Amatourist

Repurposed (with a Purpose)

2012-02-08T21:55:00.001-06:00

In 1990, Levi Strauss & Co. shuttered one of its manufacturing plants on the south side of San Antonio. As the story goes, as it always goes in cases like this, production was moving overseas, and with it more than 1,100 jobs. You can make it here better and have it sooner to boot, but what's all that when the third world'll give it to you cheap and easy? Not making a statement, just stating the case.

In any event, these newly unemployed, predominantly female seamstresses organized themselves shortly thereafter into a cooperative of sorts: La Fuerza Unida, which exists to this day. Their scope: "empowerment for self-sufficiency, women's and labor rights, immigration, environmental issues and health education." That’s a full plate, and all at first world wages.

Now, I've espoused here before my affection for the hand-made guayaberas coming from Caroline Matthews and her Southtown studio, Dos Carolinas. In an ocean of Mexican wedding shirts you'd be able to recognize her handiwork, such is the level of craftsmanship. So a couple months ago, my brother and I were in for measurements when we noticed a heap of bags of cotton and linen fabric scraps, each destined for the garbage. Being the shameless optimist that I am, I asked if I could rummage through them to see what might be repurposed into… who knows what.

Caroline was kind enough to oblige, and what came of that is the first in a series of pocket squares and cocktail napkins, sewn by hand at Fuerza Unida. The cocktail napkins are pretty uniformly 5”x5”, and the handkerchiefs are around 10”x10”, some larger (to show), some smaller (to blow).

If you’re interested, comment with your email address or shoot me a note and we’ll figure something out. $20 for the squares, $24 for six coasters to hold your bourbon, and if there's enough demand we'll work on a more regular production schedule. We’ll also be donating a good portion of the proceeds back to the cooperative.

One Stop Shop

2012-02-07T22:51:00.000-06:00

It's good to get out to the south side every now and again, just to see what you're not seeing every other day...

An Odd Chair

2012-01-31T22:48:00.002-06:00

Every Saturday the Z likes to flop down and get into her Off Duty. A little mindless brain candy masquerading as journalistic conduit for Cooking | Eating | Style | Design | Travel | etc. Not exactly mental gymnastics, but the writing is good and I'll give it its due for escapism via newsprint.

Anyhow, a few months back someone wrote a piece called "10 Odd, Yet Essential, Elements of Style." Not in the Strunk and White sense, it turns out, but rather in terms of decorating. One of these so-called essentials was the use of "an odd chair... desirable primarily for its amusing demeanor, making it more like a piece of sculpture in the shape of a chair." Now, I'll grant that this ain't exactly my forte, but we've got one such chair that seems to fit the odd bill.

Picked it up in San Miguel de Allende. Paid a reasonable sum that quickly doubled with shipping. It arrived eight weeks later, delivered by pack mule, well-conditioned, and free of stowaways. Finally got 'round to having it covered recently with a piece by Elizabeth Carrington, a San Antonio-based artist/designer with a penchant for old David Bowie lyrics (as you'll see, a portion of Golden Years makes a brief appearance here). And now it sits, with no one sitting, just radiating its amusing demeanor...

Sketch credit: Virginia Johnson/Random House via WSJ.

Forget Paris

2012-01-24T20:53:00.001-06:00

You can't swing a dead cat around here without hitting someone who'll sell you a Stetson. Truly if it's just the transaction you're looking for, that and nothing more, you'll have no trouble. But if you'd rather an experience, some place with a little more substance and a lot more clutter (history is often masked as clutter), then your options start to dwindle...

The Hat Store in Houston is a good stop. I've got a buckle from there on my dad's old alligator belt. Gen-you-wine. Paris Hatters in San Antonio is another. Drive past it every morning. One afternoon, couple years back, I stopped in and picked up that Open Road up there. It's a hat I'd always admired, usually in a photograph as it sat atop LBJ's menacing head.

Stetson's been making the brim on it a little wide lately. Wider than they used to. Up to two and 5/8". Fine with jeans but out-of-place in trousers. Makes me feel like I've got a foot in two worlds and don't belong in either. So it wasn't getting worn. And there's no sense having a hat that just sits on the rack. Had to get it trimmed. Half an inch'll do. So I take it to Abe at Paris. Abe he's the owner. And Abe says he'll cut it but won't replace the ribbon. Bit of an ass about it too. No ribbon? Unreal. That's service for you.

Now, no one really needs an excuse to get to Lockhart (Texas BBQ Capital... more on that real soon) but sometimes it's good to have one. And in this case ol' Abe's unflinching smugness gave me all the excuse I needed. So I call David at Texas Hatters. Can you trim a felt hat? Sure thing. Replace the ribbon? You bet, mom does it. Of course she does. Texas Hatters doesn't have quite the number of years under its belt as Paris and the Hat Store, but as a friend of mine says "It-ain't-the-years-it's-the-miles."

David sits behind an old bar rubbed light by miles of elbows top to bottom. Doesn't offer me a drink but takes the hat. Sure we can trim it. Then a little history lesson on why the brim is 5/8" inch. Something about the crimping process. But my mom's not here so the stitching'll have to wait. Next week? That's all the excuse I need.

TEXAS HATTERS
911 S Commerce St
Lockhart, TX 78644
512/398-4287
http://www.texashatters.com/

How Babies Get Made

2012-01-21T10:42:00.000-06:00

Stirred.

2012-01-18T21:58:00.001-06:00

Forgiving this place is not. Early morning scent of steamed milk and concentrated chicory yields quickly to the stench of a night you'd rather forget. Rising sun bakes the party soup that's accumulated along the curbsides on Bourbon. And across the Quarter, emerging from dark doorways, half-shut eyes and foggy noggins who know well that the best way to move through it is to dive back in. No, never has a more misplaced word been ascribed to a morning after in New Orleans than 'forgiving'. But forgetful... well that's another story.

