Ben Holloway Eats

Sometimes you just really need some Burger King

2006-11-22T20:46:00.000-06:00

BOISE, Idaho (AP) -- Two employees of the city's ice skating rink have been fired for making a midnight fast-food run in a pair of Zambonis. An anonymous tipster reported seeing the two big ice-resurfacing machines chug through a Burger King drive-through and return to the rink around 12:30 a.m. on Nov. 10. The squat, rubber-tired vehicles, which have a top speed of about 5 mph, drove 1 1/2 miles in all.

The Zamboni operators, both temporary city employees whose names and ages were not released by Parks and Recreation Department, had to negotiate at least one intersection with a traffic light on their late-night creep from Idaho Ice World.

''They were fired immediately,'' said Parks Department Director Jim Hall. ''We're pretty sure it was just the one time. When we interviewed them, they didn't seem to be too concerned about it. I don't think they understood the seriousness of it.''

Hall said neither the $75,000 Zambonis nor their $10,000 blades appeared damaged, but the city could charge the employees with operating an unlicensed motor vehicle on a public street.

Three things I didn't know...but that don't surprise me

2006-11-16T22:53:00.000-06:00

1. The frozen Margarita was invented in Dallas, and "it was coeds from nearby Southern Methodist University who really spread the drink's fame."

2. In France, you can take the wild mushrooms you've picked to any drug store to make sure you avoid toxic varieties, because "all pharmacists here are trained mycologists."

3. Lonesome Dove, a restaurant that's perfect in Fort Worth, is not doing so well in New York.

Quote of the Day

2006-11-09T15:41:00.000-06:00

From a New York Times review of rapper The Game's new album: "Hi-Tek produced the slow-rolling "Ol' English," a tribute to the Game's favorite malt liquor and his favorite typeface, too."

Several of us have been having fun today thinking of new rap topics fitting the booze/font theme. Feel free to play along.

Laphroig and Century Gothic
Monopolova and Helvetica
Saucerne Sans Serif
Monotype Corosiva and Courvoisier
Dewars and Dwellers
Diploma and Dimple Pinch
Haettenschweiler and Goldschlager
Trebuchet Sauvignon
Malibu and ...Malibu

Of course, as fun as this is, none of us have attempted to actually write rap lyrics. Maybe this weekend.

Give this man a Nobel Prize.

2006-10-29T11:07:00.000-06:00

Or a Macarthur. Hell, give him an Oscar. Just recognize his genius in some fashion.

NEW YORK, Oct 26 (Reuters Life!) - A new fast food is making its debut at U.S. fairs this fall -- fried Coke.

Abel Gonzales, 36, a computer analyst from Dallas, tried about 15 different varieties before coming up with his perfect recipe -- a batter mix made with Coca-Cola syrup, a drizzle of strawberry syrup, and some strawberries.

Balls of the batter are then deep-fried, ending up like ping-pong ball sized doughnuts which are then served in a cup, topped with Coca-Cola syrup, whipped cream, cinnamon sugar and a cherry on the top.

"It tastes great," said Sue Gooding, a spokeswoman for the State Fair of Texas where Gonzales' fried Coke made its debut this fall. "It was a huge success."

Gonzales ran two stands at the State Fair of Texas and sold up to 35,000 fried Cokes over 24 days for $4.50 each -- and won a prize for coming up with "most creative" new fair food.
Now other fairs in North Carolina and Arizona are following the trend, and other people are trying to emulate Gonzales' recipe.

Gonzales gave no indication of the calories in his creation and said he would not patent it.

"The best I can hope for is that it's the original and hopefully the best fried Coke out there," he said.

But Gonzales said the success of his fried Coke had inspired him. Next year's fair-goers can look forward to fried Sprite or -- for those watching their weight -- fried diet Coke.

"We are trying to cut a lot of the sugar out of it. It has less calories but it's still very, very sweet," he said.

Ray Crockett, a spokesman for Coca-Cola Co., said: "We're constantly amazed at the creative ways folks find to enjoy their Coke and make it part of celebrations like fairs and festivals. This is one is definitely different!"

Another victory for Texas.

Drinking and driving

2006-10-16T18:26:00.000-05:00

In the interest of time, I'm going to have to spare the details. Just let me tell you this: after a couple of margaritas and a shitload of Tex-Mex from Chuy's, you should probably wait for a while before going to the driving range to hit golf balls. Trust me. The new rule is to wait half an hour before swimming and two hours before swinging metal rods in close proximity to total strangers.

And to the weird, chain-smoking, phone-call-making golfer next to me: damn you! After you gave me that bit of "friendly advice," I lost what little concentration I had. I was at least avoiding the trees before you helped me out.

And if you're watching the news and wondering: we're just fine. Though the apartment building two and a half blocks away is now flooding, we're several feet higher. As long as it lets up just a little, I should have no trouble getting to work in the morning.

In praise of Great Chefs of the World

2006-10-06T17:19:00.000-05:00

The Food Network just gets worse and worse. They quit playing the real Iron Chef and replaced it with their lame Iron Chef America. They got rid of Anthony Bourdain’s A Cook’s Tour for the same reason: because they want to focus more on domestic food. Luckily, Bourdain got picked up by the Travel Channel, and No Reservations is much better than Cook’s Tour was to begin with. But Food Network has also been pushing loudmouth Paula Dean and her loudmouth sons way too much. They also devote an inordinate amount of time to cooking contests involving sculptural cakes. I never thought I’d live to say this, but Emeril Live is now one of the best shows they’ve got. (Emeril’s Essence, his traditional cooking show instead of the loud live one, is actually really good. It only comes on weekends.)

So let’s take a moment to remember Great Chefs of the World, which still airs (I think?) on the Discovery Channel. No matter what Alton Brown may say, GCotW is the ultimate foodie show. A single camera captures a chef making a dish in his own professional kitchen, not a set. He—we’re dealing mostly with hotel chefs in Europe, so it’s almost always a he—explains what he’s doing as he does it. A pleasant woman’s voice narrates, though she doesn’t actually translate word for word. This gives plenty of great moments when a chef will speak for about 60 seconds in German or Greek, and the narrator will only tell us something like “he then adds the other ingredients.” One of the other things that I like about the show is that the executive chef will prepare the dish from raw ingredients, so he has to chop, whisk, and sautee himself rather that making his staff do it. Occasionally, you’ll see him unsure about where to find a bowl or which pan to use.

The ironic charm of the show, and Food Network won’t understand this, is that the chef NEVER seems excited about what he’s doing. Imagine you’re at work and some stranger walks up and asks what you’re doing. You give a polite but short reply and move on. GCotW makes an extremely watchable show out of that format.

And that’s it. Each show features an appetizer, a main course, and a dessert. Each course comes from a different chef in a different city, and there’s no apparent connection between the three. The chef makes the dish, usually with some sous chef standing around in the background trying to look busy, a single shot of the finished dish gets displayed, and they move on to the next. No “bam!” or “mmmm, yummers!” or animal fats made from sock puppets. It’s not meant to be educational or even entertaining, unless you happen to enjoy great meals being prepared.

There are several varieties of Great Chefs, but the "...of the World" version is by far my favorite. A lot of the fun is lost when the chefs speak in English and know that the audience may actually show up at their restaurant.

Why I have to go to chicago soon

2006-10-02T14:52:00.000-05:00

Gourmet magazine named Alinea, in Chicago, the country's best restaurant. For the record, I've been to numbers 2, 3, 29, and 41. Part of the charm (and pathetic conspicuous consumption) of going to French Laundry was that it was the undisputed best restaurant in the nation. Oh well.

The Strip House

2006-10-01T14:22:00.000-05:00

First, a word about steak houses. As many people point out, grilled beef is grilled beef; you can only get so high in quality, and most steak houses overcharge for plain ol’ grilled beef. While this is somewhat true, we have to remember that it’s not just the beef you’re paying for. At The Palm is Dallas, you can get your shoes shined while you wait for your table. At Perry’s, also in Dallas, they have a tray of dozens of reading glasses in assorted sizes and shapes for people who need help reading the menu. Last night at the Strip House, I noticed that every time there was a waiter at a table, there was at least one other server behind him, and usually there were two guys in the background. When Amanda asked our waiter if he had a martini menu, he said he would have one out in just a minute. In less than a minute, some other server discreetly slipped the martini menu into our waiter’s hands and he produced it, as if by magic, without ever leaving the table. These are the little touches you pay so much for.

The Strip House, on McKinney Street downtown, does not look or feel like a traditional steak house. It looks more like a Las Vegas restaurant, and it sounds like one too, with house music playing over the speakers in the large dining room (there are two private party rooms as well). The periphery is lined with bright red leather banquets; the walls are covered in a bright red fabric; even the ceiling is red. I had heard that the restaurant’s décor is a collection of 1920’s-era nudie pictures…excuse me, erotic photography…but I was expecting them to be neatly arranged in wood frames, pretty much the same set-up as any other steak house only with the racehorse pictures taken out and black and white boobs put in. Instead, the photos are randomly arranged on the wall in a puzzle-like pattern. Some are actually on glass in boxes, some are lit up with spotlights, and some are backlit with red lights that add to the “damn this place is red” motif. Rather than comfortable or clubby, The Strip House feels slick and hip. Slick and hip is not what most people look for in a steak house, any more than they expect a DJ at a country club. The saving touch: the napkins, which match the wall upholstery, have a Victorian-ish Oriental pattern which, on closer inspection, appears to made up of silhouettes of James-Bond-into ladies.

The cocktails, as they should be, are perfect. My Manhattan, shaken and poured at the table, was perfectly balanced, and Amanda’s blackberry martini was, as she put it, yummy.

The wine list is extensive, but overpriced. There were some good deals, but the more recognizable the name, the more dollars were added on. For example, a 2002 Silver Oak Alexander Valley Cabernet was $140, while $120 is more reasonable. Strip House had a bottle of Flora Springs “Trilogy” for $140, but we’ve had the same bottle at Farrago for $85. Our waiter gave us a great recommendation, though. I like a very tannic Cabernet, while Amanda likes her reds softer. We ended up getting a 2003 Proveenance Cabernet, and it was the perfect compromise between our two tastes. He told us that only 600 cases were produced, while Amanda’s research found that 1600 cases were produced, but it’s still a small production. We also noticed that the sommelier is a woman, which remains a rare find.

Amanda ordered a 10-ounce filet mignon, medium rare, and I had the 14-ounce New York strip, rare. The beef was cooked perfectly, charred on the outside and juicy inside. But there are handfuls of places in Houston who can do a perfect steak. Strip House sets itself apart with the side dishes. We had a truffled cream of spinach (don’t worry, the waiter assured us, it’s made from frozen spinach) that came out in a small copper pot. Because of the truffle oil, the dish remained rich and soft without using too much cream. What we had was a strong bite of spinach, not a slightly green bite of cream. We also ordered the signature side, crisp goose fat potatoes. They take a mound of potato gratin and pan fry it in goose fat, so that what comes out is a crispy, browned, giant tater tot fit for the gods. I can say many many great things about the goose fat potatoes, but I should also say this: they’re not that much better than Hickory Hollow’s hot tots, and they’re twice as expensive.

For dessert we split a Grand Profiterole—a six-inch-tall cream puff filled with two types of chocolate ice cream and topped with warm chocolate sauce. We ordered a piece of 24-layer chocolate cake to take to Amanda’s sister. The reason we went to Strip House was for a thank-you dinner for Amanda’s sister and brother-in-law, but they couldn’t make it into town. Sorry we missed you, Toney.

Read other reviews of The Strip House here, here, and here.

Baby's first baseball game

2006-09-25T21:42:00.000-05:00

We took Little Miss to see the Astros Friday night. One of financial printers had Amanda's group from work at their suite, so the living was easy. I had a hot dog with grilled onions, ketchup and cheese. Minute Maid Park also has the best, and most calorie-laden, potato salad in the world. It has been my ritual for some time to have Cracker Jacks in the seventh inning, and this weekend was no different. Most important, I took advantage of all the people to look after Little Miss (and Amanda's designated driver status) and drank three Shiner Bocks.

Little Miss had two bottles of formula.

What's in a name?

2006-09-25T21:36:00.000-05:00

Just ask my little sister.

Note to Lorien: the name of the guy who owns the Mi Cocina restaurants is Mico Rodriguez, so the name is a kind of pun.

Everyone's a critic

2006-09-17T22:35:00.000-05:00

Amanda had one bite of her Kashi Go Lean cereal and said "it looks like cat food, but it tastes pretty good." WIlliam Grimes couldn't have said it better.

What's in the papers

2006-09-13T18:45:00.000-05:00

Two stories in the New York Times dining section:

One, artisinal espresso has finally made it to New York City. These super-skilled baristas work on $10,000 machines to get the temperature and pressure just right, depending on the type of single-estate coffee they're using at the time. My favorite fact: "Tamping is also codified. At Ninth Street Espresso, it’s 30 pounds of pressure. Mr. Nye encourages his baristas-in-training to practice tamping espresso grounds into the portafilter on a bathroom scale so they know what 30 pounds feels like."

Two, Lipton and other teamakers are putting premium long leaf tea into pyramid-shaped nylon or muslin bags for a superior cup of tea that's easy to make. The new-and-improved teabags have limitations, though: "And even though the better tea bags will produce an excellent cup of tea, some of the finer points of tea making have been lost, like the different water temperatures and steeping times required, depending on whether the tea is black, oolong or green. An exception is the tea made by Le Palais des Thés: a suggested temperature and brewing time is printed on the foil packets that contain the muslin tea bags."

Super-elite espresso and high-end tea bags follow microbrewed beer, fancy-pants chocolate, artisanal cheese, and organic meat in our ramping-up of food quality. What's next?

My money is on lemonade. How long before we read "Jackson uses a simple Ph test to measure the acidity of each batch of sorrento lemons and adjust the amount of organic turbinado sugar and Greenland Iceburg water he adds to the mixture. Optional added flavors include Madagascar vanilla, pomegranate extract, Moroccan blood orange, or Tibetan yak's milk. Sales at his Fort Greene boutique, Lemon Aid(e), have quadrupled since opening in early 2006. Jackson plans on opening outposts in Raleigh, North Carolina, and Eugene, Oregon in 2007. You can also read his blog at lemonlarge.com or check out his band on myspace"?

Gotta Love The Heights

2006-09-08T22:12:00.000-05:00

This is totally unrelated to food, but I have to share:

At the gas station around the corner from us, we just saw three Goth girls--violet-black hair, black eyeliner visible from a block away, black sweaters over black skirts with black tights to match the jet-black hair--on roller skates. They were gathered around a purple art car, shaped like a dragon no less, that some other goth kids were filling up.

It may have been no American Graffiti, but it was just as sweet and charming.

Bonus. Dictionary.com's word of the day today is "small beer." As in Shakespeare's Henry IV: "Doth it not show vilely in me to desire small beer?"

Slate gets it wrong.

2006-09-01T10:36:00.000-05:00

Today's cover piece in Slate is "Brunch: an investigation." Bryan Curtis spends a few paragraphs (are all Slate stories shorter now? Is that part of the new fomat?) with a few New York chefs who claim that they, or their relative, invented Sunday brunch. He offers two ways of looking at things:

"While it's tempting to see brunch as a secular ritual—a slow start for those coming to after nocturnal prowlings—there's an argument that it owes a great deal to American Jewry. Brunch, Gary Greengrass acknowledges, was a kind of Jewish alternative to church. Jewish families, with nothing much to do on Sunday mornings, would take a long, leisurely meal, with traditional foods like bagels, lox, and blintzes."

"It's easy to see brunch as a battle of wills: the restaurateurs, who want to keep the turnstiles moving, versus the customers, who would have the meal to take all afternoon."

Although New York is indeed one of the best food cities in the world, not everything can be traced back to Manhattan. A lot of restaurants--and every hotel--in the country have Sunday brunch for the same purpose. Anthony Bourdain will tell you in his book, and any other chef will tell you if you give him a cigarette, that brunch is the long, drawn-out version of Minestrone: a way to get rid of leftovers. Saturday is a big night for food. You have an extra special, you have big parties, you have your catering wing out and about putting finger foods in chafing dishes. And Sunday is the day you get rid of the extra food. You open a little later that usual, and you offer cheap breakfast foods and leftover dinner foods. The best brunch dishes, eggs benedict for example, are a combination: eggs tossed in some water and covered with the holindaise from last night's asparagus. You may be thinking that good holandaise sauce breaks down long before the next morning, but when was the last time you had really good holandaise sauce on eggs benedict? That creative combination of vegetables, cheeses, and meats in your Sunday afternoon omelette? That's what was in the bottom of those chafing dishes last night.

Now that Brunch is such a great tradition, lots of places use fresh ingredients and make it a meal equal to the others. But if you're looking for the origins of bruch, look no farther than the leftovers from a Saturday night wedding.

Hitler's Cross

2006-08-23T17:26:00.000-05:00

Here's an odd story about a new restautant in India with a Hitler theme.

I don't know why, but I think "Saddam Mutton Shop," from the last line of the article, is really fun(ny) to say.

Foie Gras Revolution

2006-08-23T08:57:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, as Chicago’s ban on foie gras went into effect, Chicago restaurants had a good time flaunting the law.

Not only have restaurants been building special menus and parties around the duck liver, but places that don’t normally serve foie gras made a point of serving it Tuesday. Chefs have shown off their creativity, making foie gras hot dogs, foie gras hot chocolate, even foie gras ice cream. Ironically, the new ban produced foie gras’s finest day.

But of course the whole case against foie gras is ironic. There are two foie gras producers in America, both of them small farms committed to a quality product. We’ve banned their fatty duck livers in Chicago—and are in the process of running Hudson Valley out of the state—but we still consume tons of chicken and beef that are produced under conditions much worse than what the ducks go through.

I don’t doubt the sincerity of the animal-rights activists who crusade against foie gras, and I have to admit that the process does sound gross—it sounds a lot more gross than it really is. But I can’t help thinking that the more widespread disdain for foie gras has less to do with the comfort of ducks and more to do with class and scapegoating. Foie gras, unpasteurized cheese, and sous-vide cooking, recently banned in New York, are all associated with fancy restaurants and the French. Any attempts to limit or control the sale and production of foods that are harmful to people—Big Gulps bigger than a human stomach, addictive spicy Cheetos, pesticides in fruits and vegetables—are quickly condemned as upper-middle-class meddlers trying to impose their values and higher prices on the common people.

So common people, whoever you are, let’s make a deal. I won’t moralize about the type II diabetes epidemic in ten to twelve year olds or ask that schools stop selling soft drinks if you’ll just let me eat some foie gras now and then. And stinky cheese. Lots of stinky cheese.

Reinvigorated

2006-08-22T11:27:00.000-05:00

Amanda made guacamole last night. Not the quick version, where you put some salsa in some avacado, but made REAL guacamole, with fresh tomatoes, onions, and spices.

Not to be too corny, but it was one of those moments when you relearn the little joys that make life wonderful. On the spontaneous happiness continuum, it was far above seeing a plastic bag blowing in the wind and thinking the world is just so beautiful that you cry, but not quite hearing that the Supreme Court finally reversed itself on Gore v Bush.

And speaking of avacado, Basshole told me just a few minutes ago about a place in Austin that makes a Margarita with pureed avacado in it. I think a field trip is in order.

Still Catching Up

2006-08-16T22:03:00.000-05:00

[Today was the first day of school. I'm a little tired and very hoarse.]

I've been catching up on back issues of blogs. Is Ashbloem getting more esoteric, or do I just need to get back into the groove?

I noticed two things on Diner's Journal. On August 3 he talked about Houston's and had fewer good things to say about it than I do. He should have tried the veggie burger. I'm as carnivorous as the next guy (unless this is the next guy), but I like a good veggie burger, and Houston's has the best. And his August 15 post, on menus without prices, has 115 comments, far more than any other post. I thought that priceless menus went away 20 years ago--not only was I wrong, but it seems that it still gets people worked up. I can only imagine what people would have to say about our pet peeve at restaurants--when servers obviously assume that I will be paying the bill when I eat out with Amanda. Not only is it slightly sexist, it's almost always wrong.

Eating Out with Little Miss

2006-08-14T20:15:00.000-05:00

Ah, it’s good to be back. Our computer crashed about three weeks ago, and I’ve been without internet since then. But now—a new hard drive and several hundred dollars later—I’m back.

Although I’ve neglected my dining blog lately, I have not neglected dining. It turns out that Little Miss is great at restaurants. At least for now. We feed her and put her into the car seat, and then she’s out for a few hours. We can take her anywhere. Mostly we stick to super-casual and kid-friendly places. She’s been to Berryhill, Chuy’s, and Dry Creek a few times each. We took her for a Café Society day two weeks ago by hanging out at Onion Creek for a few hours, playing cards and drinking coffee (she did neither). After feeding her at home, we went out again to Empire Café for lunch.

But Little Miss has already had a taste of the nicer stuff, too. She was only two weeks old when she accompanied us to celebrate her Grandpa Jack’s birthday at McCormick and Schmick. She had lunch last Friday at T’afia. She’s even been to a private party at Kirby’s Steak House. Amanda and I are trying to give her an idea of the variety of restaurants out there.

People Who Know tell me that this won’t last. For many reasons it’s easier to take a three-month-old baby out to eat than a six-month-old. So we’re enjoying ourselves while we can.

[Note to Basshole: she heard your complaint, and Amanda got some walnut oil and sesame oil.]

Fish fun

2006-07-19T17:33:00.000-05:00

Frank Bruni's two most recent blog posts concern fish with multiple names. The first post concerns Branzino, which is really popular in New York right now (and which I watched Giada cook on television a few days ago).

On the follow-up post, he provides a link to the Food and Drug Administration page where you can look up all the different names a fish can be marketed under. He calls it fun for the whlie family. Fun indeed. So far, I've tried Red Snapper, Sea Bass, and Mahi Mahi.

Bruni's post before the fish fun is a meditation on doggie bags. He and several commentators point out that doggie bags often get left on the table. But the New York-based Bruni doesn't contemplate an even worse fate for doggie bags--being left in the car.

Picture this scenario: You meet your girlfriend at Flip's for a late dinner on Thursday night. You order salmon, and you eat half of it. You have the remaining salmon boxed up to enjoy for lunch later. You then follow your girlfriend over to her apartment, where you forget the fish in the car. You end up spending the weekend at her apartment, driving her car back and forth to work. So you dont realize you left the fish in your car until you get back into the car on Monday morning, after three full days in the Texas summer. It takes more than a week for the smell to go away.

And that's why I never get doggie bags anymore.

Home Inventory

2006-07-17T10:22:00.000-05:00

Without much to report on the dining out front, I thought I’d turn inward and take a quick inventory of the house.

