De Nada; You’re Welcome

“You’re welcome” is typically heard as a response, reflexive and impersonal, to any verbal show of gratitude. De Nada Cantina implies a fuller understanding: you are welcome.

Crispy Mushroom Picadillo Taco

Putting hospitality first, De Nada believes that when you put people first, the rest will follow. Judging by the nearly unanimous raves for their original downtown Austin location, they’ve got that equation right. As founder Stephen Shallcross explains it, “Hospitality is about taking care of people. We believe in hospitality. It doesn’t mean treating anyone, be they vegans, or gluten-free, or wheelchair users, as special. Everyone should be taken care of equally. It’s in our DNA to take care people, in the dignity of all people.”

Stephen Shallcross, owner of 2 Dine 4 Hospitality Group, which includes De Nada Cantina, Sawyer & Co., SWOOP House, Lil’ Easy Cajun Food & Bar, and 2 Dine 4 Fine Catering

Expanding into a larger kitchen in their newly opened South 1st location, the already accommodating menu has expanded accordingly. Myriad meatless options showcase the inherent richness of whole foods, seasoned with the same care and attention given to prime cuts. The mushroom picadillo in particular, developed through multiple trials and many revisions, is a shining example of that commitment. Layers of spices blended so harmoniously that it’s impossible to tease them apart are infused into every molecule of the humble fungus, swaddled in soft, handmade blue corn tortillas, or crispy hard shells if you’d prefer a nostalgic American flourish.

Vegan Enchiladas

Vegetarian enchiladas aren’t victims of subtraction after being converted to veganism. Creamy green pipián sauce blankets the bundle lavishly, as if those pumpkin seeds are channeling the very spirit of sour cream. Even the refritos negros, otherwise unremarkable black beans, dazzle with depth that has an uncanny cheesy undertone. It’s the kind of thing that anyone could enjoy, without even realizing they’ve eaten a vegan meal.

Camote Taco

What began as trying to accommodate friends and family turned into a genuine passion for making plant-based foods. John Mackey, co-founder of Whole Foods Market, was an early supporter and client, who really started the wheels turning. His signature can be seen all over the catering menus, which are additionally low-sodium and almost entirely oil-free.

Frozen Margarita

Don’t worry, if you’re just here for the comfort food, no one is about to give you a lecture about healthy living here. That piece of the puzzle is incidental to simply starting with quality ingredients and not messing them up. There’s still plenty of spirit behind the bar when you want to let loose. Crowned the best margarita by The Austin Chronicle now three years running, frozen or on the rocks, large or slightly less large, these drinks do not mess around. The way that happy hour deals bring crowds in droves is self-explanatory.

Verduras Taco

In 2026, accommodation is out; inclusion is in. Everyone is truly welcome here.

De Nada Cantina

1302 S 1st St.
Austin, TX 78704

Cream Cheese of the Crop

Tofutti walked so that plant-based dairy as we know it could run. Heralding in a new era of soy alternatives before the word “tofu” even registered with American eaters, visionary David Mintz began his frozen dessert company back in 1981. Catering to the kosher community, Mintz was in the right place at the right time to ride the wave of veganism as awareness and interest skyrocketed.

Non-dairy ice cream pints begat ice cream sandwiches, the legendary Tofutti Cuties that captivated me from the earliest days of my own vegan ventures. Though the number of flavors have dwindled and few stores west of New York carry them anymore, Cuties are still alive and well today. Tofutti is therefore responsible for both the second and third product reviews posted on BitterSweet, the latter of which turned out to be their enduring legacy, beyond dessert: cream cheese.

A Lasting Legacy

Tofutti Better Than Cream Cheese has undergone a number of revisions since its introduction in the early 90s. At one point, a separate Non-Hydrogenated version was developed and sold alongside the original, eventually overtaking its predecessor as overall nutrition faced greater scrutiny. More recent innovations include whipped and flavored cream cheeses, though I’ve only seen these available for purchase online. The Plain Better Than Cream Cheese still stands tall in mainstream grocery stores across the country. Where other brands fail and vegan options flag, I can always count on finding a tub of the classic.

Review Revival, Twenty Years Later

Revisiting my initial review from twenty years ago, I couldn’t help but wonder if Tofutti cream cheese still measured up. Right out of the gate, differences started stacking up. It appears that the spread has gained a bit more fat, as we all tend to do as we age, to the tune of an additional 30 calories per serving. Unbothered by the addition, which merely makes it comparable to conventional dairy-based options, I plunged in, bread at the ready.

Unsavory Impact

Immediately, I’m hit with a discordant note, an off-flavor that doesn’t quite fit with the rest. No, this is not cream cheese, it reasserts with every bite, slowly stepping back as your taste buds adjust. For lack of a better description, it strikes me as brown, perhaps subtly beany and nutty, without the wholesome, organic connotations that should bring. There’s no tanginess to speak of, not even a hint of gentle sourness or acidity, which I would have expected from the genuine article. It’s also strikingly sweet; much sweeter than I remember.