The Spotted Pig

Some four years ago, as my brother and I slid atop bar stools at the Old Absinthe House on a Ju-ly afternoon, we'd soon come to learn that we were amongst a unique group of folks who knew just what they were doing behind a bar (just before they went under it); we had landed ourselves smack in the middle of Tales of the Cocktail, an annual boozefest-cum-conference where men and women of similar accord gather to do just what you'd think, under the guise of, oh let's call it professional development.

All afternoon, a revolving door of bartenders plied their trade. And all afternoon, willing recepticles were we. Gun to my head I wouldn't be able to tell you anything we drank that day, but then and there we vowed to make it back the following year... which, of course, we did not...

... though it seems to have made it back to me. In a sense. Later this month comes the inaugural San Antonio Cocktail Conference, modeled (we'll see what that means) on 'Tales' as well as the Manhattan Cocktail Classic. Should be a great lineup, and all for a great cause.

SAN ANTONIO COCKTAIL CONFERENCE

January 26-29, 2012

Stirred photo via: Newman Photography.

Hobbies vs. Interests

2012-01-14T09:54:00.002-06:00

Saturday morning, springtime in Austin, alone in my room, polishing knives dad and I collected as the house begins to stir. Collecting knives was a hobby we shared, a hobby of his that I adopted. Summer of '49 plays in the background...

"Near the end of the 1946 season, a young Red Sox pitcher named Dave Ferriss went into Yankee Stadium to pitch and was stunned by the size of the crowd... Ferriss had only recently left a tiny town in the Mississippi Delta. That day he was so awed by the noise and tumult that in the middle of the game he decided to commit the scene to memory and take it with him for the rest of his life. He stepped off the mound, turned slowly to the stands, and inhaled the crowd..." - Halberstam, David. Summer of '49.

That scene always stuck with me. I try to inhale crowds every chance I get. At a young age, baseball was a hobby. Played it, read it, watched and listened to it, collected it. Stacks of Beckett's under my brother's bed; the contents of those stacks would change over the years, as would my interests.

Dad had interests: hunting, fishing, flying, classic cars. There's a "swath of rumpled terrain whose eastern and southern edge(s) sweep in an arc some 200 miles long from the Austin area down past San Antonio and west to not far from Del Rio on the Mexican border" (ref.) called the Hill Country. To say that spending time in the Hill Country was merely an interest of his would be an insult to its draw. And draw it did, nearly every weekend in the fall.

When I was young my brother and I would go out with him more, but at a certain age our interests diverged [as interests between young men and their fathers are wont to do]. Older I get though, more I can see our interests coming back together. He's gone seven years today, but his interests remain, as do the memories, locked inside the safe right alongside that old knife collection, brought out now and again for a good polishing.

Ever Upward

2012-01-06T20:40:00.000-06:00

Walking into the Ace Hotel in the Flatiron District will make you feel like a better man than you actually are. Or at least like a man who belongs. Like you've stumbled into a scene that will be recalled in hazy detail, over and over, in stories of how "this" all got started. Hubs of folks, scattered about and hunching over screens and talking about whatever it is they've come to talk about. No shortage of movement, that's for certain; enough to keep the place alive, even if it is "darker than the inside of a goat" (ref.) in the lobby.

Once through the doors and you've got yourself a few choices: turn left, toward The Breslin. A handsome goddamn space with handsome folks | handsome face. The windows face north onto 29th St but any notion of sunlight is consumed by the bar's first bottle, so what you're left with is the sense of a perennially cloudy day. Perfect for carnivorous undertakings and neat whiskey, but what we pined for was something lighter. Something briny.

We turned right, into the John Dory. A corner space with a flood of light, spilling onto copper-topped tables. Lunch was the oyster pan roast with uni butter crostini, parker house rolls, Blue Points with vinegar and shallots, bay scallops, and the pink snapper with shiitake and preserved lemon. Two Oyster Stouts from Red Hook and we were on our way, uptown for drinks.

THE JOHN DORY
1196 Broadway (at 29th St in the Ace Hotel)
New York, NY 10001
212/792-9000
http://thejohndory.com/

We couldn't get a cab to save our lives. Struck out once at a smoke bar (the name escapes me), which was grandfathered in and thereby immune to the crusade against a man's desire to light up wherever he finds fit, and wound up at the Surrey Hotel's Bar Pleiades. It was early yet, just 5:30p or so, cocktail hour. I met the crew there after a walk down Madison, circling once through Bemelmans Bar at the Carlysle just to hear the piano. And after, the Z and I snuck off, northward still, for Maurizio Cattelan's All (through Jan 22, see it), his oeuvre dangling in the atrium at the Guggenheim .

Then we went down, towards home.

BAR PLEIADES (in the Surrey Hotel)

20 E 76th St

New York, NY 10021

212/288-7300

http://www.thesurrey.com/

Happy New Year

2012-01-01T15:32:00.000-06:00

So, that happened. Here's to a prosperous 2012.

Untitled credit: Mike Monteiro via 20x200.

A Slab of Substance

2011-12-30T18:13:00.000-06:00

We walked down 3rd Ave on our first day in New York on a welcoming December afternoon - 60-degrees, and the finest of a week full of fine weather - bound for lunch with The William Brown Project's Matt Hranek at JG Melon. We stood on the corner at 74th St. waiting for a table to clear and taking in the sounds of the city, when five young men spilled outside reeking of a long lunch. Each lit up a smoke and they contemplated loudly their next move; a joy ride was on order, so off they went, in high-cut cords and driving mocs, certain to wreak prepster havoc wherever they ended up next. Lo, the Holidays.

Sitting just inside the door, just up a step from the bar, we had a great perch to watch the Upper East Side kids returning home from wherever college to enjoy the cheeseburger and cottage fried potatoes. This is, I presume, the traditional rendezvous, and after a four a.m. wake-up and the ravenous appetite that inspired, it was a tradition in which we gladly partook.

