I bite into an escargot taco, a headrush of garlic butter and bright green chimichurri wrapped in a stretchy, spongy Slovak tortilla. Punchy pico de gallo and red onions strike a familiar chord. They call it a French taco, but it fuses flavors from four countries: France, Mexico, Slovakia and Argentina. It’s an American melting pot in my mouth … and it’s absolutely delicious.

Welcome to Houston’s wildly diverse culinary scene—and to Blue Tuba, a Euro-Tex restaurant in the Heights, a chill residential neighborhood with Victorian homes and tree-lined streets. Central Europe is the focus at Blue Tuba, but mash-ups of a dozen different countries make appearances on the menu, including Polish tacos with smoked kielbasa and Texas brisket paella. A couple of Brooklyn transplants (both natives of the former Czechoslovakia) opened the restaurant in 2024. He plays U2 on a keyboard in the corner while she shares with us the secret ingredient in her Slovak macaroni and cheese: feta. The briny Greek cheese delivers a tiny tang to the dish, which uses halušky mini-dumplings instead of pasta for a satisfying, spaetzle-like chew.

Blue Tuba’s brisket paella was on the menu during the writer’s first day in Houston.

Blue Tuba is actually our second supper of the evening. My friend Crystal (you may know her as @fwfoodie) and I had driven down from Fort Worth for a two-night exploration of Houston’s heralded fusion cuisine. Cosmopolitan, bursting with energy and just plain big, the city boasts the most exciting food culture this side of New York. Blurring culinary boundaries is nothing new for Houston’s thriving immigrant populations, and today’s chefs are blending tradition and invention on a whole new level.

We stopped first for happy hour at Jūn, an intimate Southeast Asian-Mexican eatery with a sophisticated vibe and multilingual music. The cocktails here are all made with sake, beer or wine—there’s no liquor—but this only fuels the bartenders’ creativity. We both go for sake-based libations. Mine is a beet juice technicolor blast with lychee and marigold, and Crystal’s has Korean gochu peppers, and mango—plus grassy dill for a distinctive twist. Gochu is a Korean chili pepper that is typically mild. 

We try both micheladas on the menu, a red one with fish sauce and hoisin, and green with lime and cucumber. We don’t have time for the four-course chef’s tasting, but the happy hour menu alone validates Jūn’s nomination for James Beard’s Best New Restaurant in 2024. Jumbo oysters with pickled butter and fermented mango are just the beginning. The shrimp agua chile practically glows with zest and zing, as hidden bits of crunchy fried taro flicker within. Our finale is a tender pork sausage glazed with honey and sambal (Indonesia chili sauce), served beside Southeast Asian fixins and a Thai chili salsa criolla.

 Sated and sleepy after Jūn and Blue Tuba, we crash at the Thompson Houston. Our Hyatt hotel is one of the newest in the city and stands out from the crowd, literally—it’s a 36-story high-rise just west of downtown’s cluster of skyscrapers. Stepping off the elevators into the seventh-floor lobby, we’re greeted with unparalleled views of H-Town’s sparkling, live-wire skyline. Towering floor-to-ceiling windows seem to bring the panorama right inside; you can really appreciate the cityscape’s electric whirl from this angle. The giant pool deck and swanky Sol 7 bar and restaurant share the same floor and glorious views, hovering over the hubbub below like an elevated bubble of beautiful people, Picasso-esque paintings and mid-century cool.

Day 2: Sicilian-Cuban sweets, Viet-Cajun crawfish & Portuguese-Indian pani puri

Rousing myself from my pillowy bed in the morning, the skyline greets me once again — windows make up an entire wall of the room. I wrap myself in a fleece hoodie robe and stir condensed milk into my espresso. After two more, I’m ready for breakfast.

It’s a short drive to La Sicilia, an Italian-fusion bakery with a dizzying array of decadent pastries. There’s a beefcake behind the counter wearing a tight white tee shirt and chain necklace, with tattoos and plenty of muscles (he owns the bakery with his husband—sorry, ladies). We sample the bestseller, a Cuban-inspired pastry called a guava crunch, and a custard-stuffed sfogliatella, which is a layered and flaky traditional Italian pastry like a croissant. Our soft bomboloni doughnut is filled to the brim with luscious cannoli cream, and a pistachio ricotta cookie serves as breakfast dessert.

The Gulf Coast catch (shrimp and crawfish) from Crawfish & Noodles melds cajun and Vietnamese flavors.

We venture next into Phoenicia aka foodie dreamland: an international gourmet grocery store specializing in Europe and the Middle East. Enormous conveyor belts bring fresh-baked pita bread from upper-floor ovens through the ceiling and into your hands. Looking for Moldovan wine or Turkish cotton candy? Lebanese Namoura cake or cardamom gelato? It’s all here. We buy grilled olives and gooseberry preserves, then head to Little Saigon to lunch on Houston’s hottest new cuisine, Viet-Cajun.