Amanda’s cookbooks: 60
Bottles of wine in the bottom of Little Miss’s closet: 41 (they're not hers)
Bottles of wine in dining room wine rack: 11
Bottles of wine still in shipping box in dining room: 6
Bottles of Champagne in the refrigerator: 1
Bottles of Scotch: 3
Bottles of vodka: 4
Bottles of tequila: 3
Cans of Campbell's Soup: 4
Boxes of Brown Paper Chocolate: 3
Amount spent on dining, year to date: $4142
Amount spent on groceries, year to date: $2175
Amount spent at Spec's Wine Warehouse, last year: $622
Amount spent at Whataburger, last 12 months: $36
Pots and pans: 11
Knives: 18
Wine openers: 8
Types of oil: 2
Types of vinegar: 10
Frozen pizzas in freezer: 2
Frozen pizzas in freezer, including half-eaten bag of pizza rolls: 3

"The thirst of the English"

2006-06-28T20:44:00.000-05:00

As Independence Day approaches and we recount all the reasons why these United States needed to free themselves from England, let us remember that the British, God bless 'em, are still worthy of our respect and admiration. No matter who wins the World Cup this year, "the English proved themselves world champs" in Germany.

Don't Worry

2006-06-15T11:46:00.000-05:00

As my childhood hero always said, I know what you’re thinking. Now that this guy has an infant in the house, there’s no way he’s eating in Houston (and sometimes other places) and telling you about it. And in a way you’re right. I can’t imagine we’ll re-schedule our lunch at Moderne anytime soon, nor will I be returning to Bank--for food this time.

But a guy has to eat. And thanks to wonderful friends and kind neighbors, we’re eating pretty well.

When we brought Little Miss into the house for the first time, a fruit and cheese tray was waiting on our dining room table, with a pot of tea. Janet across the street arranged this. We’ve also had, thanks to Jennifer, some salmon with pasta and ginger snap peas form Maggie’s in Memorial catering. Phil gave us gift certificates to Star Pizza and Candelari’s. And Marie, across the street, brought us a frozen lasagna. Her cousin, who is “real Italian” and lives in Florida, says that Michael Angelo’s frozen lasagna is better than the rest, and I intend to find out soon. [What’s the difference between New Jersey Italian, Florida Italian, and Real Italian? I don’t know, but it sounds like something right out of Seinfeld.]

So I’m still eating. And once I start sleeping as well—probably in two to eight weeks—I’ll start telling you about it more frequently.

Here she is!

2006-06-13T16:42:00.000-05:00

Here's Little Miss. In this photo, she's about 20 minutes old. Email me if you want her name, batting average, IQ, or other stats.

Another Reminder that I Married the Right Girl

2006-06-04T18:38:00.000-05:00

Amanda has been stuck on "bed rest" for a week now. Not that she's actually required to stay in bed, but she has spent a lot of time on the sofa, napping and watching the television.

And what does Amanda do when she's beginning to get really bored with bed rest? Why, order wine, of course.

She just ordered a bottle of Sean Thackrey 2002 Sirius petite syrah (which we drank at French Laundry and Amanda is particularly in love with) and a few bottles of Le Cupole 2003 red wine (pretty affordable at $25. It's what we drank at Da Marco when we went there).

I'm going to start leaving some maps of Margaux around the house, just in case she gets bored again.

Some short notes

2006-05-28T18:15:00.000-05:00

As the new addition gets imminent and Amanda's doctor acts like she's going to order bed rest soon, we've been hitting the regular places hard while we can. Here's a summary of the weekend:

At Hugo's Friday night I made a decision. When people ask me where to eat in Houston, I no longer ask a battery of questions trying to pinpoint the asker's mood, tastes, and price range. For now on, I simply answer Hugo's. It's got plenty of familiar dishes, and it's got flavors you won't find many other places (corn fungus, for one.) It's a nice place to dress up and feel fancy, it's a nice place to wear jeans and feel comfotable. It's not cheap (main courses run $13 to $30), but the bill is never as high as I expect it to be based on the quality and quantity. In a state where every restaurant claims to have the best margaritas, Hugo's really has 'em. The basic Hugo's Rita is out of this world, and the specialty margaritas just get better. You can get them made with Mezcal instead of tequila if you want. Hugo's isn't above the tacky advertising banner tied to the building, but instead of "Tuesday Night Half Price" or "Best Margaritas Within Two Blocks," Hugo's banner reads "Squash Blossoms are Here!" How could you not love a place like that? (Hugo's does have one problem: they ignore my pet peave/anti-fetish against molded rice.)

Last night we went back to T'afia. Amanda had a "mocktail" made from peach, banana, and mango nectars. Later she switched to one made from blueberry and pomegranite juices with soda. We al shared (there were four of us) a cheese plate, but nobody told us what cheese were on it. Amanda and I had salads made with endive and spinach, and our friends Phil and Jim had salads made with chicory. Main courses: carmelized beef cubes with sticky rice; curried shrimp with vegetables in pasta; seared tuna with lime-soy sauce and ginger carrots; grilled beef tenderloin with tamarind steak sauce and macaroni and cheese.

Today we had a late lunch at Houston's. At 2 o'clock on Sunday afternoon, there was a twenty-minute wait. I am always amazed at how popular that place is. They're known for their egalitarian ideals--no reservations, every server helps each other out, always smoke-free--but today we saw how committed they are to them. The chef, with his name on his jacket and everything, was walking the floor sweeping trash. I have never before seen a chef do this before.

I don't know how much dining there will be for a while. I'll keep you posted.

Spec's Wine Warehouse

2006-05-26T18:46:00.000-05:00

Houstonians’ mouths are watering just upon seeing this post’s title, but let me explain Spec’s Wine Warehouse to the out-of-towners.

Spec’s is a local chain of liquor stores that’s been around since 1962. And the Warehouse, located in midtown, is the Mother Ship. (All further references to Spec’s refer to the Warehouse; I can’t speak to the little strip center stores all over the area). When Spec’s reopened after an expansion and makeover, it had 80,000 square feet of retail space, making it the largest liquor store in the country. And it’s not just alcohol: they have a gourmet deli and food shops where you can find hundreds of cheeses, specialty chocolates, and a crapload of oils and vinegars. It also has store-roasted coffees and fresh produce. Their humidor has over 900 different types of cigars. Feel like speculating? You can buy Bordeaux futures.

And the booze? There’s just so much booze. It would take days to count bottles in the aisles, so I did some research on their web site. The warehouse has 7085 wines. Almost all are available by the bottle or case. This is, to be honest, a very conservative count—I couldn’t get the American Chardonnay or American Pinot Noir pages to come up, and that’s got to be worth another 500 labels. The staff are extremely knowledgeable, but you have to find the right people. Not long ago I went in looking for a bottle of California Cabernet, between $15 and $20, that would go good with chocolate. The salesman quickly showed me three and explained the difference in taste. He even asked about the chocolate. But another time Amanda asked about a specific label and the salesman, with a patronizing look over his glasses, asked “So, do you like white or red wine?”

You can find 160 US beers, not to mention imports. Do you, like me, enjoy single malt Scotch? Spec’s has 237 of ‘em. These include all the major label scotches, all the minor label scotches and an ever-changing selection of specialty bottles. Apparently, you can buy a barrel of, say, Laphroig today at the distillery. You can then store it however you like, even refusing to filter it the way the distillery will before bottling it. Then, 12-30 years later, you can bottle and sell it for yourself—at Spec’s. More of a vodka fan? Well, Spec’s has over 60 flavored vodkas.

You get the picture. When we have friends visit from out of town (Hi, Josh!), we make sure to take them by Spec’s. But my trip to Spec’s this afternoon had a specific goal in mind: free samples. You can usually find samples of something at Spec’s, and on Friday evenings you can find a lot. I often hear people say that they can get a full meal just by sampling the freebies at Spec’s. I often hear people say they can get quite drunk on the giveaways. So I decided to try it out.

Today’s food selections were really quite poor. The first sample table is only about ten feet inside the front door. Today it had Mom's Pasta Sauce served on little pieces of French bread. It also had a ginger marinade and a teriyaki marinade served on bread. They were good for building up a base, but not spectacularly tasty. The woman manning the table also offered some Snow Mint Sparkling Water. I made a horrible face and told her it tasted like bubbly mouthwash. She made the same face and said she hates it too.

The only other food samples available today were Ya Ya Rah Rah organic crackers. The Ya Ya Rah Rahs were available in four flavors: flax seed, spinach curry, Sicilian herb, and some other kind with flax seed. When I say the crackers taste like cardboard, I mean only recycled cardboard. Virgin cardboard has slightly better taste and much better texture.

The drink selection was more promising. I had some DeKuyper Strawberry Passion Pucker, served with Sprite. It’s syrupy sweet, and you can’t taste the alcohol at all. Kids these days can’t even make their own trashcan punch? I commented that this flavor makes it dangerous, and the woman handing out the samples replied, “No! It’s only 15% alcohol. No problem.” I won't say that the Pucker tasted bad. In fact, it reminded me of the Big Red soda I used to love as a kid. But I didn't drink 30 proof soda when I was kid, and I can't imagine drinking it now.

Tucked back in the wine section was a young woman with three different wines. I had a little bit of 2001 Whitman Cabernet Sauvignon, from Walla Walla, Washington. I would have guessed the price at around $20 (unlike the Strawberry Passion Pucker, the alcohol was really strong in the cab), but she says it goes for $43. She had a 2001 Whitman blended red wine called Narcissa, also from Walla Walla, and a bottle that looked similar to the Whitman bottles, but is French. These were also okay but overpriced.

The Antigua Cruz tequila (fancy web site) also runs for about $43. Today I had my choice of Silver, Reposado, or Anejo. I had a shot of the Anejo, and it was the only sample I actually considered buying. It has a woody, smoky flavor, and less of that greasy-ish taste. I didn’t have the other varieties, but I know from previous experience that I could have asked and received at least one shot of each.

Next to the tequila booth I had some Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum. He also had some Parrot Bay Coconut Rum, but I passed on that. The guy handling the rum was the only enthusiastic of the sample people. Perhaps he had too much of his product, perhaps the others hadn’t had enough.

That was it. While I could, with a little effort, have gotten myself drunk on the free samples, there’s no way I could have filled up on food. Maybe I got there too early (5 pm)? Maybe it was just an off day? I don’t know.

But I did walk out with a six-pack of Full Sail I.P.A., so the half hour spent at Spec’s wasn’t a complete bust.

Glass Wall

2006-05-17T22:24:00.000-05:00

There was a t-shirt trend I noticed early in the school year at the high school I work at. For the first two months or so, kids were wearing lots of self-referential t-shirts. "This Is my Party Shirt," says a popular one. Another one, pink, says "Don't Laugh. This Is Your Girlfriend's Shirt." A green shirt, also for boys, says "Pimps Wear Green Shirts." The concept is cute for about two minutes.

What does this have to do with food? Nothing. But it's the first thing I thought of when I walked into Glass Wall the Restaurant and saw the giant glass wall that separates the bar from the dining room. The glass wall reads, in large etched letters, GLASS WALL THE RESTAURANT.

It took me a few minutes to get over the superficial flaws. The menu, whic is updated often, says "May Session." The wine list--a thorough list with over 150 selections with a price range from $30 to $180--is called "Wine Session." I suppose that "session" is supposed to let me know that the food is seasonal, but it sounded too much like a school semester. The wine list also names Shepard Ross as "general manager/wine guy/human being." Like plenty of other new places in up-and-coming neighborhoods (I can still count full liqour liscenses in the Heights on one hand), Glass Wall comes across as trying a little bit too hard. The wine list is impressive, but the wine storage room with glass walls that allow you to see the bottles and the humidity control air conditoner is not.

I forgot the superficial flaws when I saw the menu. Glass Wall, thankfully, is not trying too hard with the food. It's basic American favorites done well: New York Strip, double pork chops, rack of lamb, salmon, sea bass. The food has all the familiar and comfortable appeal the dining room tries to upend.

We went with our friends Sue and David. We had a bottle of Dr. Konstatin Frank dry reisling from the finger lakes region in New York. This is the first New York wine I've ever had, because they're just recently allowed to be imported to Texas (that Supreme Court is good for a few things, I guess). I had a tuna tartare appetizer. Sue had the roasted beets with mint yogurt and says it's "fabulous." David had a crab cake.

I wanted the pork chop for my main course, but Amanda and Sue ordered it first, and I didn't want to be too repetitive. So I had a roasted chicken with a perfectly crispy skin and juicy meat. It was served with two vidalia onion rings. It also came with brocolinni, but I found it too salty. Amanda and Sue loved the pork chops, and I loved even more the goat cheese potato cake that came with it. David asked if he could just choose a few of the side dished from various entrees, and our waitress had no problem with that.

With the main course we had a bottle of Buochaine pinot noir from Carneros. I've actually been to the winery, and it's one of my favorites. It's not a big or beautiful winery like Opus One or Artesa, but the folks running the place were the most charming and helpful people I've come across in Napa. Bouchaine has a second label called Buchli Station that's pretty good and more affordable.

For dessert, Amanda and I split a strawberry rhubarb crisp with vanilla gelatto. I have a weak spot for strawberry rhubarb (thanks, Grandma!), so I don't know if I'm being very objective when I say it's the best dessert I've eaten in a year.

Our waitress was slow and impersonal, but I have to give credit to the general manager/wine guy/human being. As he walked past our table with both hands full of wine glasses, I accidentally made eye contact. He immediately stop mid-dtride, came back to the table, and made sure everything was okay. He thought I was giving him a look because we needed something.

Parking is very limited, so my heart goes out to the folks who live on 10th right off Studewood. But the folks on 6 1/2 and 7th, near Fitzgerald's, have been putting up with it a long time, and the neighborhood is still worth the occasional beer bottle or crowded street.

[Please excuse all the typos, but I just got home from dinner, and I'm sleepy and boozy.]

Another Lame Sneak Preview, because I Haven't Got Anything to Say

2006-05-15T22:13:00.000-05:00

It's true, John, I am getting hungry. Last weekend we were in the Dallas area for my sister's college graduation, and the weekend before that we were in Fredericksburg for a wedding, so we haven't had a lot of time to eat at new and/or exciting places. I'm still itching to eat at Bistro Moderne, but it keeps not happening.

Possible topics later this week: The Glass Wall, which recently opened a few blocks from home in the Heights; stealing D Magazine's idea for a single-elimination tournament for best hamburger; my (unanswered) application for a freelance reviewer job with AOL City Guide; how the food in Fredericksburg is never as good as you expect it to be; the cute little kids who won a James Beard award.

And though it's not food related, I may also open up my "Guess what Bush will say next" contest to the blog. [Note to those who already entered: yes, I'm for real. A copy of Bushisms goes to whoever guesses correctly. And no, I didn't catch any of the entries in tonight's immigration speech.]

Our School Is Red Hot

2006-04-30T19:48:00.000-05:00

I know that a number of my readers are also high school chums, so I'll pass along that Talented & Gifted Magnet High School in Dallas will be named the "nation's top high school" in Monday's issue of Newsweek.

Scott Tycer Is a Puppy Dog

2006-04-27T22:43:00.000-05:00

All this talk about Tycer and his bad habits got me thinking about a chef in Dallas that makes Scott look like Santa Clause.

Imagine the hottest and most acclaimed restaurant in the city at its height. It's getting natoinal acclaim and the dining room is full every night. Now imagine the restaurant closes for business in its prime, because the chef owner is such a prick that he can't get anybody to supply him produce and the banks are threatening to sue him over his business practice. Avner Samuel's done this...a few times.

I first learned about Avner from Franki, who worked with him at the Fairmount and later sat across from him in some litigation over a lease gone bad. Lots of places have trouble with the TABC, and I can name a few chefs who have had some run-ins with the Narcotics squad, but Avner's the only local chef I can think of that's been investigated by the US Department of Labor.

Avner's temper got him a major feature in the Dallas Observer a few years ago. Have a look when you have some time.

And then go give Scott Tycer a hug, the loveable guy that he is.

[Basshole: you've never cried at work? I'll get to work on that immediately.]

Rumors

2006-04-26T16:33:00.000-05:00

Here's Scott Tycer, chef-owner of Aries and Gravitas, being interviewd for a Houston Press piece about chefs and the pressures of working in a kitchen: "Sometimes throwing a sauté pan makes an effective point," Scott Tycer tells me as he holds court at a corner table ("my office," he calls it) in his highly lauded restaurant, Aries."Sometimes slamming an oven door makes an effective point," he says with a chuckle.

I rarely hear anyone mention either of Tycer's restaurants without commenting on what an asshole he can be. To be fair, Tycer doesn't stand alone. Most great chefs can be assholes, and many practice the skill regularly. Monica Pope is mentioned in the same article for throwing a jar of truffles at a cook. I once heard her tell a cooking class--a group of people who paid to see her kitchen--that they needed to remember what they say about people who can't take the heat. And though I wouldn't really call Monica a friend, we're on a first-name basis and say hi when we see each other outside of her restaruant. And I know at least one person who prefers Tycer to Marco Wiles of Da Marco and Dolce Vita.

I bring this up becuase a friend of mine--the same friend who doesn't like Marco and who is also a former general manager at Aries--tells me that Aries is closing and that the GM at Gravitas no-showed and no-called recently. No matter what other qualifications a manager may or may not have, one of the qualities that gets him (or her, occasionally) to the GM level is simply being trusted not to no-show. Bussers, waiters, cooks, and customers no-show all the time. GMs don't; that's why they're GMs. So if the person in charge of the restaurant just stops coming to work one day, a move that will not be taken lightly by potential future employers, things are pretty bad. This doesn't mean that Gravitas will close and Tycer will walk into the sunset and out of Houston, but it can't be good for a highly anticipated restaurant that got so-so initial reviews and is still mostly referred to as "the new restaurant from the Aries guy."

I'll keep my ears to the ground and my eyes on the papers to see if these rumors turn out to be true.

Follow-up

2006-04-20T17:36:00.000-05:00

It's been almost a week since I ended my fast, and several people have asked me about it. So let me tell you a few things:

1. I lost about four pounds. I didn't undertake the fast as a weight-loss program, but I'm still surprised I didn't lose more. A bunch of folks predicted that the reduction in calories would contribute to some thinning. We were all wrong.

2. The fast is only a symbolic gesture, not the end in itself. I knew this in my head from reading, but didn't really understand until doing it. The fast is a small sacrifice that keeps you mindful of larger sacrifices. But really, I think sacrifice is too strong a word, at least for me. I still took in more calories and got more enjoyment from my food than most people, so it was not a serious "giving up" of anything. The fast did, however, keep me thinknig daily about living a more modest life. And maybe because there was no sacrifice, it made a more modest life all the more appealing. What else can I give up and still find my days at least as fulfilling, if not more, than they were before I gave it up? That question came to mind a lot over the past five weeks. I haven't made a complete list, but there are a few frontrunners: television, crude jokes, magazines, underwear. Okay, not underwear.

3. Fasting wasn't difficult. I know, I did plenty of cheating. When it came to fasting or being in a weird social situation, I ate. I ate lunch when we visited friends and family in Dallas. I ate when I went to New York with James. I ate dinner early almost every night after the "spring forward" time change to acommodate Amanda (who was willing to accomodate me if I asked her to). But I stuck to it when there was no reason not to. I didn't give in and eat just because I was hungry or wanted to eat. And the days--probably 31 or 32 of the 40--I stuck to the plan, it was no problem. I didn't really miss lunch. I was amazed at my self-discipline and ability to not act on impulse. If there's one thing I learned from fasting, it's that I have much more control over impulse and habit than I thought I did.

4. It's easier to go all-or-nothing than to compromise. Here's something where food is different than other things. I've cut my booze intake by about 90% over the past 5 years, but I seriously doubt I could give it up completely without third-party therapy or an accompanying major lifestyle change (like moving into a monastary or becoming an elite athlete). I quit smoking, but I often give in when I have to fly, because it helps calm me down. But when it comes to food, I was better off on the days when I just followed my self-imposed rules than on the days when I broke them. Skipping lunch and not eating until dinner after sundown was pretty easy. Eating lunch at noon to be social and then passing on gelato at four was infinitely more difficult.

5. The fast was not overtly religious or spiritual. I didn't have any spiritual epiphany or come closer to understanding God. But if attaining a desire to live more modestly, understanding the simplicity and joy of self-discipline, and learning that total committment is easier and more satisfying than compromise and half-hearted attempts aren't spiritual endeavors, then what is?

Saturday in New York

2006-04-15T16:58:00.000-05:00

Saturday’s weather was not cooperative. We planned to go on a walking tour of the East Village that I got from a travel guide, walking over to SoHo for lunch, and then going down to Little China and Tribeca. However, it was in the low 40s and raining, which isn’t very conducive to walking outdoors for hours. We did it anyway. There’s an ACE subway station right across from the hotel, so we took the train to 14th Street and walked over to The Strand book store.

James found The Strand a little overwhelming. While I looked for a paperback over in fiction, he went upstairs to check out photography books. He said there were so many of them that he didn’t know where to start. [Strand’s slogan used to be “8 Miles of Books.” Now it’s “18 Miles of Books.” Anybody know where the extra 10 miles came from? Did they add shelves, or was the previous 8-mile claim a really low estimate?] Luckily, James found the souvenir section less troublesome. He got a Strand bookbag, and I got him to carry my shit all day. Sucker.

A tiny resale boutique called Tokyo Joe confirmed that I am too fat to live in New York. They had a Paul Smith pistriped suit for $200, but it was too small. So was the Armani shirt ($18) and the brown herringbone Ralph Lauren suit trousers ($22). I came pretty close to buying a coat I liked a lot, but it would have been useless in Houston, so I passed. Mostly on the tour we stopped in the thrift shops. I also got Amanda a box of cookies at a bakery I think she’d like called Black Hound. We also stopped for cokes, which were refreshing to drink, but not to carry in the sleet. We agreed that getting cold drinks was “not the smartest thing we’ve done” and tossed them within a block.

Up to this point I had done a good job at knowing where I was and what I was doing (don’t say anything about getting a cab on Friday night, James). At one point James even asked “how do you know what all these streets and buildings are?” But I blew it after the walking directions ended. I knew that Bowery is on the northern corner of SoHo, but I thought it was the Northwestern corner. I got us a good six or seven blocks (remember, there’s freezing rain falling on us, so seven blocks is a lot) into the Lower East side before I checked the map and saw that Bowery is, in fact, on the Northeastern corner. I’ve mentioned before how much I like Fanelli, but I have never been so happy to see it as I was when James and I finally made it there around three.

We took our time with lunch. James had fish and chips, I think because the weather and the scenery reminded him of his trip to London, and Diet Coke. I had the chicken club sandwich and a couple of Pilsner Urquells. We ordered coffee for the warmth and the extra time it would give us indoors.