Served straight-up, unadorned, it’s not quite pulling its weight as a savory schmear worthy of a proper Jewish delicatessen. Texturally, however, this spread is unassailable. Luscious, silky smooth, slightly slippery, and thick enough to pile on high, the mouthfeel alone makes it worth the price of entry.

Still Sweet On This Spread

Am I wrong for wanting more from this old-school brand, which ultimately prides itself in staying true to its roots? In fact, Tofutti was always my go-to recommendation, not for noshing straight, but for baking. Better Than Cream Cheese was at the heart of my award-winning cheesecake, every decadent swirl of cream cheese frosting, countless truffles, ice cream bases, and even cookies. That inherent sweetness makes it a seamless match for every dessert you can think of. Time and again, I’ll fill my cart with baking staples, Tofutti cream cheese riding in front.

Mixed Results

Ultimately, no, it’s not the same as it once was, though that’s not to say it should be left in the past. We are not the same as we were either, twenty years ago. It pains me to admit that it’s not my favorite across the board, despite all the good it’s done over the years. In desserts and sweet treats, I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend the brand with genuine conviction. But, viewed holistically as a savory spread to top bagels, compared to the competition, Tofutti is no longer making a schmear that’s Better Than Cream Cheese.

He Said, She Said, They Did

Is it a controversial statement that I think she-crab soup is unnecessarily gendered? Yes, it’s true that traditionally, this coastal delicacy employed only female crabs for their rich vermilion roe, giving it the edge over comparatively lean he-crab soup. In the current modern era, however, when we’re talking about a vegan version that uses neither sex, the designation makes no sense. They-Crab Soup is the only fitting moniker for this southern staple, if you ask me.

Originally created for President William Howard Taft who was a known fan of turtle soup, an even more antiquated dish that has mercifully disappeared from menus since, this crabby variation has a lot in common with what we would recognize today as a chowder or bisque. What sets it apart is the use of white rice as a thickening agent, creating a voluptuous texture without the need to hammer in the heavy cream. There’s a hint of tomato for ample umami, the warmth of smoked paprika for depth, and the standard sort of mirepoix to hold down the fort. It’s a fool-proof combination that’s an easy win for any diner, even a president.

Specifically for my recipe renovation, shredded oyster mushrooms replace crabs of any gender with ease. When pulled apart by hand, they mimic the delicate strands of shellfish remarkably well, soaking up the briny broth like they were born for the task. A touch of kelp granules and capers lends an unmistakable oceanic briny kiss to complete the effect. What emerges is a soup that honors the spirit of the original without clinging to its baggage. Built on technique and balance, not biology, it succeeds for the same reason the original did: it’s deeply comforting and undeniably delicious. Call it what you like, but once you taste it, the argument feels beside the point.

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Mumbo Gumbo

No matter what I have to say about gumbo, I’m going to be wrong. This isn’t just my continuous threads of self-doubt pulling my words into misshapen, unsteady forms, but a genuine fact. I did not grow up with gumbo coursing through my veins, learning its ways from my elders, steeped in time-honored traditions. I never had to before going vegan, impossibly picky eater that I was, unswayed by the heavy mix of chicken, sausage, and shrimp. My Yankee roots cultivated no appreciation or basic awareness for the art of gumbo, only a vague impression of it as something thick, dark, and intimidatingly meaty, best left to esteemed bayou-born experts.

What is Gumbo?

Like a game of culinary telephone, my knowledge comes only from stories and photos, books and movies. All that I can say with conviction is that it starts with a roux. That, and the “Holy Trinity” of onions, celery, bell peppers, AKA Creole mirepoix. Blending the traditional foodways of Africa, France, Spain, and Native Americans alike, what you do next depends on your heritage. Some may reach for okra or filé powder for additional thickening capacity, some go straight for the proteins and load it up with everything from seafood to sausage, while still others simply hammer in the spices as if they were trying to kindle an edible inferno. The most succinct explanation for gumbo is that it’s a thick stew; choose your own adventure.

Don’t Fumble the Gumbo!

With that tenuous understanding, I proceeded to make a mockery of this beloved staple. Not intentionally, mind you, but I have a feeling that anyone hailing from New Orleans wouldn’t even glance in the direction of this Frankenstein melting pot. Using vegan sausage is probably the least controversial part of it, and that’s saying something. Swapping olive oil for butter in the roux could very well get me run out of town.

Still, I kept stirring. Once you start making a roux, you have to fully commit, whether or not you know exactly what you’re doing. The color deepens slowly, then more decisively, taking on a toasted, nutty smell that’s even more encouraging than the hue. By the time the broth was in and bubbling away, all the initially disparate pieces seemed to fit together. I don’t expect this version to resonate with anyone who was raised on the real thing, and that’s okay. Ending up with something comforting, hearty, and richly spiced is only part of the goal; paying homage to a dish that holds more history than I can speak for fills me up in a much more meaningful, lasting way.

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