Put on your plastic bib—and gloves—because Crawfish & Noodles isn’t just a meal; it’s an experience. We sit by a neon SEAFOOD sign and squint at the faded menus. A disco ball hangs over an aquarium filled with dawdling fish. But we’re not here for the decor or ambiance—we’re here for the flavor. We choose a Gulf Coast catch (shrimp and crawfish), style (Viet-Cajun) and spiciness (mild)—and then throw on some corn and potatoes. It all arrives drenched in an intense, buttery sauce that melds Vietnamese and Cajun flavors into something magical: rich and garlicky, complex, spicy-sour with spark—an unadulterated umami bomb from a James Beard semifinalist chef. 

We wash it down with Moody Tongue lychee IPAs, and two hours later, all that’s left is a pile of shells.

Pani puri filled with crab and avocado with a cilantro chutney at Da Gama.

Thoroughly spiced and sauced, we decamp to our hotel’s infinity pool. The one-acre pool deck may be the largest in Houston, with oodles of cabanas and cushy citrus-colored couches. It’s just a normal Saturday afternoon, but it feels like a celebration. We snag a shaded seat. A DJ pumps out 90s hip-hop, and a bridal party in orange swimsuits bobs in the pool. Breezes drift through, and palm trees sway. I swim to the edge of the pool, floating in the water seven floors up. The skyline view never gets old.

Dinnertime delivers another one of Houston’s major gastronomic trends, Indian fusion. You’ll find restaurants crossing Indian fare with French, Italian, Chinese and Texas barbecue. But we opt for Indian-Portuguese at Da Gama. Tucked into an upscale shopping center, it’s chic yet unfussy, with an earthy-casual vibe. But the understated decor and neutral tones belie the brilliant flavors we encounter in every exquisite bite. 

We begin with the top dish of the trip: crab pani puri. A popular Indian street food, pani puri is a hollow sphere of crispy semolina with fillings like potato and peas. But Da Gama’s is filled with crab and avocado, plus a touch of cilantro chutney. Pour on the sauce, pop it in your mouth—and experience epicurean bliss. Our sourdough naan comes swimming in ghee, and I gobble it gleefully with the spunky three-chili paneer. Portuguese Vinho Verde is the perfect dry, silky wine for our turmeric-coconut curry, a specialty from Goa with wild halibut and cauliflower. Every table at Da Gama is full, even the outdoor patio … and it’s August. 

Day 3: Mango-lavender lattes, Wagyu cookies & sweet potato ceviche

Breakfast hour brings us to the open-air Houston Farmer’s Market, the biggest and oldest such market in the city (there are dozens). Food trucks encircle the grassy outdoor lawn, where eclectic vendors sell hand-poured candles and crocheted pillows that look like Pop-Tarts. We grab mango-lavender lattes at Volando Coffee and cheesy spinach empanadas from Alamo Tamales. Inside, the massive covered marketplace is a riot of color and ripe produce, with vast swathes of ruby red chilis, golden mangos and hot pink dragon fruit. Peaches and pineapples fill the aisles with a sweet, floral fragrance. We drop into the air-conditioned boutiques to browse colorful vintage wear and pick up artisan treats, like Wagyu chocolate chip cookie dough at R-C Ranch. 

Anticuchos de corazón (beef heart) from Pacha Nikkei made the menu on the final day in Houston.

We load the ice chest with fuzzy rambutans and red plums, and turn towards home—but not before one last lunch stop at the Peruvian-Japanese restaurant Pacha Nikkei. Ceviche is their signature, and they have eight varieties with ingredients like fried cuttlefish and camu-camu, which is a tart acidic berry from South America. We go with the Clásico ceviche, a mix of Peruvian mahi-mahi, sweet potato puree and red onions. Two types of corn add bite: crunchy cancha (toasted corn nuts) and chewy choclo (starchy, oversized kernels). Aji limo peppers kick up the leche de tigre or “tiger milk”—South America’s spicy, citrusy ceviche marinade that also serves as a hangover cure and aphrodisiac. 

We also order the Sunday special, pan con chicharron, a bang-up slider with marinated pork and the unexpected pop of a shiso leaf. Purple potatoes pair well with the caramelized anticuchos de corazon (barbequed beef heart skewers), and our yucca fries fraternize with fermented yuzu tartar sauce. Pacha Nikkei’s cocktails are just as creative as the food, from purple corn mimosas to pisco-tinis with shiitake-nori turbinado and lavender bitters. It’s a shame I’m driving.

I add them to the list of things to try next time—a list that’s already loaded with recommendations from locals we met and the eateries that we just didn’t make it to. We didn’t taste the beef pho kolaches at Koffeteria, the kimchi quesadillas at Coreanos or the naan-chos at Cowboys & Indians. Sushi burritos, curry pizza and Pakistani burgers all go on the list—and no doubt new fusion restaurants will be opening soon.

Before my Houston excursion with Crystal, my idea of the city revolved around traffic and humidity. But traffic was a nonissue on the weekend, and the humidity … well, August in Fort Worth isn’t much better. My new-and-improved opinion of Houston now includes its spectacular culinary character, which is well worth a trip for any food adventurer. I may not be making escargot tacos for dinner anytime soon, but it’s nice to know that we’re just a four-hour drive away from a magnificent melting-pot metropolis where cuisines from around the planet come out to play.