And then two very cool things happened. First, I mentioned to James that we could easily make it back to the subway and dry hotel. He said that he didn’t come all this way to sit in a hotel room, and that he wanted to keep going, rain be damned. I was very pleased he said that. Second, the damned rain finally stopped. So we cut through SoHo, stopping at a few shops with clothes we couldn’t afford, and hit Canal Street and Chinatown to act like the tasteless tourists we were.

James’s girlfriend specifically asked for a knockoff Louis Vuittone from Canal, and we saw no reason not to oblige. We checked out all the stalls selling fake designer purses and watches. I bought a “Montblanc” watch for the hell of it, and he got Mandy a little purse. We also went into a ginseng shop, because I didn’t know what raw ginseng looks like. Turns out it looks like little tiny ginger roots. On the way back to the subway station, beyond all the Chinese stalls, a woman had an open suitcase on the street with fake designer purses that looked a lot more real than any others we’d seen, so James got another. Luckily it came in its own little sack, because it wouldn’t fit into his knapsack, even if I had offered to take my stuff out of it.

All we did at the hotel was put our stuff down and wash our faces before we headed down to the Knitting Factory to see Arab Strap. I’ve never been a big fan of Arab Strap, and I suspect James hasn’t either, but he wanted so bad to go to a concert in New York that we got tickets just for the experience. Both of us liked the opening act, Whisper in the Noise, better. But both of us left with a better appreciation of Arab Strap. It’s a lot easier to get past the breathy, sleazy voice and the single-minded lyrics (I’ve never heard any other singer use fuck, as a verb, so often) when you can see them coming from a pudgy 40-ish guy who keeps turning his back to the audience and hitching up his jeans to fight back plumber butt.

We were both pretty hungry, so we decided to get off the subway a stop early and walk up, hoping to find cheap food on the way. We ended up getting a few slices of pizza. James wanted to go back to Times Square for a few more photos, but we went to bed fairly early. It was an exhausting day. Sunday my feet and legs were sore.

Friday in New York

2006-04-14T19:15:00.000-05:00

I spent last weekend in New York with my brother James. We’ve been talking for years about going there together, and his early high school graduation seemed like a good excuse. We both flew into Laguardia late Thursday night, but all we did was get a can to the hotel and get some burgers near Times Square.

Friday was Midtown Tourist Day. We stopped at Starbucks for coffee and pastries (there’s a Starbucks within two blocks from wherever you are in that neighborhood) on the way to the MoMA. I’ve been to MoMA twice before, and seen a chunk of its collection on tour here in Houston, but I really wanted to see the refurbished building. If the walls were bare, you’d still want to walk in this building. It keeps well within the High Modernism tradition: all smooth right angles; lots of concrete, steel, and glass; everything is sleek, nothing is adorned. And like any good piece of modernism, it shows off its structure. There are a number of open spaces, vistas, and windows that allow you to look across other parts of the museum. You start out by looking up at a helicopter suspended over the main lobby. A few hours later you’re on the fifth floor looking down at it. On one floor you’re walking across an open walkway looking down on the lobby. A few floors up, you’re looking out a window, peeking down at the people on the walkway looking at the lobby. What’s that game where you stack little wood blocks up and then take them out, one by one, trying not to make the structure topple over? It’s like that, only with cool paintings, sculptures, and “designs” inside.

I feel obligated to mention that we ate in the second-floor café at the museum, and it’s as tasty as people say. James and I each had pasta with Meyer lemon, asparagus, and butter. I ate every bite, he left most of the asparagus.

After five hours or so at the museum, we went on a little walking tour. We went to Rockefeller Center, and I showed him the mural on the ceiling. You know, the mural with the guy standing directly over you, so that you look right up into his crotch? That mural.

We also took a quick stroll through St. Patrick’s Cathedral. I later felt strangely guilty for not stopping to pray while in the cathedral. I wouldn’t go in a restaurant just to admire the windows and move on. I’m not much for window shopping. But I walk into a church and don’t bother to pray, light a candle, make an offering, acknowledge God’s bounty, anything? How silly. For what it’s worth, I wasn’t the only one.

Part of being in New York as a tourist is visiting a famous department store. Saks, Barney’s, Macy’s, Bergdorf Goodman, there are plenty to choose from. But walk on by those and go into Takashimaya instead. It’s small, eccentric, and downright charming. The front of the first floor, where most department stores have a thousand cosmetics counters, has a florist and gardening store. The men’s department has fewer shirts than my own closet, but it has, among other oddities, dozens of vintage cufflinks, a leather passport case that costs more than all the shirts in my closet together, and an old-fashioned composition notebook that says “decomposition notebook.” It only took us half an hour to walk the entire store—well, we skipped the ladies dresses floor—and get out, including the time it took me to buy a very cute stuffed dog for my yet-to-be-born daughter. No crowds, no perfume samples sprayed in our faces, no time wasted.

James bought us hot dogs from a cart at Central Park. Cart hot dogs are disgusting to think about: leftover meat products, ground up and squeezed into a case made from other leftover meat products, left to simmer in tepid water all day, and finally put into a bun of white bread. But like a lot of things that are disgusting to think about, they are tempting and pleasing nonetheless.

We covered a pretty small portion of the park. We went in at fifth avenue and 67th, and we went out on the west side at 77th. We then walked back down to the hotel at 45th street and 8th avenue.

After resting our feet and washing our faces, it was time to get back out there. We went to Les Halles for dinner as a treat. We split the foie gras appetizer, probably my favorite foie gras ever. James had steak au poivre and I had steak frittes. Coffee and apple tart for dessert. Full stomachs for the rest of the night. I was surprised that the restaurant wasn’t too busy. Amanda and I went there last year and had to wait almost two hours for a table. James and I walked into a half-empty dining room. Sure, it was a little before seven, but at eight thirty they still had no wait. Maybe it’s time the executive chef got his ass of the television and back into the kitchen?

Our hotel was in the center of the theater district. Next door to the hotel is the theater showing Avenue Q, and next door to that is the theater showing Three Days of Rain, which stars Julia Roberts. I took a short evening walk to help digest the steak, and on the way back got caught up in a crowd. A few dozen people had gathered around the stage entrance of Three Days, hoping to see Julia Roberts walk the ten feet from the door to the black Yukon waiting to pick her up. Screw it, I thought. In all my trips to New York, I’ve only had one quasi-celebrity spotting, and I can wait a few minutes to see what Julia Roberts looks like close up. I decided I’d hang around a few minutes and take in the excitement. It wasn’t long before a few dozen turned into a few hundred. Barricades were put up. Two cops and three security guards kept the crowd away from the Yukon. One cop worked the crowd. “My block was so quiet until Julia showed up,” he complained. “Ladies and gentlemen, I need you to work with me here. If I have to arrest any of you, I’ll get home late, and my wife already has suspicions, what with me working with Julia and all….If you go into the street, you’ll be pushed back to the sidewalk. If you rush the truck, unfortunately you’ll be arrested. We don’t know if any of you are crazy, like this guy here.” He then pointed at some random guy standing in the crowd. I was stuck. Half an hour later, with no Julia and no path to my hotel, I backed out of the crowd—now at around a thousand people—and walked back around the block to get to the hotel entrance from the other side.

I fell asleep quickly and slept soundly.

You can see some of James's photos from the trip here.

Missing

2006-04-13T22:29:00.000-05:00

Anybody know what happened to my most recent post? Is there a rule against posting about beer? About quoting Tom T. Hall?

Welcome back baseball

2006-04-03T21:38:00.000-05:00

Ah, spring. Tonight I had two Bud Lights, a chicken finger basket, and Cracker Jacks in the seventh. The Astros won their home opener with a sellout crowd.

Thursday night I go back to New York, this time with James. What a great week.

We all say we hate memes, but we all go along with them anyway

2006-03-24T19:28:00.000-06:00

This one comes to me from Ashbloem. I think it's rather charming.

The idea is to recount a one-line antecdote for every state visited. And since I've kinda backed myself into a thematic corner with this blog, most of my anecdotes have to do with food. Also, I've left out a few states I've driven through without stopping for anything other than gas.

Alabama: On the drive back to Dallas from Savannah, Amanda and I stop in Birmingham to eat sandwiches and watch a Duke basketball game.

Arizona: Lorien and I eat mediocre Mexican food in Sonoma, where we went just for the drive.

Arkansas: I have an image of looking down on Fayetville from a hill, and that's all I can remember, including why I would be in Fayetville.

California: Minutes after eating at French Laundry, considered by many to be the country’s best restaurant, I am having a beer at the local hole-in-the-wall down the street.

Connecticut: At Wes and Mary's wedding, I eat the best piece of wedding cake I've ever had (not including my own, for sentimental reasons).

Delaware: I don't remember her name anymore, but I still remember her sleeping on my shoulder on the bus ride from D.C. to New York.

Florida: After eating blackened dolphin fish (called Mahi Mahi these days) at Epcot Center, I get sick and swear off blackened fish for the rest of my life.

Georgia: Amanda and I look around the dining room at Elizabeth on 37th and think "yeah, maybe we could do this."

Louisiana: My freshman year of college, four of my school chums and I share a few pitchers of Abita Amber with a “voodoo practitioner” in New Orleans.

Maryland: I eat a burger and drink a beer across the street from the University of Maryland, where I have an appointment in 30 minutes.

Massachusetts: A young woman gets into Ashlee’s car and says “Hi, I’m Sharon. Let’s get drunk,” starting more than either of us bargained for.

Mississippi: I fail a field sobriety test at William Faulkner’s grave, but the officer takes no action except to insist that I not drive.

Missouri: I realize that it is my dad’s birthday, so I write him a happy birthday note from Elvis on a napkin from Presley’s cafeteria.

Nevada: after eating at one of Emeril Lagasse’s restaurants, I decide that I should rethink my low opinion of him.

New Jersey: I make a phone call to Jeremy and have to explain that I am not lost on Elizabeth Street, just a few blocks from his office, but in fact am lost in Elizabeth, New Jersey, in a different state.

New Mexico: Amanda and I have a perfect meal at The Compound and follow it up by going to meet friends at a horrid nightclub called Swill.

New York: Jeremy and I wait for Amanda at Fanelli and make wagers on how much money she has spent on shoes.

North Carolina: My father, my grandfather and I visit my great aunt at her 200-year-old house.

Tennessee: Despite its reputation, Nashville doesn’t offer me any good country music at any of the bars I try.

Texas: Laura and Jenny insist that they must call their friend Amanda in London to tell her that Bill Clinton has won the election, and I think that this Amanda girl seems worth knowing.

Virginia: I wait at a McDonald’s for Laura to come pick me up, because I am incredibly lost and can’t find her house.

Washington D.C.: The five of us who had the house special burger at Hamburger Hamlet form a line and take turns going to the hotel bathroom to face the consequences of the burgers.

West Virginia: I do not stop in West Virginia, just drive up the mountain and down the mountain, up the mountain and down the mountain….

Jasper's

2006-03-23T18:58:00.000-06:00

My doctor gave me some advice the other week. “Don’t move to The Woodlands,” he said, “until you’re at least 35 and have children.” Dr. Pearson knows what he’s talking about. He’s 35. He has a kid. And he just left The Woodlands to move back into the city. That’s the thing about too-perfect suburbs: they’re just not for everyone.

People often assume that we’re going to move out there now that Amanda works in The Woodlands; they’re wrong. We’ve no intention of moving outside the loop. But now there’s a reason to visit.

Dallas super-chef Kent Rathbun (sous chef at The Mansion, Executive Chef at The Landmark, chef-owner of Abacus) opened Jasper’s at the Woodland’s Town Center. His original Jasper’s, in Plano, was named one of Esquire’s best new restaurants when it opened in 2003. [Interesting note: Kent’s brother Kevin, who worked with Stephen Pyles at Baby Ruth’s, won the same award the next year for Rathbun's, in Atlanta.]

Jasper’s is the best look that Houstonians can get at expensive Dallas pretension—or “casual elegance,” as we like to call it—without going all the way up I-45. It’s got dark wood tables, earth-toned chairs and carpet, enormously high ceilings, a giant indoor fireplace, and an outdoor seating area big enough to be its own restaurant. The place is dark, with perfectly tuned spotlights on the tables, and the music is jazz right on the line between “acid” and “smooth.” The waiters wear all black and have expensive hair. The wine glasses are giant. Everything is perfectly in place, but there’s not an ounce of stuffiness to it.

In short, I love it. And so do a lot of other people. The first time Amanda and I tried to go, the wait was two hours. Instead, we went to the crappy sandwich place down the street. Last week, on a Tuesday at 6:30, we were able to walk right in.

Jasper’s features something it calls “gourmet backyard cooking.” This means, for the most part, grilled meats with fancy flourishes. Amanda had almond-crusted trout. I’ve had quite a few blank-crusted trout fillets in my time, and Jasper’s is the most balanced I’ve had. It wasn’t overcooked, nor was it limp and liquidy. Two artfully arranged fillets sat firm and confident on a serving of black pepper grits with a taste of sweet pepper butter. I’m no fan of grits, but Amanda seemed to like them.

I ordered my hickory-grilled flat iron steak medium, but it came out pretty rare. Amanda’s had lunch at Jasper’s a couple of times, and she says the undercooking is common. I usually have mine rare, so I took it as a sign that I don’t need to stray, but if you’re picky about such things, you may want to order it up a notch (but forget about describing to the waiter exactly how pink you want it, or exactly what temperature you want it. The touch-screen ordering systems most restaurants now use don’t have an input for descriptions like that, and you’re well-crafted narrative will only be translated into the usual categories). The steak came with sautéed spinach and mushrooms.

We also ordered a side of mac and cheese, “adult macaroni and cheese” our waitress called it. The pasta is so small that you can hardly see it amid the creamy gouda, strips of ham, tiny streaks of basil, and chunks of roasted garlic. Although it was a little salty, I could still eat this shit every day…until my arteries clog and I die of a massive heart attack. I figure it would only take about a week.

In addition to the fat content of the macaroni, the price will also keep me from eating at Jasper’s every day. Main courses range from $17 (trout) to $37 (black angus bone-in ribeye). The prices aren’t out of line with the quality of the food or the service. And you expect to pay a little extra for ridiculously high ceilings.

Enron-Starbucks Conspiracy?

2006-03-22T21:37:00.000-06:00

Am I the only who's noticed that all the Enron executives are conspicuously carrying Starbucks cups into court? Aren't they supposed to hide their faces from the cameras in shame?

Perhaps Starbucks has found a way to get their product on the front page of all the newspapers?

Ben Holloway Doesn't Eat

2006-03-17T16:39:00.000-06:00

I thought I might have some insight to report by now concerning my Lent fast.

I had two reasons for fasting at Lent. The first has to do with the fasting, which I'm doing solely out of curiosity. All the major religions do it, so I figured there must be something to gain. But what? Why did Jesus fast for forty days before beginning his ministry? Why do Muslims fast for a month every year? Why do Buddhist monks and Hindu ascetics fast pretty much all the time? I don't know, but I figured reading a book wasn't going to be enough, so I decided to give it a try.

The second has to do with Lent. Since some form of fasting is quite common during Lent, I figured I could just fit in. It's not my preparation for Easter so much as it just seems a convenient time to fast without raising too many eyebrows. In fact, the rules of engagement I've chosen are much closer to Ramadan fasting than Lent fasting. I simply don't eat from sunup to sundown. I drink water, coffee, sometimes a Coke, but no food. I chose this method because it's simple and easy to remember. I do eat on Sundays, because the forty days from Ash Wednesday to Easter don't include Sundays, but there's been no sanctioned cheating for St. Patrick's Day.

Actually, I've cheated a few times already. When Amanda and I went to Dallas to see some friends and celebrate our anniversary, I ate lunch when we were with people at lunch time. When I went back to Dallas to see my mother post-surgery (she's doing fine), I ate lunch with the family. While I have let being polite and social be a reason to break the fast, I haven't just said fuck it and eaten because I was hungry. Nor have I increased my breakfast to get me through the day. On weekdays, when I eat around 5:45, I have some toast, graham crackers, or cereal. Since I usually don't wake up before sunup on Saturday, I just don't eat until dinner.

But so far, no insight. I haven't overcome my earthly attachments to body or pleasure. I haven't felt more empathy with the poor. I haven't become a model of self-control and modesty. I haven't even lost much weight. But there are still several weeks to go, so I'll keep you posted. If I achieve enlightenment, I promise you'll be the first to know.

Weekend in New York: Il Mulino

2006-03-02T16:45:00.000-06:00

Friday night Brian and Thomas had a special treat for us. Somehow, Thomas got us reservations at Il Mulino, the Greenwich Village spot that has received Zagat’s “best Italian” rating for 19 straight years. It seems that Thomas’s mother somehow had access to the VIP reservation line, since nobody ever answers the phone at Il Mulino, and, according to reviews, even real VIPs end up waiting forever for a table. We waited for about 30 minutes, but the manhattans were quick to come (along with some tasty fried zucchini matchsticks for us to nibble on while we waited).

The restaurant is small, dark, severely crowded, and moderately ugly. I have little doubt that the wood paneling and cream-with-a-grape-leaf-pattern wallpaper are the same stuff that went up when the restaurant first opened in 1981. Thomas warned us beforehand: “The food is great, but the ambience is…nothing.” But when the lights are down that low, and you’re that close to the table next to you, who cares about the walls anyway? Reviewers aren’t joking about how crammed it is. If I so much as leaned back a little in my chair, I hit the bread plate of the table next to me. I did this five or six times.

You can fill yourself up at Il Mulino without even ordering anything. Before menus came, we were given giant hunks of sweet, nutty, salty parmesan cut right from an even more giant block at the table. We had a bread basket that included bread sticks that are the most garlic-y bread I’ve ever eaten. A few minutes later we were given garlic toast that made the sticks seem mild. We got bruschetta. We got salami. We got zucchini sautéed in garlic. We got full.

Luckily, Brian and Thomas eat even more that Amanda and I do, so full was no setback. Brian ordered a bottle of Sangiovese, but I never saw what it was. It was delicious. Despite drinking Amanda’s share of the bottle as well as mine, I still ended up ordering a glass of cab before the meal was over.

We had a plate of hot antipasti and a plate of cold. Altogether we ate sautéed scallops, prosciutto and other cold cuts, fried shrimp, a cheese-filed pasta I simply wrote down as “cheesy stuff” in my notebook (which Amanda tells me was supposed to be eggplant involtini), roasted red bell peppers, mozzarella with tomato and basil, hearts of palm, clams casino, and clams with bacon.

Entrees: I had ravioli filled with porcini mushrooms, served with a champagne cream sauce and black truffles. Amanda had langoustines in an herbed wine sauce with a mushroom and pea risotto. Brian had a double veal chop. Thomas had veal pounded super-thin (literally the size of the plate) and served Milanese—fried and topped with tomatoes. None of us ate more than half of the main course (except for Thomas, who almost finished his). It was just so rich, and we were just so full.

Well, not too full. Amanda had lemon sorbetto for dessert, and the rest of us shared a homemade tiramisu. They also served us grappa, ladled from a large copper bucket, which had little grappa-soaked grapes in it. Amanda said she wasn’t going to drink hers. “Oh, come on. You have to try it! You have to drink the grappa!” said our neighbors at the next table, about six inches away. Amanda protested, but they insisted. It seemed like they would be personally insulted if she didn’t at least have a teeny-weeny sip. They took the same tone when she told them she’s expecting. “What? You can’t have any grappa. No way!”

Going to Il Mulino is like going to an amusement park. It’s a destination unto itself, not someplace you stop along the way to someplace else. It’s best if you go with friends or family. And even though you’re expecting it to be expensive, you’re still shocked when you see the bill. All that free stuff at the beginning of the meal ain’t free—not when the ravioli costs $50. And the warnings didn’t come true: I didn’t reek of garlic the next morning. At least Brian, Thomas, and Amanda didn’t say anything.

Weekend in New York: Fanelli

2006-03-01T17:10:00.000-06:00

New York is a city of adventure, a city of possibility, a city where a person could eat a different place every meal and still never eat at all its restaurants.

But I’m a creature of habit. So once we got into the city and dropped our bags off at Brian and Thomas’s place, we went straight to Fanelli’s for lunch.

Like a lot of places in New York, Fanelli’s is very old. It claims to be the second oldest continuous bar on the same site in New York, which would be impressive if it weren’t such a long and qualified title. It was bought, and renamed, by Michael Fanelli in 1922, when it was a speakeasy.

This was the first time I’ve been to the back room. It’s just as charming as the main room, but it doesn’t have the bar and all the old photographs of boxers.

No surprise—I ate what I always eat. The grilled chicken club sandwich has gouda cheese and a tarragon mayonnaise. The French fries are perfectly crisp and gold on the outside, warm and mushy on the inside. Amanda had a “croque monsieur,” which was in fact nothing but a grilled ham and cheese sandwich. I thought she’d be upset it didn’t have the jelly and other extra stuff a monsieur is supposed to have. “I knew it would be like this,” she said. “This is exactly what I wanted.” I had a couple bottles of Pilsner Urquell, and she had sparkling lemonade (fancy, huh?).

Our waitress was in a pretty bitchy mood. She and a customer who was in a hurry had several rounds of making ugly faces at each other and blaming each other for not listening. I thought the customer was in the wrong, but I later changed my mind when I heard this exchange:
“Do you mind if we take one of those tables in the corner?’
“Yes. Yes I mind. If you want one of those tables, you’re going to have to go back up to the front and wait. Those tables are dirty and I don’t have a minute to clean them right now.”

That’s how great Fanelli’s is. You can have service like that and still love being there. There may be no better way to start a weekend in New York than Fanelli’s (unless it’s a little early. The Blind Tiger has free pastries and bagels for the morning drinkers, but the bread runs out by noon).

Dining Quote of the Week

2006-02-24T05:45:00.000-06:00

From Amanda: "Now I like stuff, but there's too much stuff in this cous cous."

We're off to New York in just a few minutes. Surely there's something good to eat up there.

The Way to a Man's Heart

2006-02-17T17:23:00.000-06:00

Amanda and I never go out for Valentine's Day. When you eat out as often as we do, the prospect of long waits, crowded dining rooms, hurried food and jacked-up prices just isn't so appetizing. For a number of years we would get a DVD and have a picnic on the floor. The past few years Amanda has cooked a romantic dinner to eat at the table (dining room, not coffee).

She made a salad with spinach, arugula, endive, cranberries, walnuts, goat cheese, and a vinagrette that included, among other things, roasted onion and vanilla bean.

She made filet mignon (rare, of course) with balsamic syrup and chevre and roasted fingerling potatoes.

