Home Away From Home: 48 Hours in Austin
By Rydel Cerezo
Austin in June doesn’t unfold—it simmers. The heat is immediate and total, pressing into your skin, slowing your stride, softening everything sharp. But beyond the temperature, there’s another kind of heat here: one that welcomes you in.
I came to Austin with my film camera, a few pieces from Fable, and an openness to whatever might reveal itself. I didn’t expect to feel disarmed by the city’s warmth—the people, the generosity, the ease. The way strangers offer directions like they’re giving you a memory. You feel it in the food, in the rhythm of conversation, in the objects that surround daily life—not decorative, but lived-in. Like the best design, nothing is trying to be more than it is.
Day One: Morning Rituals, Long Shadows, and a Dinner That Felt Like Home
The heat was already building by the time I reached Proud Mary, a cafe merging Melbourne’s coffee culture with Austin’s spirit. Inside, the light moved across the countertops and coffee cups as if it were choreographed. The coffee was strong, the tableware sturdy—pieces that asked to be held. There’s something about starting the day with objects that feel intentional. It slows you down in the right ways.
After, I wandered South Congress, where storefronts blur into murals and the pavement radiates warmth. The “I Love You So Much” wall still draws crowds, but standing there, camera in hand, it didn’t feel cliché. It felt familiar. That’s the thing about Austin—it doesn’t try to charm you. It just does.
The day culminated with an intimate dinner party hosted by Fable and ATX Supper Club at Falling Leaves, a home recently featured in Architectural Digest. As The Bros Fresh performed under a fading sky, we gathered around a table set entirely in Fable—ceramics, flatware, glassware. Nothing felt staged. Everything felt lived with. The highlight, though, was the people—locals full of pride for their city, led by Bay Stewart, ATX Supper Club’s founder and the kind of host whose warmth draws people in without trying. It was the kind of night that reminded me how deeply hospitality can be felt when it’s shared freely.
Day Two: Texture, Tradition, and Unexpected Discoveries
At Josephine House, brunch arrived as a study in contrasts: shrimp and grits bright with lemon and red pepper, served in a pale ceramic bowl that seemed made for that exact morning light. Texture was everywhere—stoneware in my hands, rough wood beneath my elbows, condensation sliding down glass. These materials don’t just exist in the frame. They tell you something about how people live here.
That afternoon, I wandered into Allen’s Boots—a Texan institution. The scent of leather hits you first, followed by the sight of hundreds and hundreds of boots, from exotic Caiman crocodile to Western. In the back, a small display featuring Fable’s Little Bowl caught my eye, surrounded by raccoons playing poker. The juxtaposition was perfect: traditional craftsmanship meeting playful Austin irreverence, quality pieces earning their place in unexpected contexts.
Dinner was brisket at Terry Black's BBQ, and it reminded me how communal a meal can feel, even when you’re eating on a bench outside with strangers. A bird swooped down mid-bite and stole a piece off my tray. The couple next to me barely flinched. That’s Austin—chaotic in the best way. There’s no pressure to perform. You’re just part of whatever’s unfolding.
As the sun dropped, I walked across the Congress Avenue Bridge, watching the sky stain pink over Lady Bird Lake. Later, I ended up at The White Horse—a whiskey slingin’ Honkey Tonk—where boots shuffled across scuffed floors, everyone swaying in a shared rhythm. The space wasn’t pristine, but it was full of life. There’s a kind of romance to places that wear their stories openly.
Final Stop: Juan in a Million
Before flying out, I stopped at Juan in a Million. You can’t miss it—the handshake at the door is as much a rite of passage as the Don Juan breakfast taco. Inside, the air is thick with the smell of eggs, tortillas, and something spiced just enough to wake you up. The salsa was tangy, hot, and bright—the kind of heat that deepens flavor instead of overpowering it.
The walls are lined with photos. Community. Family. People who’ve completed the taco challenge. People who’ve been coming here forever. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t need to chase relevance. It has it, effortlessly. The tableware was simple, worn. And yet, sitting there, I felt more at home than I had all trip.
What I'm Taking Home
I didn’t love the heat. I still don’t. But the warmth? That changed something in me. Austin taught me that warmth is a way of moving through the world. The heat made me slow down, but the people, the spaces, the meals—they invited me in.
Here, warmth isn’t performative. It’s cultural. It’s culinary. In a place where Southern and Mexican traditions fold into one another—in rhythm, in recipes, in how people love—there’s no need for perfection. Just presence. It’s a kind of hospitality that makes you feel like you’ve always belonged.
That same feeling lives in the details—plates meant to be passed, bowls meant to be filled and refilled, pieces that feel like they’ve always been part of the home. In Austin, quality isn’t precious. It’s lived-in. Sturdy.
After 48 hours, I left with rolls of film, a stack of vintage photos, and a deeper understanding of what it means to be hosted—to be let in. That’s what Fable does, too. The pieces don’t just set the table—they create space for connection. The right plate. The right pause. The right kind of warmth.
And that warmth? I’m still carrying it.
Photography by Rydel Cerezo | Shot on 35mm film