JG MELON
1291 Third Ave (at 74th St)
New York, NY 10021
212/744-0585
(cash only)

Tortilleria La Popular

2011-12-29T14:55:00.001-06:00

Where the tortillas will roll again on New Year's Eve, with food by Tim the Girl, music by someone else, and drinks by Maker and Tito. Southtown.

Show Me - New York

2011-12-21T09:12:00.000-06:00

NYC-bound tomorrow morning with half the family to celebrate the beginning-of-the-end of Christmas season. Staying in the 80's and willing to travel for good eats, strong drink, sartorial endeavors, and other gentlemanly pursuits. Anything we ought not to miss?

Room With A View via: Newman Photography.

Killing Time

2011-12-18T17:31:00.001-06:00

On hand with photographer Lindsay McCrum et al. at her book signing last week. Would make for a great read in the deer blind...

Chicks with Guns

2011-12-14T19:15:00.000-06:00

There's something intoxicating about a woman who can handle a firearm and not make an issue out of it. As though it's a part of her. We've got them in spades down here, though the population (15-20 million strong) certainly isn't restricted to Texas...

Lindsay McCrum has captured just a few of them in her new book Chicks with Guns. No politics, no ideology, just a smattering of armed women that cuts across demographics, young to old, east to west, well-heeled to hard-scrabble, and all-confident and in their element in these self-styled portraits.

Ms McCrum will be on-hand tomorrow at Sloan/Hall for a book signing. I'll be there, just to see who shows up.

Sloan/Hall

5922 Broadway

San Antonio 78209

http://www.sloanhall.com/

... and yes, I realize that this will appeal to some of you more than others.

Alexandra & Truett
Houston, Texas
Ithaca 20-gauge side-by-side

Ginny
Long Island, New York
Sturm, Ruger & Co. 20-bore over-and-under

Lynn
Houston, TX
Sako .308 bolt-action rifle with scope

Photos credit: Lindsay McCrum via Wired.

Stacks and Space and How we Communicate

2011-12-12T11:25:00.000-06:00

IAIR 11.3

Jeff Williams (Austin)

Frank Benson (New York)

Janet Cardiff / George Bures Miller (Berlin / Grindrod, BC)

Graham Fagen (Glasgow)

'Preciate Ya

2011-12-10T12:36:00.001-06:00

Artist Appreciation get-down, tonight on the Artpace rooftop (8p). Free music, food, and drinks "to show the artists, creative community, and supporters of the arts in San Antonio just how much [they] mean to us." And let's be honest, nothin' says lovin' quite like free drinks. DJ Chicken George on-hand, and if I could figure out how to embed a wave file you'd get a better sense of what that means. But I can't, so if you want to hear, go here, and push play.

Down in the Valley

2011-12-09T08:02:00.001-06:00

The Head and...

No One Gets Religion at a Food Festival

2011-12-06T22:20:00.001-06:00

the husks

the reveal

the spork (optional)

b/c who needs one anyway.

I was down in the Valley last week walking through a few of the Mexican meat markets, marveling at the pork picnics and butts, on-sale, dirt cheap, and right next to the corn husks and buckets of lard, spices, and steamers. Hadn't seen a set-up like this in some time; about a year, in fact, for it's tamale season in Texas. A season that brings the joy of food and tradition together to the benefit of all (including us gringos... if you know where to go, that is).

So last weekend we scoped out some new places at the tamale festival. First up was Tamahli. Of all the vendors, this was the only one with any substantive line, which meant it had to be good. Because the masses... they always get it right, right? Well, score one for them. Pork with ranchero salsa came first, and then a slight deviation from the norm, Oaxacan-style chicken on a pressed square of masa, covered in mole and wrapped in a banana leaf.

Next were the "cups" from Teka Molino. Not exactly a tamale but hey I'm no purist... deep fry a corn tortilla, shape it into a cup and fill it with picadillo and guacamole, and I'll call it whatever you want me to call it. Just keep 'em coming...

Country of 1100 Tamales

2011-12-02T19:33:00.001-06:00

I don't know where they get their stats but who am I to argue. 2nd Annual Tamales Holiday Festival, tomorrow at Pearl, noon. Should be good business.

San Antonio and the Blues

2011-11-24T11:23:00.000-06:00

I heard this yesterday and thought it worth sharing. A great story about Robert Johnson, legendary Delta blues guitarist who, though dead by 1938 at the age of 27, would come to influence the likes of ZZ Top, Cream, the Stones, and on and on. I loved the story not least because, as a lover of the blues, I appreciate the history that the Gunter Hotel, located just a few miles away in downtown San Antonio, played in hosting a recording of such tremendous impact... one that would come to play a pivotal role in Rock 'n Roll.

"75 years ago, Johnson walked into the Gunther [sic] Hotel in San Antonio, Texas. He had been brought there by Ernie Oertle, an executive with the American Record Company, which had refashioned a hotel room into a makeshift studio. The company had brought people from all over the country to record, and the range of artists in the hotel that day was startling. Blues musician and writer Scott Ainslie lists them: "Gospel musicians, polka bands, string bands.

"Johnson's session was sandwiched between a hillbilly band and a group of sisters who played Spanish guitar music," Ainslie says. Johnson walked into the recording room and settled down, facing into a corner. He tuned up his guitar and began to play."

Now, back in the kitchen and get to cooking. Happy Thanksgiving.

Robert Johnson from Big Flea on Vimeo.

Two Kinds

2011-11-15T18:41:00.001-06:00

When I was in my mid-twenties and earning government wages, I came to learn very quickly that there are two kinds of restaurants in this world: those to go to, and those to be taken to. Kinkead's was one to be taken to. Fortunately, I had a friend who needed help depreciating the value of a very thoughful gift certificate, so we gathered ourselves and our dates and the four of us headed down to Foggy Bottom to enjoy a meal that none of us could've afforded even if we'd skipped rent.

Afterwards (dinner was excellent, by the way), feeling spry and flush and having spent no actual money of our own, we meandered over to Off the Record at the Hay-Adams Hotel for a nightcap. For there are also two kinds of drinks, you see: those that start the evening, and those that finish it. We ordered well beyond our means for a couple rounds, and finished off with a delicate kick-in-the-teeth combination of Drambuie and Scotch called a Rusty Nail.