And for dessert, she made--from scratch--a carrot-orange cake with cream cheese frosting.

With dinner we had a bottle of Rusina 2003 Alexander Valley Zinfandel. Of course, I got to drink almost all of it, since she'll only drink a little bit in her "condition."

And to make sure I hang around, for a Valentine's gift she gave me a bottle of 2003 Domaine Grand Veneur Chateauneuf-du-Pape "Les Origines," which will be perfect to drink in 10-14 years.

(I gave her jewelry that she wore the next day.)

That "Four Things Meme"

2006-02-10T17:46:00.000-06:00

So Ms Molly has tagged me for the four things meme. I will try to stick to food.

Four Jobs I've Had
1. Dishwasher. The summer between graduating from high school and going to college I worked at the Pizza Inn in Pleasant Grove. My coworkers thought I was a sheltered nerd who didn't know the first thing about having fun or talking to people. I thought they were depressing drunks who had reached their pinnacle in life by their early twenties...at Pizza Inn. None of us were wrong.

2. Dishwasher/sandwich maker/cashier. While most folks got college work study that entailed sitting at a desk and reading, I somehow got KP at the Pirate's Cove, the Southwestern University snack bar. While the backdrop and equipment were similar to Pizza Inn, all of us at the Pirate's Cove had taken Dr. Score's intro. to philosophy class. It helps to have something in common.

3. Waiter. Before working at Franki's L'il Europe, I didn't know shit about food, even though I had been a certified food handler for several years. Everything I needed to know I learned at Franki's. At Deep Ellum Cafe I got to pretend I was cool for a while because I worked and drank with tatood and pierced-nippled former and future drug dealers. I almost gave up teaching to stay in the restaurant business, but a well-timed conversation with the just-divorced alcoholic manager of Trees convinced me that day jobs are the way to go.

4. Barista. The summer between my two years at SMU I worked the Starbucks at the North Park Barnes & Noble. Yep, it's as bad as you imagine.

Four Movies I Can Watch Over and Over
1. Eat Drink Man Woman. Probably my favorite food movie. I will never get tired of the scene when the father gets called in to the hotel kitchen to save a banquet and it's shot as if he were a surgeon: jumping out of the taxi, underlings putting on his coat for him, asking "what's the problem?"

2. Big Night. If this movie doesn't make you like food, then nothing will. The cooking scenes preparing for the party are great, but also pay attention to the very long shot at the end that covers an omelette from the breaking of the eggs to the serving.

3. The Empire Strikes Back. I'm a white American male born in the 70s, so this is pretty much a given.

4. Giant. I have to be careful with this movie, because once I see even a minute of it, I have to finish it. If I'm flipping channels at midnight and happen upon the opening credits, I am compelled to stay up until three to see it through. (I apologize that the second two aren't food movies, but I guess you want honesty, right?)

Four Places I've Lived
1. Dallas, Texas.

2. Houston, Texas.

3. Georgetown, Texas (I hope college counts).

4. Um, another part of Dallas?

Four TV Shows I Love
1. Arrested Development, which dies tonight.

2. Sports Night, which died a few years ago but was thankfully released on DVD.

3. Everyday Italian, for reasons that have nothing to do with food. Amanda calls Giada de Larentiis my girlfriend.

4. Iron Chef. Most people get tired of Iron Chef after the novelty wears off. I never get tired of it. I even love watching episodes I've already seen.

Four Highly regarded and recommended tv shows I've never watched a minute of
1. Freaks and Geeks.

2. The L-word.

3. ER.

4. The X-files (Okay, I've probably seen two or three minutes of one episode, but it was accidental).

Four Places I've Vacationed
1. Costa Rica. Our 10-day honeymoon took us to four different places in Costa Rica. Everything in Costa Rica is three and a half to four hours away from everything else.

2. Belize. Trey and Renee got married there last April. Fantastic fish.

3. New York City. I've been at least once a year for the past ten years. I'm going in two weeks and again in April.

4. Napa Valley. Amanda's sister lives there. How lucky is that?

Four of My Favorite Dishes
1. Ossobucco. I prefer it served over mashed potatoes. Pasta or rice are okay, but polenta is unacceptable.

2. Foie gras, served any way. Best: seared, with apples. I've heard of chefs who like it for breakfast, but I've never tried this. If I had to live on a single food item for any given amount of time, this would be it.

3. Nobu's miso-soaked black cod.

4. Whataburger's #4 with cheese.

Four Sites I Visit Daily
1. The New York Times is my home page.

2. Slate magazine.

3. Amy's Robot

4. Found Magazine's "find of the day"

Four Places I Would Rather Be Right Now
I'm home with my wife on a Saturday afternoon, so "right now" there's no place I'd rather be. But for the spitit of the question:
1. Drinking Shiner Bock in the Texas Hill Country.

2. Wandering around the Hudson Valley, but not until Spring. (When you're in the Hudson Valley, eat at Cripple Creek, if it's still there.)

3. Visiting shrines in Kyoto.

4. Eating my way through Vietnam.

Four Bloggers I Am Tagging
It's a basic principle of mine not to pass these things on, so I'll tag four bloggers I don't actually know. In fact, I'll find four blogs I've never even heard of.

1. Dog Bytes (a Houston Chronicle blog about pets)

2. Mad as Hell (dedicated to getting rid of W)

3. Inida Uncut (picked randomly from the Blogspot home page)

4. Rohypnol for me lady (a random friend of my brother)

Critic's Notebook

2006-01-26T20:54:00.000-06:00

Not my notebook. We ate at Aires over a week ago--and I took notes--but I still haven't got around to writing anything about it. I guess that's my biggest comment about Aires right there.

Browse the NYT critic's notebook where Frank Bruni plays waiter for a week. Maybe things are different in Cambridge Mass, but I think he leaves some of the typical waiter experiences out of the report. He doesn't mention any fights or screaming matches between waiters. He doesn't talk about the sex between waiters. He doesn't talk about sneaking free booze from the owner or expensive booze from the customers. He doesn't tell you how to add and delete things from your ticket to increase tips in a Andy Fastow kind of way.

The only thing he writes about that reminds me of my years waiting tables: waiters completely make up their favorites and suggestions. When I worked at Franki's, people often asked us about our favorites. I chose the pork medallions with blackberry sauce as my recommended favorite months before I actually tried it. Not the most expensive item on the menu, but close. It was also very fast and very pretty. Julie (speaking of sex, booze, and screaming matches) always said that Franki's Schnitzel was her favorite. I knew her for seven years and never once saw her eat one. I think she just said it to suck up to Franki.

At Deep Ellum, I recommended whatever Chef told me to push that night. Next time you ask a waiter, especially one you don't know, what he or she recommends, just remember that you're really asking: so, what's not sold well for the past few days, is on the edge of going bad, and will either be soup or garbage tomorrow morning?

Saveur 100

2006-01-18T20:28:00.000-06:00

Here is the Saveur 100 list.

Note the several Texas contributions. Also note Houston's own West Alabama Ice House. I've never actually had a drink at West Alabama Ice House, but I drive by it all the time and know a few things about it:

1. The sign boasts "Since 1927," a few years before Prohibition was repealed. Technically, it could have been an ice house that only served ice and not booze. But really. When have you seen a large quantity of ice that was neither carved into a swan nor had beer cooling in it? I'm pretty sure no Houston ice house ever had ice carvings.

2. Several off-duty sherrifs got in a bit of a gunfight at WAIH. They fired around 40 rounds and didn't hit anybody. Perhaps beer really can bring peace to the world.

Update: The People Are Hungry

2006-01-16T16:14:00.000-06:00

I wasn't the only one who noticed the popularity of the NYT mac and cheese recipe. (To be fair, Amanda noticed it, not me. But she doesn't have a food blog, does she?)

Slate's Sarah Dickerman filed a piece on Friday about the "weirdly popular recipe." She considers the major questions, but doesn't spen too much time there:

Has it been a slow news cycle? (Samuel Alito—shown up by cheddar.) Have I underestimated the cultural cachet of the word "crusty"? Or has the nation just settled into its annual post-holiday hibernation, when thoughts turn to stews, casseroles, and Super Bowl fare?

What Dickerman does instead, like any good chef/freelance writer, is make the recipe. Twice.

"Crusty" is no exaggeration; the two cups of cheese used to top the casserole shrink-wrapped itself around the uppermost elbows. Eaten piping hot it was a little chewy and a little crispy; after the dish had cooled just a hair, the top layer had firmed to a leathery shield. The noodles below sweated fat, which collected unappealingly at the bottom of my earthenware dish. On my first attempt, I took the high road and used the all-cheddar option presented in the recipe. Bits of cheese clung clumpily to the elbows. Cheese that's not processed—and especially cheddar—needs help to achieve an ideal state of ooziness. And without the moderation of something creamy—ricotta, crème fraiche, or I think, ideally, white sauce—that much cooked cheddar loses some nuance and tastes a bit caustic. When, on the second go-round, I used a mixture of American cheese and cheddar, the texture was smoother, but the dish tasted unpleasantly unctuous: more fatty than cheesy.

Dickerman concludes that the recipe so popular among the East Coast Liberal Elite is "off." It just doesn't have enough liquid to make a good macaroni and cheese. If I could actually cook and not just say bad things about other people's food I might come to the same conclusion. Who knows?

Bonus. I still remember the first sentence I ever read from Sarah Dickerman, and it still grosses me out.

As a restaurant cook, I consider myself something of a garbage expert: a surprisingly big chunk of my day involves sorting through leftover food, sniffing it, tasting it, and—if it's no longer fresh—dumping it into a big, heavy-gauge plastic garbage can.

I know what she means: she constantly looks though the pantry and walk-in to see what's in there and decide if and how to use it. But the image that sentence brings to mind, based specifically on the words "sorting though leftover food," is one of a chef sniffing at the leftover scraps from my plate after I've eaten and deciding if she can pass them off to the next diner. Lucky for the next diner I rarely leave leftovers.

Dolce Vita Pizzeria Enoteca

2006-01-16T16:04:00.000-06:00

Last weekend I had dinner with Amanda, Phil, and two of Phil’s friends at La Dolce Vita, the just-opened pizza restaurant owned by Marco, as in Da Marco. It was Saturday night, and according to Phil they had only been open for a couple of days. Since Phil was (but is no longer; I’ll miss that house) living three blocks away, he had been there every night since it opened. It’s on Westheimer just a few blocks east of Montrose, across the street from Sorrento and next door to where the new Indika will be. It’s the two-storey house that used to be a Moroccan restaurant.

The list of appetizers brought the words “Italian tappas” to everyone’s mind. It’s a large and varied list of small dishes. We all shared a handful:
--shaved brussel sprouts with radish and pecorino: the salad was bitter and tangy, making it a great way to start out.
--fingerling potatoes with a spicy marinara sauce: at least the waiter said it was spicy. I didn’t find it spicy at all, and Phil—who could drink Tabasco—found the description offensive.
--a salad made of parsley leaves and pancetta: fresh greens and bacon? Can anything be wrong with the universe when you’re eating a bacon salad? No, of course not.
--diced beets with horseradish: we each had one bite of this and no more. Though there was nothing wrong with it, it had no excitement and little flavor. There wasn’t enough horseradish to add the smallest bit of spiciness, and beets are, well, beets.

By this time were aware of two major problems that will need to be fixed. For one, the waiter answered “I don’t know” to a lot of our questions about the Italian terms and ingredients on the menu. He did little to find answers, but was content with “I don’t know.” Surely this will fix itself over time. The other problem is that Dolce Vita doesn’t serve bread, and bread seemed a necessity with all our little bowls of sauces and oils left over from the appetizers. The waiter did sell us a round of focaccia pizza dough for four bucks, but that’s hardly the way to get people to return.

The main course at Dolce Vita is pizza. Two people can easily share a pizza, but we ordered one each to get a better sample size. There were lots of to-go boxes at the end. I had a pizza with prosciutto and arugula. The ingredients were fresh and perfectly proportioned. The crust was crispy with just the slightest bit of charring from the wood-burning oven. It went well with a glass of Merlot. Another quirky thing about Dolce Vita: they don’t slice their pizza. Something about drying it out. Although this reasoning doesn’t work for me—it dries out just as much after I cut it with a knife as it would if they cut it with a knife—I like the effect. The fact that you’re not getting familiar little triangles adds to the lengths they go NOT to remind you of Dominoes.

For dessert we each got a bowl of gelato. You can choose up to three flavors. I had dark chocolate, Mexican vanilla, and pistachio.

I think Dolce Vita is going to work out just fine. In fact, I think it’s going to work out too well. Despite its still being in “soft opening” phase, the place was full. And though it’s much more casual than Da Marcos, the beautiful people have already found it and made it their own—the two Ferraris in the parking lot were identical, down to the racing stripes. Oh well.

Goodbye to Andy (kind of)

2006-01-12T18:30:00.000-06:00

Our favorite waiter at T’afia, Andy, has moved on. He’s now working at Rouge. We’ll go over there for dinner soon. Let me remind you why Andy is our favorite:

1. He waited on us our first time we went to Boulevard Bistro. When we went back a second time, at least a month later, he remembered our faces and the wine we had last time. It made us instant regulars.

2. Remember the story, in Remains of the Day, about the butler in India who calmly told his boss that dinner would be delayed because of a tiger under the dining room table? A few minutes later a shotgun blast is heard, and the butler returns to whisper that the problem has been solved. A live spider in my mother-in-law’s salad wasn’t quite as extreme, but Andy handled it with just as much finesse—and without firearms.

See you soon, Andy.

Food in History

2006-01-11T20:27:00.000-06:00

My sister gave me a wonderful book for Christmas, Food in History by Reay Tannahill. Tannahill has exhaustively researched almost every aspect of the diet of every civilization from around 10,000 BC to around 1986 AD. Tannahill has also fit the analysis of that research into 400 pages, so it’s brief and brisk. Allow me to repeat a typical passage, this one on dates and figs in 3000-1000 BC:

The fig, a native of western Asia and another fruit with a high sugar content, was also popular in the Near East and along much of the Mediterranean, although the tree did not have the 370 uses of the date (On the other hand, its leaves were a more convenient size and shape for the specialized requirements of the Garden of Eden). Sometimes, however, it fruited well where the date did not, as in Greece, where it found a place in the diet of rich and poor alike, particularly in winter in its dried form.
“Nothing is sweeter than figs,” Aristophanes declared, and their reputation spread far beyond the lands in which they grew until, in the third century BC, Bindusara, king of the Maurya dominions in India, wrote to Greece asking for some grape syrup, some figs and a philosopher. Grape syrup and figs, he was told with cool courtesy, would be sent to him with pleasure, but it was “against the law in Greece to trade in philosophers.” (pp. 50-51)

And so it goes. It’s neither the chemical step-by-step of On Food and Cooking nor the too-broad brushstrokes of a high school World History primer ("Egyptians ate wheat, Greeks ate grapes, Romans ate Greeks"…that sort of thing). Food in History is a detail-filled narrative with enough anecdote and humor to keep even the casual diner engaged.

Pictures from Josh's visit

2006-01-07T13:40:00.000-06:00

I try to give you a sense of what it's like to eat with me. But Josh gives you pictures. Enjoy.

The People Are Hungry

2006-01-05T20:21:00.000-06:00

In the midst of Ariel Sharon's stroke and major blasts in Iraq, the two most e-mailed articles in today's NYT are about...macaroni and cheese.

Even better: the recipe has been sent even more than the story it accompanies.

Eating for Three

2006-01-03T21:29:00.000-06:00

Friends, an announcement: Amanda is pregnant, and Baby Holloway is due on July 4.

This will probably mean the end of Ben Holloway Eats. From what I’ve heard, newborns usually take away the means and opportunity for eating out. At least for a few years.

But the opposite is true until then. We’re making a list of places we want to hit before the little one arrives. Already on the list: Aries and Da Marco.

(And now you know why Amanda was napping so much when Josh was here.)

Watching Josh Galban Eat

2006-01-02T21:10:00.000-06:00

So this time it’s real. Josh really did come down for a few days to watch me eat. I suspect he wanted to eat a little himself, since he made a few requests: chicken fried steak and tex-mex.

Josh made a stealthy entrance—he walked right past me at the airport and I didn’t see him. After a text message and a phone call we were together and ready to go.

We started off light and homey. Wednesday afternoon we just had some chips and dip for lunch with a few Anchor Porters and Shiner Bocks. Josh and I went to Onion Creek for a few more beers while Amanda napped.

Wednesday night we took the first request. Hickory Hollow, just two minutes from our house, has fantastic chicken fried steak. The portions are huge (consider sharing a half order with someone) and the sides are perfectly unhealthy. For example, try the Hot Tots: fried balls of mashed potatoes. Hickory Hollow, however, serves their chicken fried with brown gravy instead of cream gravy, and all three of us found this unacceptable. Amanda went online for an alternative. Barbecue Inn won the Houston Press award for best chicken fried steak a few years ago, so we went to find it. Barbecue Inn is located at Yale and Crosstimbers. I’ve never been in that part of town before. I don’t even know what it’s called. But Phil asked if we went armed when we told him where it is. Phil lives in the Montrose and regularly has prostitutes walking the street in front of his house. Phil hires a homeless crack addict as a handyman. Phil doesn’t call any neighborhood bad. Except, apparently, where Barbecue Inn is located. The Inn, as I now call it, has been open since 1946. It looks to have been renovated and redecorated in the mid ‘60s. I’d go to Baghdad for another serving of the chicken fried chicken I had, so I can’t even imagine how the steak is. I got mine with fries, Josh and Amanda had theirs with baked potatoes. All three of us were disappointed that they didn’t offer mashed potatoes, so maybe the chicken fried steak search has yet to end.

We slept in Thursday morning in lieu of breakfast, too full from the night before. For lunch we went to another place I’d never been, Irma’s. Irma wasn’t working the floor Thursday, but she usually does. Irma’s has no menu, just five or six items of the day. Phil met us there before going in to work. We had some queso (good but not exceptional) and guacamole (spicy and full of vegetables) to get us going. I had a cheese chili relleno, Amanda and Phil had enchiladas mole, and Josh had seafood enchiladas. What impressed me about the food was the amount of random and tasty vegetables in everything. All the sauces and sides had all types of fresh stuff in them. The homemade lemonade with fresh fruit was amazing. I never would have thought to have lemonade with tex-mex, but it seemed the perfect complement (Josh had iced tea—bad call). For dessert we split a plate of sopapillas. Not the airy puffs of nothing or the sugar-coated chips that some places serve, but honest to goodness sweat bread with honey and cinnamon. These were the best sopapillas I’ve ever eaten and ever will. I’m certain of it. Our waiter was very friendly. In fact he was downright touchy. He didn’t lay a finger on Amanda, but Phil, Josh and I each got a firm pat on the shoulders or two. It was after Irma’s that we started complaining of being uncomfortably full. But Josh had come all this way to see me eat, so we couldn’t stop there.

After Irma’s we drove a little out of town for a giant case of surreality.

After getting our asses back into Houston, Josh and I went to Sixth Street Bar & Grill for some beers while Amanda napped.

Amanda suggested gulf coast seafood for dinner, so we went to Goode Company Seafood. I’ve talked about that before, so I’ll just get to the point: Amanda had gumbo and a side of fries, Josh had a fried shrimp/grilled catfish combo with rice, I had a fried oyster/grilled catfish combo with fries. By this point we were all complaining loudly about being uncomfortably full.

After dinner we took Josh for a drive to see some of the sights.

With only one meal left, we had to think of something good. Amanda suggested biscuits and gravy and Josh, despite the overfull feeling, thought it a beautiful idea. So Friday morning we drove over to Café Artiste. Amanda and Josh each had biscuits and cream gravy. I had an English muffin and Canadian bacon—I guess I was feeling international. I had a cup of real coffee, and Josh ordered an iced coffee, which came in a tall soda glass and looked pretty girly. We spent the whole meal making fun of his drink.

And then we took him to the airport.

What a treat it was to have Josh come and visit. Most people in Josh’s situation—nobody ever goes to visit him—might be pissed. But Josh just uses up those frequent flier miles to visit us instead. I’ll bet he’s still full.

Happy Birthday to Me

2005-12-28T23:41:00.000-06:00

Today is my (31st) birthday. My entire family is down here to celebrate Christmas and my birthday with me. And what do we do for my birthday?

Amanda made fresh fruit salad for breakfast, and Dad and I went to Hot Bagel Shop for...hot bagels. Plain, blueberry, cinamon raisin, and babana walnut. We had coffee and fresh orange juice from Central Market. Then we went to Ikea, because nobody in my family had been there before, and it's really quite the tourist attraction.

For lunch we went to Barnaby's. I had a mushroom swiss burger with fries. When you get fries at Barnaby's, order a side of honey mustard and a side of barbeque sauce, then mix them together to dip the fries.

Aftre some post-holiday window shopping at the Galleria, we stopped at Amy's Ice Cream for a snack. I had Belgian Chocolate with Nutter Butters, my favorite.

It took some time to get hungry again for dinner, but some napping and Rushmore got us ready. We went to Berry Hill for queso and tex-mex. Amanda and I split some nachos with Stephen.

Now I'm full and happy and ready for bed. The folks leave for the Austin area in the morning, and Josh comes in tomorrow afternoon.

Benjy's

2005-12-21T12:50:00.000-06:00

My oldest little brother came to visit us last weekend. His birthday was in October, and our parents gave him a ticket to Houston for his birthday.

Where do you take a budding hipster to dinner in Houston? Benjy’s.

Despite having an 8:30 reservation, we had to wait for a few minutes at the bar. I had (sing along if you know the words) a Makers Manhattan, up. James and Amanda had soft drinks.

We split an appetizer of coriander chicken samosas. Amanda and I had Arugula salads with manchego cheese.
James had a steak with potatoes and veggies, green beans I think. We all thought it was funny that the waiter corrected his order. When asked how he wanted his steak cooked, James said well done. Medium well? the waiter asked politely. Yeah, medium well. Amanda and I explained why ordering a steak well done is a bad move at a restaurant. The first reason has to do with plain snobbery—connoisseurs eat their steaks more on the rare side. On the more practical side, many chefs will use smaller and worse cuts of beef for people who order well done, because they figure the person eating won’t be able to tell the difference once the meat is cooked to the density of metal. James enjoyed the steak, and I hope he tries even more exotic temperatures soon. Medium rare, maybe?

I had a pork osso bucco with mashed potatoes. I ordered it mostly out of curiosity, because ossobucco is made with veal. I also had them replace the polenta with potatoes. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the pork osso bucco tasted great. The pork, braised and covered with the tomato sauce, fell off the bone in the same way. The only thing missing was that the pork version didn’t allow for scooping out the bone marrow the way veal shank does. The pork osso bucco was as good as any veal osso bucco I’ve had.

