For years, the name would haunt Rodolfo Ruiz. "Gordolfo Gelatino!" his cousins would chant, cackling at the gelatinous roll of chub peeking out from 10-year-old Rudy's T shirt. That night, and many nights after, Ruiz would stare in the mirror and pinch that roll, vowing to avoid the fat-heavy chorizo and taquitos that were staples in his south Texas home. As far as border cuisine went, his family wasn't unusual: his mother melded rich Mexican cooking with the corn-syrup and trans fats of mainstream America-and, at the time, she knew no better. "Mom, is bacon good for you?" Rudy would ask. "Yes," she'd reply. "Bacon is meat."
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