Forgotten places leave behind sensory keys that, when reencountered, unlock entire mental, sensual, and emotional worlds. Whenever I drive past the former location of the Bun ’n’ Barrel Terrace on Austin Highway in San Antonio, for instance, my mind takes me back to the fried chicken legs, as crispy as they were juicy, that came shod in the early 1960s in frilly, pastel-colored paper shoes, which proved irresistible to my girly six-year-old self. Soon enough, I see my impossibly young and already overwhelmed parents at the table, trying to maintain order with then only two of what would become three kids, and my grandparents, surely younger than I am now, subverting their efforts by offering me their side servings of honey. Even today, I can…
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