We had no room for dessert, but we ordered a piece of tres leches for the three of us to share. It was a birthday dinner, after all.

The Salt Lick

2005-12-17T09:35:00.000-06:00

I am a newcomer to barbeque. Even into my mid-twenties, I would often tell people that I wasn’t a fan of it. I’d eat it, sure, but I didn’t see what was so special about it. My mistake was that I thought barbeque was about the sauce; barbeque is about the meat. Smitty’s, for example, famously serves its barbeque without sauce or utensils. The absence of sauce is a sign of how seriously they take the meat.

Our backyard grills are good for a lot of things, but barbeque is not one of them. Grilling uses a fairly high heat to cook the meat and smoke for flavor. (A coworker in Dallas once explained that grilled foods are not timed in minutes, but beers. Fish—one beer. Chicken—two beers. Steak—two beers per side. But that’s for later.) Barbeque uses a low heat, and the smoke is for cooking the food as much as it is flavoring it. So if you want to make barbeque, you need a surface for your meat that is not too close to the heat. You need to keep the heat steady. And you need the heat to remain steady for six to twenty-four hours. Who has time for that?

The Salt Lick does.

Our pre-Thanksgiving retreat took us to an inn only ten minutes from the Salt Lick. We didn’t realize this until we were driving there, and it was cause for loud celebration in the car. In fact, we went straight to the Salt Lick and checked into the inn later. It used to be in the middle of nowhere about 45 minutes outside of Austin, but it’s now just on the edge of sprawl. A number of custom-home subdivisions are being built nearby, and three or four new vineyards are also in the area. Despite its small-town roots, the Salt Lick is too well-known to be a local hangout or limited to farm trucks. A steady stream of BMWs, Volvos and Tahoes line up at the gate. The restaurant sells t-shirts, caps, and bumper stickers with slogans like “You can smell our pits from a mile away.” The restaurant itself consists of several low-roofed, Austin stone (limestone to you outsiders) buildings. One is the main dining room, one is the banquet room. The tables are made of heavy wood. They’re large enough for ten or twelve people and have picnic benches for sitting.

The family dinners come highly recommended, but that was too much food for our family of two, so we ordered individual combo plates. I had brisket, sausage, and ribs. Amanda had brisket and smoked turkey. Each came with potato salad and cole slaw.

The brisket was incredibly tender (no knife necessary) and flavorful. It was also bigger than I’m used to seeing. It had a layer of fat that a lot of places would cut off and more of the burnt surface than usual. Spicy with a bit of sweet, the sausage didn’t seem over-processed. Chunks of meat and flecks of spice were clearly visible. And the rib? Well, Amanda called it, several times, “the greatest pork rib known to mankind.” I have never eaten a pork rib so large, so juicy, so smoky, so wonderful. So as to enjoy every bite and not get too caught up in the moment, I’d eat just a bite of rib at a time, and then cleanse the palate with some potato salad or beef. I ate every scrap on my plate, probably around a pound and a half of meat. I contemplated going back for dinner.

On top of the perfect meat, the Salt Lick also has great sauce. It’s got tomato in it, but no so much that it’s red. There’s a fair amount of mustard in it, which gives it a yellowy-brown color. It’s got just enough sugar to keep the mustard from taking over, but not so much that it covers up the sharpness. The Salt Lick has a region-less sauce. It’s got the mustard of South Carolina sauce, but it’s not bitter. It’s got the vinegar of Memphis or North Carolina sauce, but it’s not thin. It’s got the sweetness and tomatoes of Texas sauce, but it’s not thick with molasses. I guess what I’m saying is this: even if barbeque were about the sauce, the Salt Lick would be the best.

I didn’t try this myself, but it’s worth mentioning. One of the daily specials when we stopped by was beef rib. I thought it was your basic roasted prime rib, which is good but not what you want at a barbeque joint. What I saw was, indeed, a beef rib. A large bone section, about a foot and half long, with meat attached. It must have been enough to feed four or five people. Once I saw it, it reminded me not of the prime rib at a steak house but the brontosaurus ribs that tip over Fred Flinstone’s car.

I had many things to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. Near the top of the list: thank goodness I’m not a vegetarian.

Thanksgiving Part II

2005-11-28T21:03:00.000-06:00

Friday my sister and her boyfriend came to my parents' house after visiting with his family in Temple. In Lorien's honor, Mom saved all of her favorite Thanksgiving side dishes for Friday.

Blackberry mustard pork tenderloin. Amanda used dijon mustard and blackberry jam as a marinade on some pork tenderloins. Amanda makes her pork perfect every time. Her secret? She swears by her meat thermometer. She can set exactly what temperature the pork should be (158 degrees F), and it beeps at her when the meat is ready.

Macaroni and cheese. There are hundreds of recipes for macaroni and cheese that don't involve getting a box at the grocery store. Forget about 'em. Just get the Velveeta Shells 'n Cheese, make it according to directions, and then bake it for aobut 10 minutes with a lot of extra cheese thrown on top. Beats the fancy-pants recipes every time.

Mashed potatoes with herbed butter.

Deviled eggs. What is it about little sisters and deviled eggs? Lorien likes them so much that she had them on Thursday and Friday. Amanda's little sister loves them, too. There's some magic trick to boiling your eggs just right, so that they peel perfect and easy. None of the Holloway clan have figured that trick out yet.

Sauteed peppers and onions.

Pumpkin bourbon cheesecake with a pecan grahamcracker crust. Amanda made this cake late Thursday night for Friday consumption. I thought about sneaking into the kitchen early Friday morning to grab some. But Amanda has big knives.

Pumpkin pie with pecans. I didn't have any room for this, but it looked great.

Apple pie. My mom makes super-fabulous apple pie. The recipe is very simple: she uses apples. No cans of filling, just apples (and some raisins this time), sugar, cinamon, and crust. It's so damn tasty.

Not long after lunch on Friday we headed down to Huntsville to see Amanda's family for a bit. Friday night I had my favorite Leftover Sandwich: wheat breat, turkey, cornbread dressing and cranberry sauce. Amanda and Toney were Thanksgivinged out, so they had nachos from Margarita's.

Thursday night we watched Ocean's 12 on my dad's giant television. I hadn't seen it before (the movie. I've seen the 52-inch television). That night I had an Ocean's 12-inspired dream: I was part of Danny Ocean's crew, and to practice planning multi-million dollar heists we had to...plan a menu. I had to wander around a gorcery store and choose eight items for a meal. I also had to choose an alternate for each item. The trick was that each alternate had to not anly be a suitable substitute for the original item (chicken instead of turkey, squash instead of sweet potatoes, etc.) but also had to work with the other seven items and their alternates. It was supposed to teach us coordination and flexibilty. Even as I was dreaming it I was laughing at myself for such a sillly dream.

Thanksgiving, Part I

2005-11-24T14:26:00.000-06:00

This is fast-breaking news. I just got up from the table twenty minutes ago.

Roast turkey. If there's one thing my mom can cook well, it's bird. She's great with turkey, chicken, duck, you name it. Today's turkey was no different. Juciy and seasoned. I normally eat my turkey without gravy, and today she didn't even bother making gravy. Her turkey is that good.

Cranberry sauce. Not the canned stuff. This year's recipe was sweeter than usual, and I liked the extra sugar (she used a combination of Splenda and brown sugar). She also added apples.

Cornbread dressing with sausge. This is Amanda's recipe that she makes every year. It was damned tasty this afternoon, but I like it best cold. Tonight's leftover sandwiches will be wonderful. Dressing and turkey with cranberry sauce on a wheat roal. Heaven.

Two-potato gratin with gruyere and herb-crusted manchego. Amanda cut the potatoes (Russett and sweet), and Stephen and I put together the gratin. Four layers of potatoes, cheese, and cream. Amanda thinks it's a little too rich and heavy, but I'm not sure. I'll have to tackle the leftovers with an analytical approach later this afternoon. If you're interested, the recipe is from the Williams-Sonoma Thanksgiving cookbook.

Green beans with pecans and cranberries. "And butter, lots of butter," adds Amanda from her semi-concious state on the bed behind me.

Fresh tomatoes.

Wheat rolls with herbed butter spread.

Goat-milk and honey cheese and brick cheese.

All the herbs--in the dressing, in the turkey, in the butter, in the green beans--are fresh from my mom's garden. The tomatoes were supposed to be fresh from Mom's garden, but they didn't ripen fast enough, so they're from the produce stand down the street.

We'll eat dessert in a few hours; nobody has room for it right now. Amanda made a cinamon-apple cake last night, and she's going to make a pumkin bourbon cheesecake soon.

Because of the strong antibiotics I've been on all week, I have yet to poach the bourbon, but I think my willpower will give out before the day's over. I haven't had a drink in a week--and you thought that was impossible.

Coming up: Thanksgiving Part II tomorrow, when Lorien and her boyfriend Sam get into town; Miss Molly will be dining with us Saturday night in Houston.

Breakfast

2005-11-19T20:31:00.000-06:00

Let's talk about breakfast. Most mornings my breakfast is small and quick. A South Beach breakfast bar. Or some yogurt. Or maybe wheat toast. But on the weekends, when there's more time for breakfast, there are plenty of places to have a full meal.

Java Java can be a little confusing the first time you go, because the awning above the door says "Flower Shop." Until a renovation this summer, one wall of the cafe was walk-in coolers where flowers were stored. Great: their homemade croissants. You get a croissant with almost any breakfast you order, but to really get the full experience, try the Java Sunrise--a breakfast sandwich made to order on a croissant--or the French toast made from croissants. Not so great: on weekends, the dining room is usually full by 9:30. The extra waitress that does nothing but refill coffee doesn't show up until 10 or 10:30. If you can, it's better to show up later and wait fifteen minutes for a table than to get an early table right away but have to wait fifteen minutes for coffee refills.

Baby Barnaby's is adjacent to regular Barnaby's on Fairview, and it has the same friendly service and neighborhood familiarity. Great: Bob's Helathy Plate comes with egg whites, chicken sausage, wheat toast and fresh fruit. Not great: you can sometimes wait for half an hour to get a table, because the dining room is quite small. They do have a coffee station set up on the patio so you can grab a cup while you wait, but if the line is long then the coffee has already run out. It's more of a trick than a treat.

Cafe Artiste is a block from the Menil Collection and the surrounding park. Great: each cup of coffee is made fresh individually, right in front of you, while you wait. They have about twenty different varieties of coffee to choose from, many organic. Not great: as cool as it is to watch them make your first cup of coffee right there, it's not so cool getting back in line to get a refill. You get used to this, though, and the coffee's worth it. They also have a big urn of coffee for faster refills, but who knows what's in that urn.

Buffalo Grille is a West University institution. They're pancakes are huge, and their hash browns are the best in town. Great: they serve Duncan Coffee, from right here in Houston. Not great: it's a lot farther of a drive. I guess this isn't true for the folks who live in West U, but it is for me. Our friend Julien, a Heights resident and Java Java regular, once taunted us for driving so far to eat breakfast. Though I don't think it merits a taunt, he's got a point.

The Daily Grind is a new place on Washington. They serve Katz Coffee, roasted in The Heights. It took them some time to get on their feet--the first several months they were using paper plates and plastic utensils, but the dishwashing station is now operational and you can get real dishes. Great: Daily Grind has wonderful cheese grits. I hate grits, but these are different. Not great: now that the church next door is open, the parking lot for Daily Grind is about a third the size it once was. Don't be afraid to park on Washington.

Bright & Early is a drive-through shack at Washington and Durham. I drop by for breakfast on the way to work about once a week for Duncan Coffee and a giant ham and cheese kolache. Great: try their omelette in a cup. They use the milk foamer from an cappuccino machine to steam the eggs perfectly fluffy, and it's served in a coffee cup for eating on the go. Not great: the kolaches are expensive, costing about twice as much as most donut shops'. And most of the kolaches are no better than the ones you get a donut shop (Christie's, for example). But the ham and cheese is different. It's in a class by itself, and is worth twice the $2.38 they charge. Trust me on this one.

You should know that all these places are breakfast, not brunch. They're very casual. I will go to any of these places without showering or even combing my hair. Brunch, the more expensive breakfast that requires clean clothes but usually includes mimosas--that's for another day.

Annabelle's

2005-11-18T19:57:00.000-06:00

We went to Annabelle's about a year ago with our friends Melanie and Daniel. It's only about seven minutes from our house, on Taft just south of Grey. We went back last week.

We got there a little early, around six. We were the first customers there. We chose a two-top in the corner. Annabelle's is a BYOB restaurant, but our waiter said he could hook me up with some complimentary Chardonnay if I wanted some. Sure. When he brought the wine out, he explained that people leave half-empty bottles all the time, and they just keep it and serve it. Some paranoids might refuse to drink leftover wine from strangers, but I've done crazier things for worse drinks. Our waiter was pretty funny and very attentive. We were the only people there.

But soon a second table came, a table of sixteen people, and once they showed up we saw a lot less of our waiter. When we finally got him to come over to us, we asked for the spinach-artichoke dip appetizer. "Oh!" he lit up, "That's the best stuff in the world!" After chatting up the big top for about ten minutes, he came back to us to say that they were out of spinach-artichoke dip. Would we like some calamari instead? Sure, we said, we'll try some. "The second best stuff in the world?" I asked. "Absolutely!" Their fried calamari is not the second best stuff in the world. It's not the second thousandth best stuff on earth. Though it was cooked properly, it had no seasoning whatsoever. Just calamari and flour. Oh well.

I ordered the grilled chicken breast with sauteed mushrooms. It came with mashed potatoes and sauteed vegetables (see, I do eat vegetables). Though grilled chicken with mushrooms is a pretty plain-Jane dish, it too was perfectly cooked and perfectly sized. I ate all my veggies, most of my chicken, and half of my potatoes without getting too full. Amanda ordered a chicken burrito. It was very large (she only ate half of it) and came with onion rings. On the menu, a burrito and onion rings looked funky and cool. On the plate, it just looked strange and out of place. She only ate one ring. I had one too.

But neither the chicken with mushrooms nor the burritos are what you should really go to Anabelle's for. If you go, order a pizza or one of their daily seafood specials. I just hope you're not too picky about what's on your seafood special. I overheard our waiter tell the big party that the tilapia was pecan crusted. A minute later he told them it was parmesean crusted. When he repeated again for some new arrivals, it was pecan crusted again.

Annabelle's is one of at least two Houston restaurants named for a dog (Barnaby's being the other one I know). They're dog-friendly, encouraging customers to bring your dog--but only on the patio.

When we left, the sixteen top were still the only people there. They brought a bunch of champagne, so maybe you can get some of their leftovers if you hurry.

Happy Birthday

2005-11-16T19:09:00.000-06:00

If you're reading this, there's a pretty good chance that today is your birthday. Happy Birthday!

Killing two birds

2005-11-14T17:40:00.000-06:00

First of all, I want to give a shout-out to my parents and their personal hobby/new business. Please click here and check out the latest news on their website.

Secondly, I'd like to say that neither myself nor any of my family endorse horse meat for "overseas markets." They just report the news, they don't export culinary horse meat.

Dreaming Is Free/Houston's

2005-11-12T17:35:00.000-06:00

I had the greatest dream this morning.

I was a contestant in an eating race, but not one of those horrible events where you shove hotdogs down your throat for sixty seconds. In this race, we ran to the top of a mountain in France, stopping at every restaurant along the route to eat a plate of food. The imagery was taken directly from Tour de France coverage: I'm running up a mountain road with crowds just inches away from me on either side, clapping, cheering, waving flags. I run into a dining room to eat a plate of breads, meat, and dessert. I swallow a small glass of wine and jump up to hit the road and work off the meal, only to stop at the next place a little ways up.

Naturally, I won. It was my dream, after all.

Not long after waking up (late) from my Nyquil-induced fantaisa, Amanda and I went for an early lunch at Houston's. I say all sorts of negative things about chain restaurants, but Houston's is exceptional. For one, they put their money into well-trained staff and fresh ingredients instead of "table tent" advertising and gimicky appetizer combos. Their key to success--besides having a higher average check than most chain restaurants--is pretending that they're not a chain at all. In fact, I had been to Houston's severel times in Dallas before I realized that it wasn't an independent restaurant.

And their staff really is good. I worked with a number of people who had worked at Houston's at Deep Ellum Cafe, and they tell me that Houston's runs a tight ship. Every shift began with a uniform inspection and quiz on the menu. A good friend of mine had to go through several interviews for a "salad expeditor" position, and she didn't get the job. I'm not sure what kind of qualifications they're looking for in a person that moves salads five feet from the kitchen window to the server station, but they apparently have high standards. That being said, we had a streak of visits to Houston's that were less exceptional. We got stuck with a bad waiter a few times in a row, but I haven't seen him there the past two times we've been.

Another thing about Houston's. It's the most integrated restaurant I've eaten at in Texas. I've never walked in when there aren't a least a few tables of African-American customers, which you almost never see at other restaurants in the same price category. I have yet to figure out how Houston's attracts the black middle class in a way that nobody else does (except black-owned restaurants like The Breakfast Klub), but it's a great thing. I'll look into this.

I had a club sandwich with fries, Amanda had a veggie burger with slaw. We split the spinach artichoke dip appetizer. I almost always get the fresh fish sandwich, but the "original" club sandwich, with super-premium ham, turkey, and bacon, is only available on the weekend, so I gave it a try. It's the best club I've ever eaten, and I've eaten a lot of them. But it's not as good as the fish sandwich, which has whatever they're fish of the day is. So sometimes it's a mahi-mahi sandwich, sometimes a snapper sandwich, sometimes something else.

Sneak Preview?

2005-11-09T21:48:00.000-06:00

I have been a bad blogger lately. I haven't kept up. There are reaons/excuses: I can't get to my blog from work anymore, I had a lot of grading to catch up on, I've been under the weather for the past few days, Arrested Development is back on the air.

But I haven't forgotten to eat, and here's a brief glimpse of what's to come.

Try Annabelle's, but don't expect greatness.

Onion Creek has really become noisy, hasn't it?

Dry Creek has been open for a while now, and they've got their shit together.

The Daily Grind still doesn't have their shit together, but the food is worth it, especially if you like grits (I don't).

The chiken fingers at the Toyota Center aren't as good as the chicken fingers at Minute Maid Park.

As my sister says, Ta Ta You Losers!

Southwestern University Homecoming and 10-year Reunion

2005-10-30T12:03:00.000-06:00

Last weekend Amanda and I went to Georgetown for her ten-year reunion. There were lots of happy memories, several small children to show off, and lots of food.

Friday night—wine tasting

Homecoming kicked off with a blind Texas wine tasting. The school hosted the event in the ballroom of the student center (I asked Brian Jackson which groups the wine tasting was for. “Ah,” he answered, “this is for old and/or rich people”). They had 12 wines in four categories for tasting. They were mostly Texas wines, but a few Californian, French and Italian wines were thrown in for fun. The panel that guided us through the wines included a wine writer, a wine collector, and a sales representative—all who graduated from SU—the president of Llano Estacado, and the owner of Flat Creek Estate Winery.

I didn’t go for the Texas white wines. My favorite of the Sauvignon Blancs was a Sancerre Vielles Vignes. I had two picks from the Chardonnay group: I liked the Sterling Chardonnay to go with food, and to drink by itself I picked the Saint Veran Terroirs de Davaye (2003). I did like the Texas reds, though. My favorite of the Cabernets was the Llano Estacado ’02, and the best blend was the Fall Creek Granite Reserve.

We also picked up a few hints from the Texas wine experts. Do not get Hill Country cabs; the area doesn’t grow good cabernet grapes. And because the Texas vineyards are still relatively young, Texas blends tend to be the best. Many of the larger wineries have hired “pedigreed” winemakers from California, Europe, and Australia who know what they’re doing.

Friday night—Monica’s 701

After the wine we went to the square with Brain and Thomas for dinner at a new restaurant called Monica’s. This is where we learned that a few things have changed in Georgetown since we were there, specifically their liquor laws. No more private club memberships to get beer and wine. Now anything goes.

Monica’s was having a rough night. Amanda reserved a table on the second-floor patio overlooking the square and confirmed the reservation Friday afternoon, but when we got there we were told that the patio was being used for a private party. Instead we got a table in the middle of the dining room with a too-bright security light right over it. I think other parties may have been having a hard time, because when I went to the bathroom I could here someone (chef? owner? patron?) yelling in the kitchen: “You guys are fucking embarrassing!”

The food was tasty, though. I ate a Monica’s salad, which had strawberries, bleu cheese, pecans, and maple balsamic vinaigrette over greens. For my main course I ordered the Southwestern roast pork loin with chipotle cream. The meat was overcooked, especially disappointing because I asked the waiter how he recommended it be cooked. I was weary of ordering it medium, but he said it was best. He was wrong. The chipotle cream took me back to my Deep Ellum Café days, when I’d order the Black Bean Ravioli just for the chipotle cream. I’d also have it over mashed potatoes, bread, or grilled chicken. I was also curious about the “tamale mashed potatoes” that came with the pork. What could that mean? As it turns out, it means exactly that—they crumble up a tamale (pork, I think) and whip it into the mashed potatoes. They even stick the corn husk on top for presentation.

For dessert all four of us split a piece of chocolate malt cake a la mode.

Saturday morning—Monument Café

Monument is also celebrating it’s tenth anniversary. Monument is your basic diner-café, except they avoid the greasy spoons and add high-quality ingredients. All their milk is organic, all their eggs are organic and from free-range nesting chickens, and they advertise that their steak is Kobe beef, though I don’t believe that. It does give them an excuse to charge $12 for steak and eggs, though. At ten in the morning we had to wait 20 minutes for a table. I had two yard eggs, sausage, hash browns, wheat toast and coffee. I ate every bite, even though I knew what was coming.

Saturday afternoon—Salt Lick

Just two hours after breakfast we got in line for the homecoming picnic on the school lawn, catered by Salt Lick. Lots of barbeque places like to call themselves “world famous” and “the best in Texas.” Salt Lick is the real thing. I ate brisket, sausage and pork ribs with the Salt Lick sauce—extra thick, heavy on the molasses and light on the tomato. And who could pass on the cole slaw and potato salad? Not me, I promise you. You may be weary of barbeque catered from almost two hours away, but have no fear. We spotted the portable smoker behind the Fine Arts building—this stuff was fresh. I seriously contemplated seconds, but just couldn’t bring myself to do it. After lunch we took a long walk around campus to keep our arteries from turning to stone. Semi-successful.

