Week 7, weeknight. I found myself on the picnic tables outside of Nelson’s as the sun dipped below the trees in the Whiteaker neighborhood of Eugene. The lights strung up outside the building twinkled off the ice in my glass, and even though I was there by myself, I wasn’t even close to being alone. I watched friends share plates and swap drinks, laughter passing between them, the energy was warm and communal. As I enjoyed my meal and looked forward to June, I wondered if this is what my community has been fighting for all along. Not just marriage certificates or flags, but moments like these, moments where a queer-owned restaurant in the heart of Eugene doesn’t have to be a statement but simply a place to exist, to break bread, to breathe.

The first time I visited Nelson’s, I was in the throes of transformative life changes and I realized that the story of Nelson’s actually mirrors many of our own. It began as a local food cart, Nelson’s Taqueria, and has since found its home at 400 Blair Boulevard, in the space formerly occupied by Papa’s Soul Food. The building has seen many phases, lives, and iterations, just as I have. After narrowly surviving the pandemic and a fire at their previous location in 2023, owners Nelson Lopez and his husband, TJ Mooney, have created something that feels more like a home than a business.
That night, I got to watch Nelson move through the restaurant, greeting everyone with the same genuine warmth. It felt rare, like an acknowledgement of “I see you. You belong here.” I think it’s a radical thing in this world—being seen. After enough years of wandering through a world that often misunderstands us or looks past us altogether, there’s a comfort in being welcomed exactly as you are. As Nelson told the Register-Guard, “Treat this like home. When you are here, you are family.”

Now, to get into the menu, I’m not sure exactly how they did it, but their Whiteaker Burrito nearly brought me to tears. The chicken was juicy and rich with spices; the pico and guac added freshness that was everything I could have wanted, and shredded cheese wrapped itself around these perfectly crispy fries. You heard that right, fries inside the burrito.

I also had a delightful strawberry margarita! It was sweet, salty, and unbelievably fresh. Strawberries remind me of the warmer months, and I think the margarita complemented the food perfectly. It wasn’t just “good munchie food,” though it certainly satisfied that specific type of hunger. It was food made with the same intention that built Nelson’s: patience, care, history and joy. I sat at my table and watched gorgeous plates of fajitas, pollo a la parrilla, and a variety of tacos flow from the kitchen; the servers were smiling, people had their families and children there, it was truly a place where people could gather.

I’ll admit, I am a sentimental person, but I do believe there was something sacred in the unspoken at Nelson’s – a feeling of being present. In those quiet moments between conversations, I felt the weight of what spaces like Nelson’s truly offer. In a culture fixated on productivity and purpose, queerness has always carved out room for simply being. For resting, for celebrating. For sitting on a patio on a warm night, with nowhere else to be. For understanding each other without words.

We talk often about queer spaces disappearing as community centers lose funding, books and flags are banned, and as Spectrum, Eugene’s only LGBTQ+ bar, closed its doors last summer. This makes the boldness of queer visibility all the more vital, parades, protests, public gathering places. But I think it’s also about those weeknights where we whisper “I see you” across a dinner table. It’s being welcomed with a “Hello, beautiful!” and “Hi, Handsome!” no matter who you are. When we’re exhausted from the work of existing loudly and proudly in a world that sometimes wishes we wouldn’t, the center holds at Nelson’s. Where a perfectly crafted burrito with unexpected crispy fries becomes a way we can take care of each other, and maybe that’s what we’ve been hungry for all along.