks, Tex. My wife and I are planning a visit to New Mexico in a couple months, and I’m looking forward to the cuisine. Oh, and “cheese-smothered fetal dachshunds” is the name of my next band.

Next Monday: Another author and another meal!


One Response to “Eating Authors: Arianne ‘Tex’ Thompson”

As the husband in question, I can corroborate the story. The dish was the size of a truck wheel and just as filling. As well as the enchiladas there was a chile relleno, a paddy’s worth of rice, and enough (non-magic) beans that trading them for your gold coins might have actually been a decent deal. But just as Tex handles being overwhelmed by silently leaking, I prefer to yell things in parking lots.

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