Late Saturday afternoon—back to Monica’s

Amanda and Brian had to help set up for the class reunion, so Thomas and I went upstairs to the bar at Monica’s. He had two margaritas, I had two Johnny Walkers. Our bartender and the two regulars sitting next to us were in the mood for shots, so we also had a Bit o’ Honey, a layered shot of Frangelico and Bailey’s that tastes a lot like the candy. We had a brief conversation about the difference between Face Erasers and Mind Erasers, and I got to tell my story about Todd’s “Slow Death by Dylan” at the Balcony Club. [Todd invented a special drink with a short story for a name, but the drink’s nickname is Slow Death by Dylan. Every time I had one I’d ask him what’s in it, and he’d always tell me. By the time I finished the drink, I’d forget the ingredients. Don’t order a SDbD if you’ve already been drinking, and make sure you have a designated driver at the ready.] The bartender also pulled out her study guide from the Texas Bartending School and showed us some of the other foul-tasting shots with foul-sounding names she’s learned: the blow job, gator cum, naked on the bathroom floor. I declined samples.

Saturday night—reunion party.

Still full, I didn’t eat anything at the party. I had a few Saint Arnold’s Ales.

Late late Saturday night—Kerbey Lane

It wouldn’t be a true Southwestern reunion without a jaunt into Austin. About ten of us went to Kerbey Lane for Kerbey Queso and Ginger Pancakes. I had a BLT, a Shiner Bock, and a long nap on the way back to Georgetown. Thomas was snoring in the back seat. Thanks for driving, Amanda.

Minute Maid Park

2005-10-26T17:41:00.000-05:00

By now you've probably heard all you care to about Game Three of the World Series: the roof was open; it lasted 14 innings and was the longest-ever World Series game (you might also remember that we were in the longest-ever playoff game about a week ago); the Astros lost; Astros manager Phil Garner said some harsh words.

The only details you're missing are the ones that only I can provide--what I ate at the World Series.

We arrived at the ballpark early, around four o'clock, to avoid some traffic and get a good parking spot. With lots of time on our hands, we decided to try out Nine Amigos, the horribly-named restaurant in the park with a balcony overlooking the field. Rather than wait 20 minutes for a table, we sat at the bar. I had two Shiner Bocks, Amanda two margaritas. From her facial expressions I gathered that the margaritas weren't very good. Surprisingly, the chicken and beef quesadillas we split were pretty good. They lacked the greasiness that so many quesadillas have, and the meat wasn't bad. The presentation also looked better than most quesadillas, with two stacks of triangles instead of the pizza-style single round piece cut up. We took our time eating these and talked with the near-drunk businessman sitting next to us. When a guy sat on our other side and showed everbody the baseball Brad Lidge signed for him, we split to see if we could go find a ball player to autograph something for us. The Astros had just gone back in the clubhouse, but we did get a semi-famous actor and sports fan to sign our commemorative ticket holder. It's going to be a thank-you for Amanda's coworker Mike, who helped us sell our other tickets on E-bay.

Still full from the quesadillas, I didn't eat anything else until my routine Cracker Jacks in the seventh inning. (I drank a Bud Light in the fourth.) I always have Cracker Jacks in the seventh, and for this special occasion they had larger bags. This particular bag also seemd to have more peanuts than usual, but I'm not sure my perception wasn't distorted by the excitement of the event.

I got hungry again around the tenth, but didn't eat anything else. I just would have thrown it up from the stress of the game.

I hope the Astros win tonight. Other than the obvious reasons, I want to make sure that the park is able to use all the food they've ordered for Thursday. We went to Opening Day this spring, and the food tasted like leftovers from the previous year. I don't want that happening again. Go Astros!

Cosmos

2005-10-20T21:04:00.000-05:00

I hate to contradict Josh's story, but I watched most of the game last night at Cosmos Cafe. Amanda got home in the second inning and picked me up. First we went to Texadelphia, but it was SRO. So we drove back toward the house to go to Sixth Street. Full. Onion Creek a few doors down--full. We ended up at Cosmos. Not that Cosmos is bad, mind you, but the televisions are a little small. We got a booth near a tv and ordered some food.

The menu changed slightly around a year ago. Instead of a list of different burgers, they now only have the "build your own burger" option. I had mine with lettuce, tomato, mayonaise, sauted mushrooms and swiss cheese. The burgers at Cosmos aren't bad, but they're not the best. Just a basic burger. Amanda had the "Manta Ray" sandwich, which is grilled chicken with Jack, avacado, cilantro mayo, lettuce, tomato and onion. Both came with fries (soggy and room temperature). I had a St. Arnolds Ellisa IPA and Amanda had, um, red wine. I can't remember which one.

Cosmos is a neighborhood joint with decent burgers. They have live music often. (Big Band night is the best. They cram twenty guys on the stage, spilling onto the dance floor. The average age of the players must be somewhere around 92.) They have local regulars who sit at the bar and smoke three or four cigarettes per drink. They have a friendly bartender, one who isn't uncomfortbale yelling "Sit down Albert, you bitch!" when Oswalt strikes out Pujols. They host a darts league, which last night meant seven people taking turn after turn after turn at the two dartboards. One night I saw more than fifteen people lining up for darts. The waitresses wear t-shirts advertising the bar's address: 69 Heights Blvd.

Though when you walk into the bathroom a framed poster of Cosmo Kramer greets you, the bar is not Cosmo's. It's Cosmos, and the walls are decorated with pictures of stars, planets, comets, and a space Manta Ray. I'll bet you didn't even know that there were manta rays in space.

But Cosmos can be more than a burger and beer joint. They make great martinis and cocktails. The goat cheese terrine with garlic, pesto, and sun-dried tomatoes is a great appetizer. The soups are often tempting, and the Green Chili, spicy and brothy, cures a hangover as well as anything else I've tried.

Jermemy may remember Cosmos as the place where Benjamin had one too many Boiler Makers.

What's in the papers

2005-10-19T16:06:00.000-05:00

Today Robb Walsh explains the dangers and rewards of being a celebrity restaurant critic. I remember Dottie griffith of the Dallas Morning News explaining how near-impossible it is to remain anonymous, because waiters job-hop so often that almost any place will have at least one person who's seen her before. [That reminds me of our favorite waitress in Dallas. I think her name is Marta, but I forget. She waited on us at three different restaurants over two years. We'd walk into a new place, and there she'd be.] My readership is still small enough (what, six people?) that I don't expect having this problem. Unless, of course, I have to reserve a table for Josh next to mine, and a table for Molly next to his. That might get me noticed.

NYT falls over itself this week to praise Rachel Ray. Oops, I mean Rachel Ray. I started out a Rachel Ray fan. I've only seen her "30 minute meals" show a few times, but I've seen plenty of "$40 a day." She's enthusiastic and thorough. She reminds us that good food doesn't have to be expensive. She allows people other than herself--waiters and clerks and diners and such--to have their face on tv. But after a while she just gets to be annoying. Really damn annoying. Emeril still holds the "most annoying tv chef" title, but he's spent years working on that. He got trained as a chef and opened several great restaurants. He got a tv show that was meant to bring the excitement of cooking to folks who don't drive Volvos and eat french cheese. And then he wouldn't drop the catchphrases. And he got sloppy. But Rachel Ray jumped straight to the catchphrases and sloppiness without ever being a chef or working in real kitchens. She's made a career--a lucrative one at that--out of picking up Emeril's worst habits. Just once I'd like to see Emeril taste a sauce live on television and say "Damn, that's too much garlic!" Just once I'd like to see Rachel Ray eat at a place and say "Damn, that sucks. I'd pay forty dollars just to never have to come back here. What a mistake!" But it ain't gonna happen. More "Mmmmmm! This is sooo awesome! I lovethis place!" Except for the background scenery and the dish in front of her, every episode is exactly the same. Now really, how cool is that?

NYT also features wild game in Texas Hill Country. About the article, let me just say that everything it says about venison is true. One bite of good venison makes you weep, wondering why you've wasted so much of your life on so much beef and chicken.

Hunting story number one: my first Thanksgiving with Amanda's family in Huntsville made me a nervous wreck. About every ten minutes I'd hear a shotgun blast from folks hunting wild turkey in the nearby woods. No one else seemd to notice the gunshots right out the back door, but I flinched every time.

Hunting story number two: I actualy went hunting once. They woke me up at 3:30 in the morning and dropped me off at my stand, up in a tree, to shoot the boar that came below. At some point I opened my eyes and realized that I had fallen asleep, standing up, ten feet above ground with a loaded shotgun in my hands. I knew how silly and dangerous the situation was, so I put down the gun and went back to sleep--on my back this time. The other guys, one of whom had shot an Axis buck from 250 yards away, were not impressed with me. I finally did shoot a (beautiful, snow-white) deer, but it was from the passenger side of our host's pickup truck. Also unimpressive. But with the shooting done my stomach getting hungry for lunch, I opened a can of beer while the carcasses were being skinned and drained. It was good and cold, so I had another one. Then the guys pointed out that it was only 9:30 in the morning, and I must be some kind of drinker to have beer this early, especially after all that I drank the night before. Manliness resotred.

Brad Lidge Tacos

2005-10-18T07:22:00.000-05:00

Today's Houston recipe is Brad Lidge Tacos. It doesn't really matter what ingredients you use. What's important is that they be perfectly executed, delicious, and just the right size. But then, at the last sumptous bite, you choke.

Super Size Me

2005-10-17T15:07:00.000-05:00

I finally saw Super Size Me this weekend.

I expected more gross and disgusting imagery. I had the impression that there was going to be lots of barfing and scatology, but only saw one vomit scene. Instead, we see a lot of Morgan Spurlock saying things like "I don't feel well" and "my liver is fat" and "My head hurts." It's not the shocker I thought it would be. Maybe I confused it with Jackass.

The premise isn't all that shocking, either: when you eat nothing but McDonald's for a month, your body goes nuts and you get fat. The extreme ways in which the body goes nuts shocks the doctors in the movie, but I don't think it shocks too many of us that have eaten McDonald's in the past year (I had some Chicken McNuggets, I think, for breakfast in Las Vegas this May).

I enjoyed watching the moive, but I didn't really learn anything or have any kind of epiphany I can share.

So instead, I'll try to think of things I could eat every meal for 30 days:
* seared foie gras with apples
* Amy's Ice Cream--mexican chocolate with nutter butters
* Black Cod the way it's done at Nobu
* Peter Pan extra crunchy peanut butter
* Wheat Thins with smoked Gouda
* Mussels and frittes
* Franki's carrot soup
* duck confit

Maybe I can arrange some Super Size Me meets French Women Don't Get Fat experiment: if I eat nothing but a super-rich and fattening food for every meal, but only eat a small portion and have two glasses of red wine with it, will I lose weight? Sounds tempting. Josh, can you make it Houston for an entire month?

New Things

2005-10-12T14:55:00.000-05:00

I'm sure you've been on the edge of your seat wondering about Saturday night. Yes, we went to Charley's. Yes, we had our usual drinks. Yes, we had a calamari appetizer. (And I forgot to mention that the calamari has fried green things in it: they drop pieces of basil right into the batter and fry it up with the squid. So every third bite is especially flavorful.)

But we also learned something. Feeling a little indulgent, we ordered not only the split appetizer but also salads. And this is where, apparently, Charley's draws the line. As soon as we asked for salads, the bartender pleasantly but firmly suggested we sit at a table for so much food. They still sat us in the bar area, but there was to be no salad at the bar itself. Only one course at the bar, it seems. Next time we'll know. I also confused a detail in my earlier description of Charley's. The waiters wear white dinner jackets, white shirts, and neckties. Not tuxedos. The 1979 ghosts were not there, though there was another couple that seemed to know all the staff and spent at least 20 minutes--at the table--talking on a cell phone.

Thursday night we went to T'afia to congratulate Monica on the Best Restaurant award and to make sure that Andy is still there, as he was thinking about moving. He's always thinking about moving. One of the dishes we had was an albondiga, something I'd never heard of before. It was a large meatball, made mostly of boar. It also had some sort of breading, and I think it had been fried a little as a finishing touch. Inside the meatball was a whole hard-boiled egg. I know that lots of meatballs and meatloafs have egg in them, but I never knew you could just put one smack dab in the middle, whole, like that. What a great idea! The combination of wild boar and boiled egg made these by far the tastiest meatballs I'd ever eaten (sorry, Dad. Thursday night was always your meatball night, too). They were served with a basil aioli. The aioli was good, but I ate most of it with bread, not the meatball. The meatball didn't need any sauce.

Monica says a cookbook is in the works. Basshole pointed out that she's been "working on a cookbook" for a long time. But this week she was using words like "agent" and "publisher." It seems that Robb Walsh is really behind her, and his publisher is somehow related to her agent, and a real deal is in the works. We'll see hot it goes.

Speaking of Robb Walsh and Basshole. Basshole also says that Walsh sometimes seems to enjoy it a little too much when he says awful things about places. It's true, but it makes for some good food writing. This may be my favorite restaurant review ever. Is he enjoying it when he interviews meat purveyors to prove his point? Yes. Am I enjoying it just as much? Yes.

What I Ate Tomorrow

2005-10-07T11:50:00.000-05:00

Let me go ahead and tell you about tomorrow night. Tomorrow night we're going to the Symphony (Chopin's first piano concerto), and the symphony almost always means Charley's 517. Charley's is half a block from Jones Hall, so we can get there early to get a good parking spot and walk over for dinner before the show. We always go to the bar, we always have--you guessed it--a Grey Goose Cosmopolitan (Amanda) and a Manhattan (me). We always split a calamari appetizer. And we always have a good time. (Sure we've strayed. Once we went to Biraporetti's, once we went to the Lancaster Bistro, but we go to Charley's more than 90% of the time.)

The best way to describe Charley's is Old School. It's a windowless cavern with wood panelling stuck in 1979. The waiters wear tuxedos or black suits. The martinis are shaken at the table in individual shakers. The menu consists of steaks, basic seafood, and other steakhouse-y fare. I'm told they have good burgers on their lunch menu. You feel liked you've stepped into a dining room from Dallas (the television show, not the city). It's definitely a place that caters to the oil guys from nearby the nearby oil buildings. It's smoking friendly, has murals, has leather-bound menus, and has at least one closed-off back room available for functions. Even though we just have an appetizer at the bar, they set up full place settings for us, including a little vase of flowers. Even though we just have appetizers at the bar, they've never treated us any differently than the regular customers spending a hundred bucks.

And my favorite part is the 1979 couple. This couple, mid to late 50s, has been there every time I've been save once. All the waiters and managers know them by name and spend long periods of time standing at their table talking with them. Talk about Dallas: he wears a tight grey suit with a vest and a tie that looks 20 years old. Every time. She wears some type of dress a la early '80s. Even their haricuts are from a by-gone era. I have a theory that this couple aren't even people--they're the friendly ghosts of an oil executive and his wife who just can't stand to leave the veal parmesean and cabernet of this world and go on to the next.

When I go, I'd like to do something similar, though probably not at Charley's 517.

Two Below

2005-10-05T11:09:00.000-05:00

My beer-rep neighbor knocked on the door yesterday and gave me two unmarked bottles. The bottle caps said "New Belgium Brewery," but there were no labels.

It seems that New Belgium--the people who bring you Fat Tire, from Colorado--has a new brew coming out in a few weeks, and nice neighbor gave me a sneak preview. He said it's called Two Below, and that it's supposed to be a "winter warmer."

I think Two Below will indeed make a good winter warmer. It tastes like an ale, but I can't be positive about that. It's very yeasty, a lot like a pale ale, which is something I enjoy in a beer. You can just look at the bottle and see plenty of bubbles. But Two Below has another layer, undertones that are more fruity and tangy than a typical pale ale. This layer reminds of some of the stronger Oktoberfest beers I've had from German breweries. So imagine mixing a pint of Bass with a half pint of Salvatore. And then drinking it during a baseball playoff game. Good, eh?

I only had one of the two bottles, so I didn't get the full warming effect. But give Two Below a try when it comes out. It's not as complex as, say, a good French wine, but it's got more layers than the stuff you get down at the Stop n' Go.

And I also recommend getting a beer industry insider as a neighbor. As quickly as you can.

[Still writing from work. I'll be fired soon, no doubt.]

You don't have to take my word for it

2005-10-04T16:29:00.000-05:00

You may remember that T'afia is my favorite place in town. Here's what the Houston Press said when they named T'afia "Best Restaurant" in their annual Best of Houston Awards this week:

"If your definition of a great restaurant is a posh dining room where airhead waiters suck up to rich people, try the new Tony's, or one of Tilman Fertitta's high-end swank-aterias. But if you want to visit the epicenter of Houston's food scene, go to T'afia, the minimalist restaurant in Midtown where the service is informative, not kiss-ass. Want to try some of the most innovative cocktails in the entire country? Check out the aged ratafia concoctions and the melting essences behind the Plexiglas bar. Want to find out about the latest in Texas food products? Order T'afia's "local market tasting menu," which might include home-cured duck prosciutto with Texas tangerines, Pure Luck Farm goat cheese with toasted pecans, or shavings of locally made Brown Paper Bag chocolate with poached East Texas pears. Want to buy some of these fabulous ingredients to cook with at home? Visit the weekend farmers' market in T'afia's parking lot, where chef Monica Pope encourages Houstonians to support the local artisanal food scene by buying the same organic heirloom vegetables, handmade breads and chocolates, fresh-roasted coffee and other high-quality ingredients she serves at the restaurant. While other top chefs seem to be aiming ever lower in hopes of getting rich, Pope is quietly and single-handedly creating a market for the kind of high-quality foods the world needs more of. We are incredibly lucky to have a chef and a restaurant this enlightened in Houston, Texas."

Congratulations to Monica, Andy, and the gang.

Tour de France

2005-10-04T15:55:00.000-05:00

Skip is a partner at Amanda's old firm. He's a francophile and a wine collector--he's got several thousand bottles in his house. Every year, he and his wife host a Tour of France party.

At the Tour of France party, six stations are set up in six rooms, each representing a region of France. This year there was an Alsace/Savoie room, a Champagne room, a Bordeux/Bergerac room, a Loire Valley room, a Rhone/Provence room, and a Burgundy/Beaujolais balcony. Each region has up to four differnent wines (except for the single champagne). There is a nice person in a tuxedo shirt and bowtie at each station to pour tastes of the wines, and there is also a buffet of finger foods. I don't need to tell you that this is one of my favorite events of the year.

I won't bother you with the complete tasting notes, because there were seventeen wines in all, and because I'm not that good a wine taster. But I'll share my favorites, considering they're available and affordable.

If you like a jammy, tannin-full red wine with strong black currant flavors, then the 2001 Chateau Grand Moulinet (Pomerol) is for you. It's a fill-your-mouth-with-flavor wine, something to go with red meat, wild game, or long nights of Scrabble. It's a Robert Parker kind of wine (I think. Correct me if I'm wrong, oenophiles).

By far my favorite of the evening was the 2003 Chateau de Saint Cosme Gigondas, one of the Rhone wines. I wrote down that it has a touch of wood, but Amanda says that a ton of wood is more accurate. It coats the entire tongue and mouth without provoking a strong reaction the way the Chateu Grand Moulinet does. It's not a "burst" of flavor, but definitely a full flavor. It's got a warm, long finish that lingers on the back of your tongue. I'm not very experienced with French wines, but this is the type of wine I think of as quintessentially French. It's complex and subtle, yet you don't have to think for ten minutes to know what it tastes like. Only an '03, this has got to get even better after sitting for a while.

I also really like white wine, and the 2002 Chablis Vocoret Pere & Fils was wonderful. Amanda's notes say "slightly sweet; full-bodied; buttery nose." I know that citrus-y whites, like the ever-present Kim Crawford Sauvignon Blanc, are really in right now as a reaction against heavy, buttery chardonnay, but I still like the butter. This wine was served outside on the balcony/patio, and it's a great summer night wine. Never mind that it's October and summer nights should be over by now.

Wine tasting can be very intimidating, and there's always the voice in the back of your head that says it's mostly made up. I remember reading an article years ago that asked how we can taste the rose bushes and the blackberries, but we never taste the manure or pesticides. That being said, this is a great opportunity to try to figure out how wines stack up against each other. One of the most educational experiences I've had is the year we got to go to one of Skip and Shirly's dinners where the wines are chosen for the party. Six of us tasted ten different Cotes du Rhones and compared notes. Amazingly, our top three choices were almost unanimous. I thought I was crazy when I thought one of the wines tasted salty, but everyone noticed that the wine smelled like olives. These things only come out through experience or by carefully choosing the wines you'll taste together.

Or better yet, by letting Skip and Shirly carefully choose the wines you taste together.

[I apologize that I can't provide links for the wines. Our internet at home is out, and my internet at work blocks any page related to booze.]

Self-Pleasure at Home

2005-09-29T16:38:00.000-05:00

No, not that self-pleasure, you pervert. I mean a home-cooked meal. I might give the impression that we never eat at home (the sporadic posts do provide some clue), but Amanda--as many of you know--is a very good cook.

For example, earlier this week she roasted a pork tenderloin. She used Fischer and Weiser's raspberry chipotle sauce as a marinade. I don't like raspberries, but the the berries don't really come out in th pork, so it works. What it does is give the pork that sweetness that pork calls for (that's why pork is also good with peaches, blueberries, and/or apples. I don't recommend banana with pork, though). The chipotle keeps things from getting too sweet. I'm also reminded of a great chili-rubbed pork Amanda makes, but that's for another time.

Amanda long ago started using a meat thermometer instead of a timer, so her meats are always great. I didin't ask what temperature she cooked it to, but I'd say no more than 160, probably less, because the meat was fully cooked but still pink and very moist. Although I put two knives out when I set the table, we didn't need them.

She also roasted some vegetables. I don't know the name of them, but the squah were small, yellow, and kind of diamond shaped. There was also baby zuchini (zephyr again, maybe?) and small potatoes. She added rosemary from the back yard, extra virgin olive, and fleur de sel. And she made a big ol' pile of cous cous. She must have used some kind of timer for that, because it was perfectly fluffy.

The wonderful thing is that she made enough for dinner for two nights.

Bonus: last night I went to El Tiempo for the first time. I hope to give a full report later, but for now allow me to warn you that the margaritas are strong. I had three, over several hours and with a meal, and still had to get Amanda to drive home. I've been hung over all day.

McCormick and Schmick

2005-09-29T16:16:00.000-05:00

We've all been reminded that it's still hurricane season. But let me also remind you that it's oyster season.

Though I usually push the local places over national chains, for oysters I really think McCormick and Schmick is the best place to go. First of all, it doesn't feel like a chain restaurant. It's got armadillo light fixtures, a stained glass window with a portrait of Sam Houston, and almost every wall is covered in Houston memorabilia--postcards, brochures, and menus from the '40s, 50's, and '60s. They may have 36 locations across the country, but they still go out of their way to make it a Houston restaurant.