It must've been the Drambuie that caught my eye; I went through a Drambuie phase in college (and by "phase" I mean I drank a bottle of it once... no, not in one sitting, but several, and with friends), and clearly thought that the best way to kick up that old familiar burn would be to add some legal-aged peatiness to it.

Rosie Schaap at the Times recenlty wrote a piece that jogged the memory, "Rules for an Honorable Nightcap." Good rules to follow, excerpted here...

"A nightcap should be a one-off, not 'one more' of whatever you’re drinking. Your last drink should be set apart, so pick something special, something to sip slowly...

"As a coda, a nightcap also shouldn’t stray too far from the movements that preceded it. It should bring them together and offer a fitting — not a dissonant — conclusion."

"A nightcap should also be brown," and, "perhaps most important... warming."
Photo via: Marcus Nilsson for The New York Times.

Eleven Twelve

2011-11-12T07:59:00.001-06:00

... and on the twelfth day, we wore denim.

All this crowing about corduroy of late has put me in the mood for a more rugged textile.

Photo via: Newman Photography.

Leftover Memories

2011-11-06T16:55:00.000-06:00

Next day steak sandwiches always remind me of my dad. He was of the notion, and I am disinclined to disagree, that the only thing better than prime meat was day-old prime meat. So what he’d do was drop the leftover thinly-sliced steak into a buttered-up skillet and cook it ‘til quite crisp on the surface. Then he’d take plain white bread and mayonnaise, add the steak, and fold it in half, and we three boys would have ourselves a mighty fine lunch.

Last night, a few other boys and I cooked ourselves up some meat and potatoes… too much to finish off, it turned out, so this morning, after prayin’ to the Good Lawd, we decided to put those leftovers to use. First, I caramelized the onions in butter and sunflower oil, then dropped in some mushrooms, added the protein, a little more butter, and layered it all into a hollowed-out pretzel bun.

Not quite as simple but I'll be damned if it wasn't just as good.

30 Hours in Boston

2011-11-01T17:50:00.000-05:00

We snuck in a quick stay in Boston this summer on the back end of our trip to Massachusetts' south coast, and over one night and two half-days got just a taste of what makes this such a great town.

Do...
Sunday caught some jazz at The Beehive in the South End. No cover and all the crowd was downstairs that night... a good crowd, winding down a weekend or maybe just keeping it going as long as possible.

THE BEEHIVE
541 Tremont Street
Boston, MA 02116
617/423-0069

http://www.beehiveboston.com/

Eat...
Couple hours before that, though, we grabbed a bite at Neptune Oyster in the North End. It was a rainy afternoon, which lent itself nicely to a long, boozy lunch in a cramped, dark place. Neptune may be one of the more aesthecitally pleasing spots I've ever eaten. Or maybe that was the rosé. The burger was topped with cheddar, fried oysters, and garlic mayo, and the lobster roll was toasted, buttered and buttered. At some point the kitchen sent out a Johnny Cake: a cornmeal pancake with smoked trout, crème fraiche, and caviar. Just the little something we needed to keep the convo flowing.

NEPTUNE OYSTER

63 Salem Street

Boston, MA 02110

617/742-3474

http://www.neptuneoyster.com/

And lunch the next day at La Voile, which got it allll-right...

LA VOILE

259 Newbury Street

Boston, MA 02116

617/587-4200

http://www.lavoileboston.net/

STAY...

Laid our heads at XV Beacon, near the Massachusetts State House and Boston Common, which enabled a superbly convenient stroll before catching the flight home. Next time, we'll need more time.

FIFTEEN BEACON HOTEL

15 Beacon Street

Boston, MA 02108

617/670-1500

http://www.xvbeacon.com/

Beehive photo credit: Erik Jacobs, New York Times.

And Deservedly So

2011-10-26T18:56:00.001-05:00

I sure do love the taste of a bad piece of top-round, beat to hell, dredged in eggs and buttermilk, battered, and deep-fried in cast iron. Once the steak is cooked through you take it out of the skillet, drain most of the oil and start to add the flour, slowly, then the milk, stirring, slowly, and the salt and pepper, stirring, until just thick enough to call it gravy. Layer it liberally atop that cut of meat and voila, Chicken Fried Steak.

It's a lovely dish. Perfectly acceptable with eggs and coffee or fries and whiskey. And now, thanks to the efforts of the hardworking men and women of the Texas State Legislature, it has been resolved that October 26, 2011 be recognized, officially, as Texas Chicken Fried Steak Day (this is no sh*t). So what took so long?

Last Shot

2011-10-22T14:08:00.000-05:00

Up early this morning to get in a final hunt of the season and came home with... nada. Sadly, sometimes the birds just don't fly. All I saw were chi-chis, buzzards, and a couple hares (one jack, one cottontail, which excites me for the next outing). Took a few shots at the treeline and called it a day. Oh well, at least there's plenty already in the freezer for something delicious. And a little Hill Country therapy set me right for a while...

By the Bay

2011-10-16T22:09:00.001-05:00

“The pleasure of our company has been requested” twice now down at Mobile Bay, which juts inland from the Gulf of Mexico up toward Mobile, Alabama. Along its eastern shore is the town of Point Clear, and I simply cannot imagine a better place to be in early October. It's home to The Grand Hotel (est. 1847), whose storied history is spectacular, its tradition present; every day, barring lightning, a cannon is fired toward the Bay, both in remembrance of and to honor our military. "God Bless America," then, boom.

The weather was perfect for a celebratory weekend, and on Saturday morning we walked on the boardwalk, snaking along the water in front of homes that abut the shores. Afterwards we headed into Fairhope, a small town just up the road and cut straight out of central casting, pharmacy and all. Lunch was at the recently opened Thyme. by the bay. Specifics of the meal are fleeting - quite honestly I was too busy enjoying the moment - but we kept things simple with burgers and beers, each one refreshing in its own right.

