It’s a late night at Lone Star: Urban coyotes are saddled up at the bar, and some men with fresh ink on their arms order a round of Micheladas. Your neighbor is chowing down on beef barbacoa, and its smoky scent is hitting you like a barbecue in July. So lasso a salt-rimmed margarita—the El Diablo will put a little hair on your chest with its jalapeno and habanero. Then rob a freight train of a taco, say, the grilled avocado, loaded up with a slab of griddled queso like a melting brick of gold.