They also have really fresh seafood. They claim that their seafood is delivered fresh every morning. I don't quite believe this. I'll bet that they get four shipments a week of fresh and cryo-vacked stuff instead of two shipments a week of frozen stuff. It's just a guess. But that's still better than a lot of places. And when you're eating raw stuff, fresh is important.

And where most places will put "Oysters" on the menu, M&S is much more specific. When we went there the weekend before last, we ordered an oyster sampler. It had two each of oysters from Canada, Massachusetts, and Maine. You can get a feel for different types of oysters from different places. The New Brunswick ones were small and meaty. The ones from Martha's Vinyard were long and salty. Amanda, Jack and I shared notes as we tried different types. Although there was a full meal afterward (I had crab cakes Benedict, Jack had plain crab cakes, Amanda had grilled shrimp wraped in bacon), the oysters were a hit. And there's three more months of the good stuff left to go.

Huntsville Edition

2005-09-23T17:01:00.000-05:00

Last night we ate at The Homestead, Huntsville's nicest restaurant. I had a small caesar salad, 6 oz. beef tenderloin (rare), mashed potatoes and grilled vegetables. Amanda, Jack and I split a bottle of Stonestreet Cabernet. The chef/owner, whose name I can't remember at the moment said "Of the few thousand people who have poured into town, only a small percentage will find and be interested in eating here. But you know, a small percentage of thousands is a good night for us." I hope things go well at The Homestead tonight.

We were going to go out for lunch, but changed our minds when we saw the gridlocked traffic, lines of hundreds outside of Kroger and Walmart, and dozens of folks just parked and camping in every parking lot in town. So many people got stuck in traffic, and so many more ran out of gas, that people are just pitching camp wherever they can. It's going to be a long night tonight.

My mother-in-law is cooking just about everything in her refridgerator, because it's probably going to lose power for a while. Tonight we're having chicken-rice casserole, green beans, biscuits, muffins, cookies, cornbread...who knows what else. Rita is going to make me fat. Or, fatter, I suppose. We also borrowed three big bottles of water from Mary Helen's store.

The rest of the day is just sitting around waiting for the rain to start.

Ready for Rita

2005-09-20T22:25:00.000-05:00

Email exchange between Amanda and me this afternoon.

Me: if we get stuck in the house for two or three days, do you think two bottles of cabernet are enough? Should we pick up a bottle of pinot and zin? Or does a hurricane count as a “special occasion” and we can break out the good stuff in the closet?

Amanda: it depends on the damage. If it’s just a few broken windows, we don’t need to go to the closet, but if there’s structural damage, all bets are off. And OF COURSE we should pick up a bottle of pinot and zin.

So we just got back from Target. We got an eight-pack of C batteries, a bottle of Iron Horse Pinot Noir, a bottle of Rosemont Shiraz, and a bottle of Bicyclette Syrah. I’ve never heard of Bicyclette, but it’s only eight bucks. Desperate times….

If we do indeed get hit by Rita and flooded in, it will be bottled water and canned tuna for a few days. The cat will be happy, but it may be another quiet week on the blog.

I don’t know about the national news, but the locals have already begun the rita/margarita puns. Who would have predicted that?

Down time

2005-09-17T22:15:00.000-05:00

It's been a very busy week. I was in Dallas from Sunday to Wednesday. I'm very behind with my grading, and grades are due Monday. Tonight I was at a wedding. So there's not much to report. Just the usual suspects: Chili's, Whataburger, IHOP, the kind of stuff I eat all the time but don't tell people about.

I did have two meals from El Rey today, but that will have to wait.

In the meantime, check out this NYT travel article that says nice things about Carneros Inn. It's literally next door to my sister-in-law's place in Napa (which is why we got to stay there for cheap). It's cool to have your own individual cabana, but the rows and rows of tin-roofed buildings look a lot like a labor camp. A labor camp with heated bathroom floors.

Jer--I haven't been, but I suspect that $20 wouldn't even get me a decent appetizer at your ass. Make it 50 and I can do something.

Sixth Street Bar & Grill

2005-09-10T14:12:00.000-05:00

Names can be confusing. The receipt I got says “Sixth Street Bar & Grill.” The sign outside says “6 Street Bar & Grill,” which really annoys Amanda, who thinks the sign ought to have the proper “th” after the 6. Either way, the new Heights bar is located at the corner of Studewood and White Oak. If you notice that White Oak is one block south of 6 ½ Street and/or know that farther west White Oak is actually labeled 6th Street, then it makes sense. Otherwise, it’s an enigma.

But when there’s a new bar just three blocks from your house in the space that used to be a closed auto repair garage, you don’t get too worried about names. You get excited.

We went for a tentative visit on a Friday evening. The bar had been open for a week, but it was packed. We grabbed a bar table (what do you call those? The tables that are small and high. You sit on tall barstools, not in low chairs.) next to an incredibly annoying digital jukebox with a ever-changing touchscreen and bright lights. The jukebox claims to have over 200,000 songs. Amanda ordered her usual Grey Goose Cosmopolitan, and she says it was good. I ordered my usual Maker’s Manhattan, up. Our waitress brought my drink and said “the bartender thinks this is right.” It wasn’t. It was Maker’s, but served on the rocks and with dry vermouth, not sweet. The drink wasn’t bad—I ordered another one without correcting it—but the bartender is going to want a little practice. When you have one of the few full bars in the neighborhood, you can’t count on everybody ordering beer.

We went back the next afternoon to try the food. The waitress on Saturday—just as nice as the one who waited on us Friday—explained the limited menu: “We’re a bar that has a grill. I know everybody around here really wants a restaurant, but we’re a bar.” That being said, the bar food is good. I had a club sandwich, and the only way to mess up a club sandwich is to put mustard on it. The fries it came with were promising, but cooked in oil that was not quite hot enough. They were a little limp when some crispiness would have made them great. The menu is mostly sandwiches and burgers, though they also have kabobs of several sorts and dolmathes, adding a Mediterranean angle you usually don’t see on a bar menu.

Sixth Street has several of the required large flat-screen televisions for watching the Astros. And I guess the Texans and Rockets, too. It’s also got patio seating under newly-planted palm trees, though I haven’t’ seen anyone take advantage of it yet. Maybe when the temperature drops below the 90s.

A nice touch: though the women’s restroom is marked with a quasi-offensive hand painted cowgirl with big boobs and a very short skirt, the demarcation for the men’s room is a mechanic in a Hernandez Auto Shop uniform. The renovation is so well-done that the sign may be the only way to know that you’re in a place that used to replace transmissions.

Grand Lux Cafe

2005-09-09T22:19:00.000-05:00

I’m not the person to ask about Grand Lux Café. It’s a spruced-up version of Cheesecake Factory, and I hate Cheesecake Factory.

[Let me tell you why—it’s not the ridiculously large servings or the insanely long wait that most people complain about. Neither of those are a problem for me. It’s that one time I actually applied for a wait position at CF in Dallas. I filled out the written application in the bar area, which was filled with at least 20 people also filling out applications. I got a callback for a meeting with an assistant manager. He said he was impressed with what I had to say and that he would give me the multiple-choice test and refer me to the general manager. I can’t imagine what sorts of questions they ask on a multiple-choice test for waiters, but I have to. You see, he had run out of the answer documents. So he arranged for me to come back the next day at two o’clock. I showed up at two, but the manager was off that day, and nobody had any idea what I was talking about. They asked me to wait. About twenty minutes later, another ass. manager came by and asked me to wait. Thirty minutes later, the bartender told me that the GM had called down and wanted me to wait just a few minutes. Twenty more minutes, and I was still sitting there. When the GM finally came around to tell me that they were still out of answer sheets and I’d have to reschedule, I fired him. I said “I’ve been here an hour. If I wasted this much of your time, I’d be fired. So I’m leaving and never coming into this fucking place again.” Maybe I didn’t say fucking, but I definitely said the rest. That was three years ago, but here I am in Grand Lux. Shit.]

I’m not the right person to ask about Grand Lux, because I didn’t order what I was supposed to. To really get the right taste, I should have split Double Stuffed Potato Spring Rolls as an appetizer, ordered a Max Burger with fries, and pre-ordered a Triple Chocolate Ice Cream Sandwich. You have to pre-order some of their desserts, because they—even ice cream?—take about 30 minutes to prepare. That would be the Grand Lux way. The vomit-your-way-home way.

Instead I had a Manhattan Chopped salad, which is made with lettuce, tomato, red onion, red beets, white beans, green asparagus, turkey, avocado, cheese, and some other stuff. I actually liked it, despite what Robb Walsh has to say about it. No dessert. No appetizer. No over-the-top cream of chicken soup. Just a salad. A not great, but not bad salad. How boring of me.

We noticed that there was a Bento Box on the menu, and Amanda asked about this. Our waiter (who can go into great detail describing the Bishop’s Palace) explained that while a Bento Box is a lunch-sized serving of three different sushi served in boxes, Grand Lux has a less traditional Bento Box. This day their Bento Box was…Salisbury Steak. And two vegetables. While I can hear someone on Food Network, Alton Brown for example, explain that a Bento Box in Japan is the same basic concept as a Blue Plate Special in the States, I cannot accept someone trying to use them interchangeably. A noodle shop in Tokyo’s business district may serve the same function as happy hour here, but if I order a margarita after work and you bring me a bowl of soba, chairs will be thrown. This is not how “Asian influences” are supposed to work.

I’m not the person to ask about Grand Lux Café, because I wasn’t impressed by the décor. The ceilings certainly are high, and the color palate awfully gold, but there’s nothing to break up the areas. Think about how large steak houses and Chinese restaurants are divided into separate rooms. Think about the labyrinth that is Javier’s (in Highland Park, not Houston). They take big spaces and make them feel small and secure. But Grand Lux leaves it open, Grand, overwhelming. It’s supposed to invoke Las Vegas, but in Las Vegas they know how to not make you feel like cattle in a chute. At Grand Lux, it’s obvious. You know that you’re still on a waiting list long after your name has been called and your food is on the table.

Goode Company Seafood

2005-09-07T22:09:00.000-05:00

We wanted to go someplace casual and low-key. We wanted seafood. We wanted the seafood to not be expensive or terrible balls of fried mush.

So we went to Goode Co. Seafood. Seafood is my favorite of the Goode Co. empire, though I admit I haven’t been to the Armadillo Palace yet. It’s not perfect seafood, but it’s the best you can get cheap in a laid-back place. At least, it’s the best that I’ve had, but I always welcome emendations. (Tony Mandola’s Gulf Coast Kitchen was good, but I’ll have to go back before making any direct comparisons.)

I had a Bass Ale, Amanda had a glass of Nobilo Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand. Truth be told, we had two.

We started, as we always do, with the Campechana Extra. The Campechana is what shrimp cocktail ought to be. Shrimp, crab, tomato, avocado, and cilantro (and probably, Amanda adds, a lot of ketchup) are mixed together in a tall cocktail glass, and you eat it with tortilla chips.

I ordered, for the first time, crab cakes. The gauge for measuring crab cakes is their crab-breading ratio, and the cakes at Goode. Co. have a high ratio. Rather than using breading to give the crab cakes shape, I’m convinced they use some type of mold or ring, because there’s only a little bit of breading on the surface of the cakes, but they’re perfectly round. The breading is just for flavor, not shape. So you get a lot of crab. They’re served with a tomato-y remoulade and sliced shitake mushrooms. Even though the two crab cakes are large enough to be a meal, I used the fact that they’re listed as an appetizer as an excuse to order some French fries with them (and I can never figure out why I’m not losing weight).

Amanda had the seafood gumbo with shrimp, crab, and oysters. She says the roux was lighter than usual—it takes a lot of patience for a dark roux, I’m told—but the gumbo base, the roux and other liquids combined, was thicker than usual. I’ll leave it up to the chefs to know what this means and how it’s done. What matters is that she enjoyed it, except the oysters, which I enjoyed. Amanda makes a pretty good gumbo herself, so she knows what she's talking about. She does, may I remind you, know about roux and base and all that stuff.

We forgot, as we always do, that Goode Co. Seafood is always cold. The rail car side of the restaurant is usually warmer, and with the long counter and pictures is definitely the better-looking side to sit on. And now that the whole place is non-smoking, you don’t have to sit in smoke to stay warm. Don't be afraid to take a light jacket, even at the end of August.

Farrago, plain and simple

2005-09-03T12:59:00.000-05:00

Farrago, in super-hip midtown, usually conjures decadent images: the French toast at brunch, which is stuffed with maple cream cheese and then fried; the Farrago burger, with its large onion rings thrown right into the burger; bottomless mimosas on Sunday; eggs benedict with crawfish; hostesses baring midriff; 40-year-old patrons wearing expensive sunglasses and trying very hard to look like 30-year-old patrons.

But life at Farrago doesn’t have to be so complicated. We went one night this week because we wanted something simple. Amanda had the hummus and tabbouleh combo, with a healthy serving of hummus—curried, but not too spicy—and fresh mandarin orange tabbouleh. One of us gets this over-sized appetizer of an entrée almost every time we go. We have never been disappointed. In fact, I think this simple dish exemplifies what “Farrago World Cuisine” sees as its mission. They take dishes we already know and add different tastes to them. It’s not as daring or counter-intuitive as “fusion” dishes, it’s just a matter of putting some mandarin orange in the trabbouleh. They also really enjoy adding curry to dishes (the crawfish eggs benedict also have curry, and there’s a curried chicken dish as well). The hummus plate also has a small spinach salad with a spicy, peanut-y dressing, and plenty of pita for dipping.

I had grilled chicken over crimini risotto with asparagus. Because of the airline cut they use, and because they leave the skin on the chicken, the chicken was served without sauce and seasoned with little more than salt and pepper. And it was wonderful. Especially when I think of all the dry pucks o’ protein I’ve had with soggy Caesar salads, this may have been the best grilled chicken I’ve ever had. It’s always great to be reminded how good chicken can taste. The asparagus was well-seasoned with a lemon caper olive oil, but it wasn’t too salty, something that often happens when people grill asparagus.

Another reason to try Farrago—only semi-decadent—is the half-price wine on Monday nights. The entire wine list isn’t discounted, but enough of the good stuff is to make it worth your time if you want to sample something normally out of your price range. Amanda and I once tried a bottle of Flora Springs Trilogy on a Monday. It’s normally listed at $110, which is much more than we usually pay for wine at a meal. But for $55, it was a nice splurge and a nice chance to try some wine we’d heard good things about. We liked it so much we bought a few bottle when we were in Napa—for about $35 a bottle.

The Last NYC Dispatch

2005-08-30T16:17:00.000-05:00

Well, since I'm stuck in LaGuardia with my flight delayed three hours, thought I'd send one last dining dispatch from The City.

Day--uh, well, Sunday in any event:
We met friends Charlie and John at Park (down in the meatpacking district) for brunch. Park is in a beautiful old warehouse with soaring ceilings and a lovely and lushly planted courtyard. The interior was exposed brick walls with red striped banquettes and a huge swath of bamboo in the middle of the restaurant that shot all the way up to the windows in the roof. Lots of natural light, but there were also funky lamps everywhere and large metal baskets of oranges down the middle of each set of banquettes. It was your standard (but good) brunch fare, but the setting was really great.

After that, we wandered around the meatpacking district, west village and soho. It got a little rainy, so we decided we needed a drink. We stopped by the infamous Chumley's (an old speakeasy from which the phrase "86" supposedly comes), but John thought it was too dirty (there were two giant dogs sleeping at the bar *exactly* where we left them over a year and a half ago), AND there were a bunch of teenagers hovering about doing some sort of scavenger hunt (NYU just went back in session), so we went to the Cub Room instead.

After that, we headed back to Chelsea, where Brian and I went to the store to get provisions for dinner. We made a great dinner. We started with an heirloom salad, which consisted of slices of green, red and yellow heirloom tomatoes stacked between slices of fresh mozzarella and basil, garnished with minced red onion, and vinegar and olive oil. We then had a yummy roasted pork tenderloin with a homemade chimichurri sauce. We also roasted some summer corn, vidalia onions, baby squash and thyme to go on the side. For dessert, we had a peach and blueberry crisp with vanilla bean ice cream. It was the fullest I'd been my entire time in New York.

On Monday, my only meal of note was with friends Mary and Susan at Marseilles at 44th and 9th. It was a really comfortable space--I could have drunk there all day (and should have, given my current flight situation). I started with an elderflower martini--Skyy vodka, an elderflower and mint simple syrup with some fresh chopped mint as a garnish. Sounds refreshing, doesn't it? It was. I then had a summer vegetable risotto, with corn, leeks, chanterelles, some other baby mushroom that was terribly cute (and tasty), basil and shaved parmesan. It was wonderfully creamy and delightful, even though I bit into a shard of thick plastic. As a testament to how good the risotto was, I finished the risotto anyway. Plastic be damned!

Okay, I did make one other stop before I left. I was right there in Rockefeller Center, so how could I resist stopping by la Maison du Chocolat, the French chocolate house revered for its truffles? I bought a small bag of said truffles for later, and then got one piece for immediate consumption--a ball of praline filling surrounded by crushed almonds and millk chocolate. It was yummy and had a nice consistency, but a far cry from the incredibly addictive chocolate-covered cheerios I got at Jacques Torres' Chocolate Haven earlier this week. That man can do some crazy good things with chocolate. But what about la Maison's signature truffles? Can they really not hold a candle to chocolate-covered cereal?

(pause)

Mmmmmmm. Wow. Those are good truffles. They just melt in your mouth. They're old-school truffles, not that Godiva crap. Glorious little mounds of pure, dark chocolate ganache, lightly dusted with cocoa. They make you stop, take a breath, and consider how good life can be sometimes. Kind of like a good meditation exercise. I like meditating. I can't wait to get home and share these truffles.

NYC Dispatch #3

2005-08-28T10:52:00.000-05:00

Day 3: Central Park & Little Italy

After wandering around 5th Avenue for a while and wondering how someone could spend so much money on such little things, we headed to the Boathouse in Central Park for a client development lunch. I wasn't expecting much more than a nice view, but I was pleasantly surprised. I started off with a chilled asparagus soup, with a dollop of creme fraiche and some lump crabmeat in the middle. The soup was great--there were some herbs pureed in with the asparagus, and the richness of the creme and the crabmeat were a perfect counterbalance to the grassiness of the asparagus. For my main entree, I got another appetizer: king salmon carpaccio with first press olive oil, sea salt and a puree of peas and mint. It was excellent. The salmon came in perfectly meaty slices, and the fruity olive oil was the perfect complement to the peas and mint. It was quite tasty (and I ostensibly don't even like peas).

Re: dinner, the food gods smiled down upon me. To tie off an afternoon of shopping in Soho (and two separate rounds of drinking at one of my and Benjamin's favorite bars, Fanelli Cafe), we headed over, NOT to the dreaded Mangia e Bevi, BUT to Little Italy for dinner (yay!). We dined at Il Palazzo, which according to the sign outside got a 25 in Zagat for food. I can see why. Karen started with a divine salad of butter lettuce stacked high with duck prosciutto, fresh figs, roasted red and yellow peppers, and asiago cheese, with a nice red pepper puree around the edge of the dish. I nibbled off of Karen's plate, and then got rigatoni with chicken, asparagus, shrimp and roasted red and yellow peppers in a gorgonzola sauce. It was incredibly rich but quite tasty. Thankfully we had a nice La Braccesca Montepulciano (2000) to wash it all down, which was very dry and a nice contrast to the rich chessy sauce. After the pasta we all realized how completely exhausted we were, so we headed back to the hotel. We all slept well.

Day 4: Meatpacking District

For dinner on Saturday night, Brian & Thomas made reservations at one of the hot new restaurants in town, 5 Ninth. It's in the heart of the meatpacking district in an old townhouse built around 1850. In an area that has quickly become tragically hip (a big chunk of LA right in the middle of NYC), this space was refreshing--a sparsely but fabulously appointed dining room with white-painted brick walls, exposed ceiling beams, simple wooden tables, and a giant photograph of John Lennon over the fireplace (okay, that was a little cheesy). We started with some great cocktails. I had the Paloma, which was tequila, lime juice, grapefruit and a pinch of salt. Very refreshing. I will be making these at home often. For our first course, Thomas had the "spicy greens," which were mixed greens (including some nice spicy greens, like arugula) with teardrop tomatoes, fresh sweet corn, some other stuff, and a really spicy dressing. Brian had a noodle salad with long beans, cucumber and mint. They were both excellent, but I really felt like I won this one with the pork belly salad--lovely chunks of pork belly that had been fried to a crisp, served with watermelon, chili threads, beans and a light spicy dressing. It was sooooooo good.

For our main course, Thomas and I both got the rabbit, which was prepared three different ways (confit, fried and roasted) with yellow foot chanterelles and excellent beans & bacon. Brian got the spicy hangar steak. Both were awesome. I'd never had fried rabbit before. As Thomas exclaimed, "KFC, move over!" The texture was just like fried chicken, but with more depth and earthiness than your typical fried chicken. The confit was a nice concept, but was hard to get off the bone and not necessarily worth the effort. I can't imagine that rabbit has as much fat as duck (Lesa, correct me if I'm wrong), so the whole concept of confit of rabbit is just not as winning as melting a duck. The roasted rabbit was really nice and paired quite well with the mushrooms and beans (and also with the Casa Lapostille syrah we had). We also got broccoli rabe and pork belly as an additional side, along with some fried whole okra that was served with spicy aioli. Brian said that the okra alone "were worth the price of admission." So true.

For dessert, some porto and muscat all around, along with two different desserts: a corn cake (read: sweet cornbread), with berries and corn gelato (no, that wasn't a typo, and guess what? it was fucking awesome), and a "grasshopper semifreddo," which consisted of a chocolate cookie, with mint, uh, ice cream(?), pistachios and chocolate sauce. They were both refreshing and perfect for summer.

All in all, it was a great meal in a beautiful space (although the music got progressively more dance clubby as the evening wore on). I would definitely go back.

What Will They Say About Me When I Am Old?