If your presence is ever required in lower Alabama you'd be hard-pressed to do much better in terms of staying and eating.

THE GRAND HOTEL

One Grand Boulevard

P.O. Box 639

Point Clear, AL 36564

251/928-9201

THYME. BY THE BAY

151 South Mobile Street

Fairhope, AL 36532

251/990-5635

Parkway for Po'Boys!

2011-10-10T20:11:00.001-05:00

There was a moment last Sunday, on our way back to New Orleans, when we actually contemplated skipping lunch. Dinner at Galatoire's awaited us later that evening, and I didn't want to yield any stomach real estate... what a bastard of an idea that turned out to be (literally, neither of us would claim it). Thankfully fate has a way of kicking errant travelers back onto paths originally intended, and in this case, fate came by way of the latest Garden & Gun.

Rick Bragg's current piece, "Home of the Po'boy", delves into some nuances of New Orleans' fine sandwich, and had us salivating at the prospect of that distinct warm French bread, hollowed-out and encasing some roasted something all dressed in fixins. Helpfully, within the article Pableaux Johnson listed five of the city's best spots to get just such a thing; I didn't know who he was, but given the context I was perfectly inclined to take the advice of anyone called Pableaux.

We opted for a spot in Mid-City, Parkway Bakery and Tavern. It's an old building on an old corner with old wooden everything and riddled with as much authenticity as you'd hope to find in a sandwich shop on some back street on a Sunday afternoon. Really, the ubiquitous uniqueness of establishments like this is what makes this great American city such a Great American City. We saddled up between two doctors on our right and two cabbies on our left, and when the sandwiches arrived, we opened that butcher paper, inhaled the roast beef and gravy, and got ready to have the best appetizer Galatoire's never offered.

PARKWAY BAKERY AND TAVERN
538 Hagan Avenue
New Orleans, LA 70119
866/755-9842
http://www.parkwaybakeryandtavernnola.com/

Magazine St (con't)

2011-10-03T10:16:00.003-05:00

For our pre pre-dinner cocktail cocktail we sought refuge at Bouligny Tavern, conveniently located right at the end of our block. It was Thursday afternoon and the traffic along Magazine was picking up. Uptown denizens stopping by for an early start to the weekend, and we landed a spot on the front porch to take it in; oh how I love a good front porch, an all-too-often under-utilized appendage of the home, in my opinion.

Afterwards we stuffed ourselves with homemade gumbo and french bread and couldn't muster the strength to do much other than go upstairs and ready ourselves for the weekend.

And now, sitting in the kitchen on Monday morning, the weekend come and gone and the festivities behind us, the soft smell of onion and spices has suddenly drifted in through an open window... someone preparing tonight's Red Beans & Rice? Perhaps. One thing's for certain though: if we stay here much longer I'll have gout. So we're gone. Cheers, to the ever-spirited...

BUSH ANTIQUES
2109 Magazine Street
New Orleans, LA 70130
http://www.bushantiques.com/

... and refreshing...

La Madrugada

Blanco Tequila

Grapefruit Juice

St. Germain

Campari

BOULIGNY TAVERN

3461 Magazine St.
New Orleans, LA 70115
504/891-1810
http://www.boulignytavern.com/

Oysters and Orbs

2011-09-30T10:32:00.000-05:00

My ears hadn't even popped yet as we walked into Drago's in Metairie... went straight from the airport. It was our first time, and charbroiled oysters and Abita Amber were on our minds. They say the oysters are legendary and now I know why: garlic, butter and herbs brushed on top, layered with Parmesan and Romano and grilled nice and hot. After those were gone we sopped up what remained on the shell with our french bread; what is it with the water here in the Crescent City that makes the french bread so inimitable? Dessert was a fried oyster po-boy dressed with PLT&M and another Amber.

DRAGO'S SEAFOOD RESTAURANT
3232 N Arnoult Road
Metairie, LA 70002
504/888-9254
http://www.dragosrestaurant.com/

errsters charbroiled

errsters fried

errsters in a can

We dropped bags on Antonine St, base camp for our broader weekend Southern Tour, and headed down Magazine St to satiate the Z's fixation on all things antiqued and/or artistic. First stop was Studio Amanda Talley (her blog The Big Easy Life gets big play at our house). It's a great space with some great art and she'll do commissions. If you're in New Orleans this weekend, stop by her studio during Art for Art's Sake, a good old fashioned street party held annually on this first Saturday in October.

Studio Amanda Talley

1382 Magazine St.

New Orleans, LA 70130

504/595-3136

http://amandatalley.com/

Would like to say more but I got a late jump and now we're off to the celebration in Point Clear, ALABAMA. Enjoy the weekend...

Orb

Orb in a Drawer (unframed, $900)

Now Open

2011-09-26T20:47:00.000-05:00

Dove season opened in Texas' South Zone last Friday. A couple buddies of mine were frothing at the mouth to watch little gray birds fall out of the sky, so we hopped onto a grass farm just south of Poteet (Strawberry Capital of Texas) for the afternoon, tucked ourselves in a corner - underneath a shade oak and stacks of long-ago used wooden pallets - and waited...

But only for a moment. Early afternoon was a flurry. We missed a lot (zigzag patterns kept it sporting) and no one limited out, but there was enough accuracy to make it count; in essence, not unlike my golf game. The activity died down early and never really took hold again, so we took advantage of the quiet by settling back and watching the sun descend over the horizon in a warm, late-September sky.

Show Me - New Orleans

2011-09-20T22:10:00.001-05:00

Next weekend we head South. Not directionally so much... more east really. But to the American South. New Orleans for a couple days on either side of a drive and stay in Point Clear, Alabama. At this point plan is to grab lunch on Thursday at Cochon. Then a lazy afternoon in Uptown, spent either wandering up Magazine or on the porch of the Columns Hotel. Dinner that night isn't our say but whatever Doodle picks will be just fyne-by-us. We're off Friday morning to L.A., that is, Lower Alabama. Then back on Sunday for lunch again then dinner at Galatoire's. Monday morning is up in the air, before it's back on the plane...

