Can It All Be So Simple?

There was a time when you could starve to death driving from Phoenix to Austin. It wasn’t that long ago. I know this because it almost happened to me, but thanks to some combination of luck, fate, and a family-run Mexican restaurant in Van Horn, Texas, I survived.

Chuy’s is a chain of restaurants that originated in Austin in 1982. But the Chuy’s in Van Horn had nothing to do with that chain because the Chuy’s in Van Horn was a unicorn. A dining experience that felt like a fever dream before the food even fully digested.

I found myself at Chuy’s about 20 years ago, back before iPhones and Google Maps. Back then you either read maps, printed directions, or had a Garmin GPS. I was in a band touring the country in a Ford fifteen-passenger van with four other guys who possessed absolutely no navigational skills, so the GPS was crucial.

The Garmin was simple. You plugged in your destination and you were on your way via 8-bit graphics and a robotic, shy version of Siri who had yet to develop a full vocabulary. There were buttons for gas, hospitals, and food. That was it. Hit the respective button and a list populated with nearby options and their distances.

Most of the time, the food button gave you the same lineup. McDonald’s. Burger King. Taco Bell. Pizza Hut. They appeared in order of distance with the mileage next to each. Because they were usually clustered around the same highway exit or tiny town, the numbers were nearly identical. McDonald’s, 6.2 miles. Burger King, 6.2 miles. Pizza Hut, 6.4 miles.

Sometimes your oasis was farther away. Maybe 16.7 miles. Maybe 26.3 if you were cutting through farmland. If you were really unlucky, like when we forgot just how empty the Pacific Northwest could be, it would say something like 45.4 miles away. Brutal.

But on this particular night, none of the familiar chains appeared.

We hit back. Pressed “food” again.

Nothing.

Only one name populated the list.

Chuy’s. 215 miles away.

The only sign of life in the next two hundred miles of highway was a place we had never heard of. The choice was simple. Either we starve to death or we go to Chuy’s.

I’m going to skip the flowery language and buildup and just tell you that if Chuy’s were still standing today, the first thing you would see upon entering would be a gigantic mural taking up most of one of the dining room walls. The mural depicted the restaurant itself and the lonely stretch of road it sat on, watched over by an enormous Jesus Christ towering above the building.

Jesus and Mexican restaurants are not exactly an unusual pairing, but the more important detail in the mural was parked directly in front of the restaurant. The tour bus of the late, great sports announcer John Madden.

And if you think that was just some random detail tucked into the artwork, you would be mistaken.

There was John Madden memorabilia everywhere. Photos, signs, bobbleheads, pendants, banners, and much more. One of the dining rooms seemed to exist entirely under the assumption that Madden might walk through the doors at any moment. A permanent table waited for him there, complete with a director’s chair bearing his literal name, positioned in front of a giant television and surrounded by even more Madden relics. Even the menu told the story, the story emblazoned on the back beginning with the line, “By the grace of God, John Madden visited our restaurant.”

Madden famously suffered from claustrophobia and a severe fear of flying, so he traveled the country in a bus known as the “Madden Cruiser.” The story goes that, much like us, he once found himself stranded along that desolate stretch of I-10 and wandered into Chuy’s hungry. He loved the food and atmosphere so much that weeks later he mentioned it in an interview, calling it one of the best meals he had ever had.

From that moment on, Chuy’s awaited the return of its savior.

Not Jesus.

John Madden.

And while they waited, they prepared diligently for his homecoming, slowly transforming their family restaurant into a shrine devoted entirely to him.

Chuy’s is gone now. And honestly, the final reviews left online are kind of heartbreaking. The place seemed to slowly disintegrate once times got hard. Google Maps now shows a whole cluster of restaurants in the Van Horn area, so maybe competition finally caught up to them. Or maybe the death of their king in 2021 was simply too much to survive.

I think about Chuy’s a lot. Mostly when I want too much. When I think about dreams that never materialized, or when I wish for more square footage, more money, or more hours in the day.

I think about Chuy’s anytime I start convincing myself that happiness exists one rung higher on the ladder.

Because inside the walls of Chuy’s, there was only Mexican food, Jesus, and John Madden.

And until it wasn’t, that was enough.

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A big thank you to my friend Andrew who inspired me to write this story and reminded me that we returned to the holy land that was Chuy’s one last time in 2018 before they closed their doors. R.I.P.