2005-08-27T13:22:00.000-05:00

"One point, in which he had vastly the advantage over his four-footed brethren, was his ability to recollect the good dinners which it had made no small portion of the happiness of his life to eat. His gourmandism was a highly agreeable trait; and to hear him talk of roast-meat was as appetizing as a pickle or an oyster. As he possessed no higher attribute, and neither sacrificed nor vitiated any spiritual endowment by devoting all his energies and ingenuities to subserve the delight and profit of his maw, it always pleased and satisfied me to hear him expatiate on fish, poultry, and butcher’s meat, and the most eligible methods of preparing them for the table. His reminiscences of good cheer, however ancient the date of the actual banquet, seemed to bring the savor of pig or turkey under one’s very nostrils. There were flavors on his palate, that had lingered there not less than sixty or seventy years, and were still apparently as fresh as that of the mutton-chop which he had just devoured for his breakfast. I have heard him smack his lips over dinners, every guest at which, except himself, had long been food for worms. It was marvellous to observe how the ghosts of bygone meals were continually rising up before him; not in anger or retribution, but as if grateful for his former appreciation, and seeking to repudiate an endless series of enjoyment, at once shadowy and sensual. A tenderloin of beef, a hind-quarter of veal, a spare-rib of pork, a particular chicken, or a remarkably praiseworthy turkey, which had perhaps adorned his board in the days of the elder Adams, would be remembered; while all the subsequent experience of our race, and all the events that brightened or darkened his individual career, had gone over him with as little permanent effect as the passing breeze. The chief tragic event of the old man’s life, so far as I could judge, was his mishap with a certain goose, which lived and died some twenty or forty years ago; a goose of most promising figure, but which, at table, proved so inveterately tough that the carving-knife would make no impression on its carcases; and it could only be divided with an axe and handsaw."

--from Hawthorne's "The Custom House"

Don't tell the neighbors

2005-08-26T22:37:00.000-05:00

Tonight I had dinner sitting on the patio at 11th street café. First of all, how great is it that I could sit on the patio? It must have been the half dozen ceiling fans, because the Weather Channel showed that it was still 93 degrees outside.

I feel strangely guilty going to 11th street. A neighbor of mine is beer rep. for the restaurants in the area, and he says that the owner is the sleaziest asshole he’s ever had to work with. The neighbor says he can’t trust the owner, ever, over anything, and is always catching the owner trying to screw him. So the neighbor refuses to go to 11th Street or any of the man’s other places (Jimmie’s Icehouse, Yale Coffee Company). And generally I support my neighbor in his boycott.

But other days I just want the 11th Street turkey melt. There’s nothing all that special about the turkey melt. It’s just sliced turkey and swiss cheese on rye, grilled. But it always tastes so good. Unlike some places, 11th Street actually grills the turkey separately before putting it on the bread and back on the grill, so the turkey let lives up to its name—the meat is hot and the cheese is thoroughly melted and gooey. And 11th Street leaves the sandwich on the grill just a little longer than they should, so the rye is right on the edge of being burnt. It makes the sandwich sturdy, so it doesn’t fall apart when you hold it. The near-burnt rye also has an outdoorsy taste, which is difficult to do when you’re cooking on a griddle and not over fire. And now that 11th Street has French fries to go with the sandwiches instead of just Lay’s potato chips, it’s even more appealing.

The catch is that they were out of turkey. Instead, I sat on the cool patio, watching the ladies close up shop at Someburger across the street, talking to my wife on the phone and eating half a pizza. It had sausage, hamburger, onions, and green olives. Their pizza is pretty good. I’m not sure how to describe the crust. It’s…medium. It doesn’t have the flakiness or crispiness of a thin crust, not the breadiness of a deep dish crust. It’s what a lot of places call “New York Style,” though the pizza I’ve had in New York had thicker and softer crust. Thin Crust Plus? I don’t know.

I’ll ponder it as I have the second half for lunch tomorrow.

Also: 6 Street Cafe opened this weekend. I'll check it out as soon as possible. And look who else has burgers on their mind.

Another NYC Dispatch

2005-08-26T19:03:00.000-05:00

Day 2: Bolo and the Villard.

So Bolo has been around for well over a decade. Bobby Flay (”Bo”) and his business partner Lawrence somebody (”Lo”) opened this Spanish(ish) place after the initial success of his reportedly fabulous Mesa Grill. Since re-energizing his menu a couple of years ago with tapas nuevas earned the restaurant renewed acclaim, we decided to go for the gold and ordered every single tapa on the menu (but for some potato dish, since we were already ordering a tortilla with a quite tasty romesco sauce).

Before we dove into the tapas, Karen and I started with a chilled white gazpacho with almonds and fava. If I were ultra-rich, I would have ordered a large enough order of it to fill a hot tub at my hotel so I could swim in it. It was an ethereal bowl of contradictions. Airy but with a notable presence, “green” but creamy, the almonds similarly lent a delicately sweet but substantial, almost meaty facet to the dish. It made me immediately miss my husband, for after resisting the urge to lick the bowl, I would have immediately whisked my husband back to the hotel for, um, some quiet conversation. And then came the tapas. You can order four for $16. They arrived on three large square dishes, each filled with four small square plates, with each small square dish beautifully displaying a delectable morsel. Most of them were quite good. The sauteed squid with bacon was at the top of Karen's list, whilst I swooned over the crispy oyster over a red pepper sauce, all reassembled in the shell. The sauteed duck liver was a nice substitute for the more traditional sausage-related tapas. Amy and I both enjoyed the salted cod cake, and I even managed to enjoy some anchovies with tangerines. In addition to the tapas, we could not resist the lure of the appetizer special, which was a buckwheat flatbread topped with sliced figs, serrano ham, manchego cheese and herbs. This paired quite nicely with a glass of amontillado sherry. (Nice little sherry list.) Amy also ordered a garlic and cheese potato gratin as a side dish. We applauded her decision. There were a few of the tapas that were not so good, although gorgeous to look at. There was an ever-so-thin slice of tuna with a cucumber relish. The cucumber was almost bitter, a far cry from the refreshing sensation one typically enjoys with a good cucumber. It did not pair well with the tuna. (However, the sous chef who was able to cut the cucumber into that small but uniform a mince should receive some sort of award.) There was a beautiful roasted artichoke heart filled with melted cheese and salmon roe that we couldn't wait to dive into, but alas, the artichoke was hard and not so flavorful, which we found sorely disapppointing. However, Karen had a lovely-looking scallop with a cream sauce that she said was quite delightful, and there was also an excellent lamb tenderloin with roasted bits of cherry tomatoes and dressed greens. All in all, I enjoyed it. Karen was so bowled over (excuse the pun) by the soup that I think she found the rest of the meal a bit disappointing. Amy, however, thought it was a slam-bang good meal. I fall somewhere in between.

After dinner, we headed back to the hotel (the New York Palace) and popped into the Villard. The Villard is an incredible bar--a two-story den of opulnent hipness. Imagine a posh Victorian/Baroque townhouse, containing several rooms with red velvet walls, richly textured red and gold carpet, red velvet banquettes, and lots of gold leaf and carved wood. We ensconced ourselves in velvet and ordered nightcaps. I had a Rubino, which is pomegranate juice and champagne. It was a hard decision between this and the blood orange martini, which is Grey Goose Orange, Campari and orange juice. Um, and the Very Unexpected Martini, which is Chopin vodka and ice wine. Verah nice-ah. Tomorrow I won't even discuss, since we have to go to Mangia e Bevi. Suffice it to say it's a popular spot for bachelorette parties.

BUT--Saturday Brian and Thomas are taking me to 5 Ninth, a hot new restaurant in the meatpacking district. I am looking forward to it.

In Which the Author Takes Requests

2005-08-26T15:02:00.000-05:00

The other day Alan told me that the Kroger on W. Grey had been remodeled and remade in a fancier image. They even have a little sushi stand, he said. He was quick to qualify that he doesn’t really know what to expect from any grocery store sushi, even that at a “Signature” Kroger.

So I went and tried some. It tasted exactly like all the other sushi-to-go I’ve had at grocery stores (excluding the grocery store sushi I had in California, which was much better). It was mushy and bland, but filling.

Now that half the grocery stores in town have mushy sushi, Central Market upped the ante by getting Kubo’s to do their sushi. But I digress.

What’s interesting about the sushi I saw at Kroger is that the low-carb craze has now even affected sushi. Kroger had regular California Rolls, California Rolls made with brown rice, and California Rolls made with extra seaweed and almost no rice at all.

And as for the freshness of the ingredients: I can’t speak for the fish or vegetables, but one of the sushi preparers was in front of me in line with about twenty packages of cream cheese.

Alan also said the wine selection was good, so I may need to go back to the new Kroger soon.

NYC Dispatch

2005-08-25T15:31:00.000-05:00

Amanda is off in New York, "on business," for a few days. She sends a report, typed entirely on her Blackberry:

Day 1: Dinner @ Sardi's

For over 80 years, Sardi's has drawn a steady flock of theater-goers given its prime location directly across the street from the Shubert Theater on West 44th. "Venerable" is probably too strong a word, so I'll just call it an institution. Thankfully, we had the perfect table on the second floor overlooking the theater and the street below, as it gave us something to distract us from our food. The cocktails were a tasty distraction as well. (Karen and I had Grey Goose L'Orange cosmos--I know that's passe, but I don't give a fuck. They're good.)

Now, the food wasn't bad, mind you--just entirely forgettable. I started with what sounded like a promising appetizer: a duck & foie gras terrine served with toasted baguette points, lightly dressed greens, and and onion & cherry compote. Lots of frisee in the salad, which would have been great had the frisee actually possessed any taste or bitterness. The terrine was remarkably bland, but the compote (although somewhat one-dimensional) was pretty good.

Since I'd just had a bunch of fat as a starter, I just got an appetizer-sized portion of the signature dish, "Shrimp Sardi," for my entree. It consisted of four plump shrimp perched atop a small baguette crouton, all swimming in a garlicky butter & tomato sauce with nice little bits of zucchini. As I am a "sopper," I particularly appreciated the sauce-soaked crouton at the bottom of the dish. The shrimp smelled just a bit fishy, and were ever-so-slightly overcooked, but it was still a decent dish. I especially liked the sauce--I enjoyed sopping up every last drop with the crusty French rolls at the table.

I will say this--the wine list was incredibly cheap. Cheaper than most wine lists even in Texas. It was not a spectacular list by any means, but it did have a few gems on it for very reasonable prices. And who *doesn't* like to get a cheap drunk on before going to a show?

For dessert, just Bailey's and coffee, and then off to the theatah!

Spamalot was bloody hilarious. I cried all of my mascara off I was laughing so hard.
Tonight, Bolo (Bobby Flay's Spanish-ish restaurant). An oldie but goodie.

T'afia

2005-08-24T18:55:00.000-05:00

The other night Amanda and I went to T’afia for dinner.

When we first moved here, I quickly decided that Boulevard Bistro was my favorite restaurant in Houston. The regular menu was delicious (I always like the pistachio-crusted salmon with spinach), and there were daily chalkboard specials. It was nice, but not too nice. Comfortable. You could walk in wearing jeans or a suit and feel fine. You could spend $100 per person or $20. We enjoyed our first visit, and when we went back a second time, we had the same waiter. He remembered us, even remembered what we drank. That did it. The next time we went in, we asked for Andy, and he was perfect—swiftly and delicately handling the live spider my mother-in-law found in her salad (that’s what happens when you use fresh organic produce). We’ve been his party ever since. We even get him postcards when we go out of town.

But Boulevard went away so chef/owner Monica Pope could open a new place, T’afia. We went along, and, lucky for us, so did Andy.

T’afia gets its strange name from ratafia, a fortified wine infused with vodka and fresh produce. T’afia makes their own, as well as a number of other drink creations. Though I almost always have the same boring drink (Manhattan, up, made with Makers or rye), I like to know I can get something completely different. One time they had an orange and basil ratafia. Amanda likes one made with sparkling wine and meyer lemon. This summer I had a few “green teasers,” which were basically mojitos with a touch of green tea.

Some of Boulevard’s popular dishes are still on the menu (the salmon, the flat chicken, the bread pudding), but you really should get one of the day’s specials. The menu is divided into three sections. There’s a five course tasting menu; a traditional menu with a list of appetizers, salads, and main courses; and a mix-and-match list where you choose the meat and sides separately. Though we usually don’t, this week we had the tasting menu—

1. Watermelon with Tabasco honey and Pure Luck feta. This tastes exactly like it sounds. The Tabasco honey was a new taste, but none of the ingredients really melded. It tasted like eating three separate items, thought the items were tasty.

2. Baby zephyr carpaccio with arugula. I had no idea what zephyr was when I ordered it. I was picturing, to much delight, some African antelope-type animal, but it turns out it’s a squash. This is the only time I’ve heard sliced vegetables described as carpaccio. I guess it was sliced pretty thin. So what we had was a basic arugula salad with some summer squash. After the first two courses I was excited, but still quite hungry.

3. Cucumber coconut gazpacho. I was a little upset to see that the gazpacho wasn’t red. I don’t think it had any tomato at all. Amanda instructed me that cucumber is one of the main ingredients of any gazpacho, and that tomato isn’t necessary. We stopped arguing once we took a sip. This soup did perfectly what a gazpacho should do—it provided a strong, but light, burst of flavor on the tip of my tongue. It was cool and soothing. A good gazpacho makes you feel instantly healthier, and this one had me thinking I could cartwheel all the way home. I didn’t.

4. BR3 roast beef with okra and organic grits. Amanda had some fun with me here. I wasn’t paying much attention when I ordered the tasting menu, or else I would have noticed that grits and asked for something else. But I didn’t, and when the plate came I enthusiastically asked Amanda, “are these milled potatoes?” She said yes, trying to trick me into acquiring a taste for grits. It was gross. I made funny faces and nearly dropped my fork. So she ordered me a side of macaroni and cheese (it’s better than average mac and cheese. Andy says he takes some home almost every night). The beef was great, though I would have liked it sliced a little thicker. [I'm hoping that someone can help me figure out exactly what BR3 is. I know it's hormone-free and stuff, but where is it from and where does it get its name? Google isn't talkin'.]

5. Plumb cobbler with vanilla ice cream. At least I think it was vanilla ice cream. Instead of the cobbler, I had a flourless chocolate almond cake. Though denser than a regular cake, this one wasn’t super-dense or super-rich. I ate the whole piece.

Things to get at T’afia: the red miso soup with tofu skins—it has even more of an “I feel healthy!” effect than gazpacho. We call it the “broth of vigor.” Texas wine—it’s not the same old Llano Estacado and Ste. Genevieve you get for a few bucks at the grocery store. A few months ago we had a Texas wine we liked so much (2002 Travis Peak select cabernet sauvignon reserve) that Amanda called the winery and ordered a case. If you get the tasting menu, you can get a Texas wine paired with each course for another $20. Free munchies while you wait at the bar—and not just mixed nuts. You can get spinach dip with goat cheese or mini-burgers.

Things to watch out for: when it’s busy, it’s loud. The brick walls and high, flat ceiling don’t make for great acoustics, and the acoustic tiles they put in the tresses don’t help much. The noise is the only real complaint I’ve heard about the place. They used to run out of items pretty often, but that hasn’t been a problem lately. And only go when you have a few hours to spend. If you’re in a hurry, you’re only going to be disappointed.

Burgers

2005-08-20T21:44:00.000-05:00

Now I know that the hamburger is ubiquitous in America, and that they have them everywhere. Certainly every town in the country has a good burger. And since most towns probably have several to choose from, every town must have a best burger. But Houston is different. Here we have several best burgers. There are just so many great burgers to choose from. It’s one of the reasons (along with barbeque and beer) Houston consistently finds it way onto the list of America’s fattest cities.

Lankford Grocery makes a great burger. They’re large, a little greasy, and have lots of lettuce, tomato, and onion. This is important: at Lankford, the vegetables are really part of the burger and not just obligatory garnishes. Part of the joy of eating at Lankford is the building itself. It’s been open since the 30s, and I’m pretty sure the floors have not been replaced once. The tables are close together, so it has a real homey feel to it. The servers are friendly but not chatty. It still has the ambience of a little working-class neighborhood spot, even though the neighborhood now caters to a different class (there are new condos across the street, and our Volvo never looks out of place in the small parking lot). The first time I had a Lankford burger was on a Monday when Jeremy had come to visit from New York. I was suffering through what I thought was a fatal hangover, but the bacon cheeseburger slowly revived my spirits without regurgitating the previous night’s dinner. I am eternally grateful.

Someburger also makes a great burger. And it demonstrates how in food, like in architecture, form follows function. Someburger is a small stand on the corner of 11th and Studewood, with only a picninc table out back. Consequently, a large proportion of Someburgers are eaten while standing or while driving. So Someburgers are more compact, more dense, than a lot of burgers. They use less lettuce and tomato, so the vegetables don’t slip out onto your lap. The cheese is just plain American slices, which melts quickly and thoroughly—no drips. The problem with Someburger, though, is that the fries are terrible, and the onion rings aren’t much better. They do have pretty good shakes, though. But I guess the fry deficit is helpful, because I live blocks from there and still only eat there once or twice a year. If they had good fries to go with those burgers, I don’t think I’d leave.

I don’t know if Otto’s makes a great burger. I’ve never been there. But Alan says they do, and he’s a guy to be trusted. That is, he’s a guy to be trusted concerning food. I wouldn’t leave him alone in your house for too long, if I were you.

Like a more fancy burger, something more than the basic ingredients, and served in a place where you can sit down at a comfortable table on a level floor? Go to Farrago. Their burger has gorgonzola cheese, steak sauce, and onion rings (not on the side, but onion rings in the burger). Farrago can be a bit too much at times, especially Sundays. It’s very popular with the hip folks down in Midtown. It gets loud, and after waiting a long time for a table, you feel rushed to give it up for the next group. But go for an afternoon lunch during the week and try this burger. [Sometimes I endure the Sunday crowd just for the bottomless Mimosas. Consider it.]

Amanda says the burger she had at T’afia was the best she’s ever had. We got them one Thursday night, which is Burger Night during the summer at T’afia. The home-made bread was fresh. They had blue cheese and perfectly grilled onions. They were made with hormone- and antibiotic-free BR3 beef. It may have indeed been the best burger I’ve ever had. But I don’t want to push the burger too hard, because there are so many better things to get at T’afia.

Becks’ Prime also makes a great burger. My friend Sue recommended it when I first moved here. They advertise that they were voted Best Burger in the Houston Business Journal, which may say a bit about the clientele. At the location near River Oaks, you can see plenty of very expensive cars lined up at the drive-thru. I always get the B. P. Burger, which is served with “Prime Sauce.” I’m not sure exactly what Prime Sauce is, but it’s a lot like Thousand Island dressing mixed with Heinz 57. It’s good.

Great, but not best, burgers: the blues cheese and bacon burger at Barnaby’s (the first meal I ate when we moved here), and the burger at Goode Co. Taqueria.

Alternative burgers: the best veggie burger is at Houston’s. And though I know few people who admit to eating turkey burgers, the one at Café Express sure is a big seller. Let’s face it—it doesn’t taste like a hamburger, but it’s pretty tasty when judged on its own merits.

Lawyer Update

2005-08-20T14:24:00.000-05:00

On our way to Shade for lunch, I saw Vincent standing outside Someburger. The same Vincent who just last night ate all that fajita meat. What a trooper.

Lawyer Fear Factor

2005-08-20T00:14:00.000-05:00

I just witnessed something very funny and very gross.

I've always heard the stories of the dares that Amanda's former co-workers would make for each other. The time Chris ate a day-old, uncovered, unrefrigerated, truly dangerous quiche for forty dollars and was sick for two days. Nate took a bite of a dried gourd, stolen from a secretary's desk (a Halloween decoration), and nearly broke some teeth. There's something only referred to as "lobsterfest," where the stakes apparently got to $800 and the dare-taker supposedly cheated. Just last week, Cara ate a dried shrimp from Jack's fish food for his koi pond. That earned her fifty bucks. But I've only heard the stories; I've never seen this myself. Until tonight.

At Jack's going-away party, there was plenty of left over Berryhill. Phil figured the best way to get rid of some of the excess food was to pay people to eat it. In about half an hour, Vincent ate more than a pound of beef and chicken fajita meat--and this was after he had already eaten a full meal. He got his price up to $55 from $40, because his wife offered him $50 NOT to eat it. He ate it like a champ.

But the moment to remember was watching Steve drink almost sixteen ounces of spicy tamale sauce. It took him less than a minute, and for that he got $30.

There was an offer that nobody took: to drink about twenty ounces of room-temperature queso. The offer on the table was $300. I left the party around midnight, partly because I was tired and partly because I was beginning to think that I could take the queso.

Ever wonder what lawyers do with all that money? Now you know--they pay each other to eat gross shit.

No Reservations

2005-08-16T19:25:00.000-05:00

Crap. I keep forgetting to watch Anthony Bourdain's new show on Travel Channel. Monday night just isn't a good time.

I saw the first episode, "Why France Doesn't Suck," and part of the show in New Jersey. I like Anthony Bourdain, mostly for his belief that good food is "chef-driven (as opposed to ingredient driven)." He says that "it is no accident that in just about every country you might want to visit, the good cooks seem to always hail from the most ass-backward and impoverished backwaters." Great food, so the idea goes, is not made from the best and most expensive ingredients, but from chefs who know how to make the most of the nasty bits and the leftovers. Bourdain is, in many ways, the People's Celebrity Chef. Sure, Emeril is supposed to be the people's celebrity chef, what with the "Bam!" and all of that, but Bourdain really fits the bill better. Just read the introduction to the Les Halles cookbook, which is where the quotations are from.

(I'll have to tell you about my love/hate relationship with Emeril some time later. Hint: the best mashed potatoes I've ever had.)

As good as Bourdain's food is--I can still taste the Steak Tartare, and the fois gras at Les Halles was much better than that at French Laundry--he's pretty corny on television. A Cook's Tour, on Food Netwrok, is good, but the accompanying book is much better. And No Reservations has quite a high cheese factor. In the Paris episode, they use really basic special effects, like shaking the camera around, to mimic the psychedelic effects of absinthe. He also "gets lost" in the catacombs beneath the city. The New Jersey episode ends with a horrible reenactment from The Godfather. Mario Batali pees at the side of the road while a Jersey pastry chef shoots Tony in the back of the head. Obviously, Mario tells him to take the canoli and leave the gun. Yuck.

But I haven't given up on the show yet. I just keep forgetting.

Under Pressure

2005-08-15T22:34:00.000-05:00

Here's a fascinating--and perhaps scary--article on the next wave of food--cryovacing. I'm not sure exactly how I feel about all this yet. It's by no means universally accepted or standard practice. The article mentions that this vaccum-packed cuisine will someday be as accepted as food processors or submerged blenders, and there are plenty of "old school" chefs at very prestigous levels who don't use those.

This trend may be bad for local single-owner restaurants, who will be tempted by the intense flavors to order pre-made foods made in factories rather than going for local foods. The organic/biodiversity crowd are working very hard to counteract this.

But let's face it, compared with the industiral, pre-frozen and microwaved shit all of us eat all the time, this sous vide stuff isn't bad at all. It might even make my favorites at Chili's tastier some day.

But all this talk about New York restaurants reminds me that Amanda gets to go to New York in a few weeks, and she'll get to try (I hope) some new places. And I still haven't been to WD-50, damnit!