Anything we ought not miss?

The Garden District via: Matthew Peck, New Orleans.

Cisco's on Sixth

2011-09-13T18:49:00.000-05:00

More from the (vanishing) Austin file...

Early last year Clovis Cisneros put his restaurant, Cisco's, up for sale. On its face, a perfectly reasonable idea: he's sick of mucking around with enchiladas 90 hrs/wk and has two kids who can't run it. Price tag: $3.8m. A dream. "I don't think it's going to sell for that." But hey, who can blame the guy for throwing out a line to see what bites?

Thing is though, Cisco's is no perfectly normal restaurant. It's an East Austin institution, open to all-comers since the '40s in search of good Tex-Mex and the occasional vote. When it went on the block you could practically hear the collective gasp of the old guard... fear that yet another legendary spot was going the way of so many others in the wake of gentrification.

Good news (well, good news for me/for us) is that it didn't sell, and for now it's off the market. Mr Cisneros says he'd like to see Cisco's go on even after a sale, but I don't know... you gots to sell lots of migas to make up nearly four mil.

Was able to make it twice this summer for breakfast tacos, buttered biscuits & honey, and dishwater coffee. Lots of music lovers'll be rolling in for ACL fest this weekend... if you make it to Cisco's I've got two pieces of advice: i) bring cash; and ii) use the bathroom before you go.

CISCO'S RESTAURANT, BAKERY & BAR
1511 E. 6th Street
Austin, TX 78702

Ten Years Ago

2011-09-11T07:45:00.000-05:00

It really was a fantastic September morning, as I recall. We'd just moved into a brownstone in Adam's Morgan - recently enough that the fresh paint in my bedroom was still making me nauseous - and my roommate had gotten up and out early to catch a shuttle to New York. I walked into the office just before 9a and all eyes were on the conference room television. Tower One hit. Tower Two. About then we started getting calls that the White House was a target, so folks evacuated and it wasn't too long before staffers trickled in, situated as we were safely a few blocks north. Once we learned the Pentagon had been hit everyone scattered, disconnected and confused.

I walked up 18th street and made my way straight to the rooftop of the Cairo where some friends were living at the time. Completed in 1894, it not only pre-dated but actually caused the 1899 Heights of Buildings Act, which limits offices and residences in the District to 110-ft; at 164-ft, the Cairo towers above every rooftop in Washington, which afforded us this haunting view of the skyline, smoke emanating from the Pentagon in the distance across the Potomac.

Later that afternoon I returned to a noiseless house and flipped on the news and watched quietly the scenes of fear and chaos. At last heard from my roommate, who was fine, so I took a slow walk up the typically bustling street and saw virtually no one. It wasn't unlike neighborhoods the country over, I'd imagine, rendered temporary ghost towns.

Everyone's got a story from that day, ten years ago. This one just happens to be mine.

Try Some Pie (and Oatmeal)

2011-09-05T15:47:00.000-05:00

It's not often enough that we get to the lakeside town of Marble Falls, so when we do we're sure to stop by the Blue Bonnet Cafe, a Hill Country staple since 1929. There's breakfast all day and no one will look at you crooked if you order chicken-fried steak before 11a. And honestly, what's not to love about a spot that has a Pie Happy Hour (M-F, 3-5p)?

BLUE BONNET CAFE

211 Hwy 281

Marble Falls, TX 78654

830/693-2344

http://bluebonnetcafe.net/

Afterwards we went by the ranch near Bertram (home to the world famous Labor Day Oatmeal Festival) to check out the new tank. Looks great, just no water. No water anywhere, in fact, only open and empty and brown; rather than illustrating the profound effects of drought I thought I'd show these photos of one of the fields taken last spring, wildflowers in bloom.

Joseph's on Congress

2011-08-31T12:29:00.001-05:00

(Vanishing) Austin

On the Shelf - The Gay Place

2011-08-27T00:10:00.000-05:00

Happy 103rd (this would be)...

On the Way With L.B.J. (Aug. 27, 1960)

“The country is most barbarously large and final. It is too much country—boondock country—alternately drab and dazzling, spectral and remote. It is so wrongfully muddled and various that it is difficult to conceive of it as all of a piece. Though it begins simply enough, as a part of the other." - Billy Lee Brammer. "The Flea Circus" in The Gay Place, p. 1.

One needn't look any farther than the archaic title of Billy Lee Brammer's classic 1961 novel to see just how much life has changed in the past fifty years. And novel it was... a debut piece of fiction by a 32 y.o., standing timeless and firm among works by the likes of veterans McMurtry and McCarthy.

The Gay Place is actually a compendium of three related novellas, which share characters, settings, and themes, and paint a broad-stroke landscape of an exasperating yet irresistible politico life in 50's Texas. And throughout, two themes maintain the integrity of the fabric: i) "marital alienation and infidelity”; and ii) “an outrageous Texas governor called Arthur 'Goddam' Fenstemaker," based primarily on the peccadilloes of Lyndon Baines Johnson.

Set in points in and around Austin, it describes a capital city that no longer exists and a political landscape turned on its head. A time when you had to have a "D" beside your name to get elected anything from dog catcher to governor. It was all but required reading for young government majors at the University of Texas, a requirement we gladly obliged.

Photo via: LBJ Library & Museum.

Front & Center

2011-08-25T00:12:00.001-05:00

Football season just around the corner, which means summer is coming to its rapid and merciful end. And with the change in season comes a change in spirit. Not that I've grown tired of the gin, mind you - full as it is, of body, and character, and alcohol. But fall brings fall cocktails, and since there's no sense mixing drinks across seasons (as any gradeschooler would tell you), I have included here a couple recipes to help you hasten the depletion of your clear as you prepare the move into your brown. Cheers...

Southside Fizz

2 oz. dry gin
3/4 oz. fresh lemon juice
1 tsp. superfine sugar (or use simple syrup)
8–10 mint leaves
Chilled club soda
Large ice cubes or ice spear
Glass: highball
Garnish: mint sprig

Place mint leaves in cocktail shaker and gently muddle. Add gin, lemon juice and sugar, and stir to dissolve. Fill shaker with large pieces of ice and shake gently for about 10 secs. Strain into a highball glass filled with large cubes or ice spear. Top with chilled club soda. Garnish.

Singapore Sling

1 oz. London dry gin
~~1 oz. Bols Cherry brandy or Cherry Heering~~ (seriously you don't need this)
1 oz. Bénédictine
1 oz. fresh lime juice
2 oz. soda water
1 dash Angostura bitters
Glass: Collins

Combine all ingredients except soda water and bitters in an ice-filled glass. Top with soda water, stir briefly and dash with Angostura bitters.

Note: The original Singapore Sling appears to have been ungarnished. By the mid-1920s, they were adding the peel of a lime, cut in a thick spiral. By the late ’30s, they were also omitting the Bénédictine and bitters and floating Sloe Gin on top.

Cocktail photos and (adjusted) Recipes via: Imbibe Magazine.

Six Hours in Newport, RI

2011-08-19T16:29:00.000-05:00

I'd coveted my friend's soft shell jacket for over a year, and in particular that Newport Shipyard bird logo emblazoned across the left chest. But lest I be labeled a poseur I refrained from purchasing any such gear until I'd seen the marina myself. Fortunately, a recent trip to the northeast presented the perfect opportunity. So on a cool, overcast Friday morning we set off for Newport, RI in search of some regional hullabaloo.

... and whattaya know

We took in the scenery along Ocean Drive, both to the left and the right, and made our way to the marina, which holds some of the most exquisite vessels on the water. One particularly inspiring machine was Puma's Mar Mostro, which will sail in the 2011-2012 Volvo Ocean Race. Then lunch on-site at Belle's Cafe: New England Clam Chowder and Twin Lobster Rolls, meat and mayo served on your traditional split bun, buttered and toasted and every bit of summer.

owner of aforementioned jacket

enduring logo

NEWPORT SHIPYARD
1 Washington Street
Newport, RI 02840
401/846-6000
http://www.newportshipyard.com/

Afterwards, bellies full, we meandered through the privileged streets of Newport, ducking in and out of shops and bars before heading back to Mass. I'm certain we missed much more than we took in, and maybe next trip we hit up the International Tennis Hall of Fame for some grass court play and NYYC's Harbour Court. All I need is six hours and an invitation...

ROYAL MALE

104 Spring Street

Newport, RI 02840

401/846-8465

http://www.royalmale.com/

Auf Wiedersehen

2011-08-11T23:23:00.002-05:00

Earlier this year I grudgingly accepted the fact that my 14 y.o. 528i had run its course. At least with me. Or more importantly, with my ever-flattening wallet. It was only in the face of overwhelming unreliability that we parted ways, and I use that term in the strictest sense because like some poor sap punching above his weight I was willing to stomach a lot just to hold onto her.

There were the busted cup holders, a minor nuisance. A broken passenger door handle that went unfixed for months, which did wonders for my chivalry quotient but got a little awkward when someone other than the Z was riding shotgun. The loose fender that would drag a bit after hitting a speed bump. The leaking hose that consumed a quart of power steering fluid a week. And the oil pan... that was the kicker. Fare thee well, friend.

Someone got her for a steal and with a little love & tenderness the ol' gal'll back on the road lickety split.

As I was reminiscing I tripped across a couple odes to the heritage and provenance of the Ultimate Driving Machine that are as timeless and beautiful as the machines themselves...

BMW Unscripted videos via: Ad Age.

Idle Speed Now, pt. 2 - Nonquitt, MA

2011-08-07T21:36:00.002-05:00

... meanwhile, back on the northeastern seaboard, we touched down at Boston Logan and made our way through the rain and the traffic to Nonquitt. "It's not a town. It's a neighborhood." The driver was insistent about this. And turns out he was right. It is a neighborhood, or rather an enclave, set just outside of New Bedford, the Whaling City, along the south coast of Massachusetts.

The rain had subsided by the time we arrived. Our host, the groom, met us on the road and took us to our weekend house and lo, it had been struck by lightning just that afternoon. Hole in the roof and water dripping in and it smelled like a dwindling campfire. An ominous sign, no doubt, which turned out to be the last hiccup of what would ultimately be a perfect celebratory weekend. To F&B, all the best...

official cocktail of the evening, the Southside.

front of the house...

... towards Buzzards Bay.

picnic at The Casino

never seen a better climbin' tree

Urban Assault

2011-08-02T21:35:00.002-05:00

Interesting trend, this camo proliferation, and only time will tell how far and how wide it’ll spread come fall. Hamilton Shirt Co., the venerable Houston-based fourth generation family run custom shirt maker, is making a bit of noise about its City Camo button down lately. Now, I understand that fashion and function don’t have to be mutually exclusive, but playing with a pattern as loaded with functionality as camouflage can get you into hazardous territory real quick. And honestly, unless your stalker ex-girlfriend is a snow leopard I really don’t get the utility. But that may just be my limited palate for gaucherie shining through.

Caroline Matthews, proprietor of San Antonio-based custom guayabera maker Dos Carolinas, will be in Houston this week (Aug 3-4) for a holiday trunk show. I’ve had a couple shirts made by her - and have written about the process - and if you have the time I’d highly recommend making it over to Mariquita Masterson for measurements. Among its sizable fabric palate, Dos Carolinas has a camo pattern of its own that ought not to be missed. What with dove season rapidly approaching there may be no better time to stock up, though unless the birds have a sense of humor I’m afraid the tongue-in-cheekiness of the design may be lost.

MARIQUITA MASTERSON STUDIO

2505 River Oaks Boulevard

August 3rd-4th, 10a-5p

Caroline Matthews

doscarolinas@excite.com

210/478-0164

City Camo shirt photo via: Hamilton Shirt Co.

Deboned

2011-07-31T18:42:00.003-05:00

Last Saturday at the Pearl Farmers Market El Monty Chef Quealy set about the task of deboning a pig head, live and in color and assisted by the smooth sounds of emcee Owner Chad Carey. The lush crowd was five rows deep seated and three rows deep standing, and the Charles & Charles Rosé flowed freely to those with nothing on the daily docket.

After all was said and done the case of wine had been drunk and nothing was left on the skull but teeth and eyeballs. Admirable accomplishments both, completed in less than an hour and all before 10:30a. Once the meat was removed Quealy rubbed it in salt and spice and wrapped it around the tongue, trussed it, portioned it, and sous-vide low and slow... real slow, for what would ultimately be 48 hrs.

Mark from South Texas Heritage Pork, based just up the road near Floresville, donated the head and ran us through what got him into business: "Wanted better options," he said... "A better product for my family." Not, I'd imagine, entirely dissimilar to what gets most of these independent operations started. But keeping them going is up to us, and since the best way to preserve is to consume, here's a list of restaurants that enable the consumption...

Each of Jason Dady's, Luke San Antonio, and of course the Monterey.

On the Border

2011-07-28T22:10:00.002-05:00

Earlier this week, late Monday evening, after we'd finished the filets and the Decoy Cabernet and covered at length the topic of this inextinguishable mess across the river and its crushing effects on border towns this side and that and debating what might put a stop to it all, we grabbed a night cap and stood along top floor of the La Posada Hotel looking out across the Rio Grande into sister city Nuevo Laredo.

There was an unsettling emptiness to the night. Really very little sound except the palms blowing. It's a rare thing staring into a foreign land, certainly when that land is forbidden in parts. Gone are the folks crossing over in droves for an evening in old Mexico. Downtowns are dead or dying...

So the next day, incapable of fetching lunch across the international bridge, we stopped into a recommended spot just off the square called El Meson de San Agustin. On first pass we didn't notice the restaurant... and we were actually looking for it. Second pass, same thing. No sign, low-slung building, and not actually at the address as advertised.

At last we entered through a cloudy shuttered door and into a full house and all trepidation fell by the wayside. Outside it was hot, convection oven hot, wind swirling the 104-degree afternoon, and on a day like this I was grateful that El Meson takes the time to make its own Jamaica - 32oz hibiscus tea with high ice and sweetened within an inch of being labeled Kool-Aid.

For eats I had the Carne de Puerco en Chile Rojo, which was essentially carne guisada with pork not beef. It was fatty, and tender, and stewed in guajillo chiles and tomatillos and spices and perfect when nestled inside a thin flour tortilla with a little lime and a little salt; quite suddenly we didn't need to be in Mexico... though it'll sure be nice to go back when we can.

EL MESON DE SAN AGUSTIN
908 Grant Street
Laredo, TX 78040
(956) 725-9299
http://www.elmesondesanagustin.com/

Quick Pick

2011-07-23T12:06:00.003-05:00

I seem to be listening to a lot of Justin Townes Earle and other music of that ilk lately. Especially when the sun shines bright middle of the day.

Video Courtesy: LaundroMatinee.

Idle Speed Now, pt. 1 - Ocean Reef Club

2011-07-19T22:58:00.002-05:00

Happiness was the intention the founders had when they established the Ocean Reef Club (1945) just north of Key Largo, which is the first of the Florida Keys (or last, depending on your direction into or out of Havana). It’s a place that inspires the kind of prevailing leisure that only a life of extraordinary comfort can provide. By its own account, the ORC "reflects the thoughtful creation of an ideal, exclusive community of like-minded people.” Typically such a display of blatant homogeneity would scare a mutt like me to death, but somehow or another I manage to get on just fine.

The Z and I made a quick sojourn down just before summer. Good to get back to the simplicty, the sportsman's paradise, the appreciation for decorum... sometimes it really is just best to wear the jacket. It's where we've rung in many-a-New Year and where we had our first dance and hopefully where we'll continue going for years to come. Alas, that's not my call, but until they turn me away at the gate I'll be back... happily.

She could be yours.

French Legation for a Night

2011-07-14T04:05:00.005-05:00

My old bus route used to run me up towards Adam's Morgan past a little Dupont eatery called Bistro du Coin. It was French, as you might have guessed. But French in that unmistakably Disneyworld sort of way (at least, the Disneyworld I've heard about; my childhood never afforded me the pleasure and God willing my adulthood never will either)... just in your face with the whole facade. But brash enough to accommodate large crowds, with a disco ball dripping from the ceiling and year-round Christmas decorations. It was superficial and deliciously tacky, which in the end might just be what kept me going back for more.

Fact is I had a lot of good meals there with some good fuzzy memories to boot. The barflys who'd gather mid-afternoon to burn smokes and drink cheap beaujolais were legit, just as legit as the surly and accented waitstaff, equal opportunity haters all. Every night a full house, but no night quite as full as to-night... July 14th, Bastille Day, when they spin that dormant mirrored stalactite into action and kick the French electronica into full gear. From the bus window was about as close as I'd get, leaving the party to those who knew the what for.

BISTRO DU COIN
1738 Connecticut Ave, NW
Washington, D.C. 20009
202/234-6969
http://www.bistrotducoin.com/

A personal memory, nothing more, with no bearing on the below - seaside propaganda from the South of France; Nice, isn't it? That's Nice, like fleece - save for the common celebration...

Happy Bastille Day, cheese eaters.

"Ayup, we serve it up local in heeya"

2011-07-07T23:27:00.001-05:00

Last weekend in Boston we stumbled upon a place called Savenor’s Market on Charles St. There are two locations, this one and the one in Cambridge, which has been there since 1939 and was, reportedly, Julia Child’s butchery. Lots to love about this place: heritage, discernment, knowledge. It bills itself as a "gourmet butcher shop and high-end grocer," though grocery was a little light. But the meats...

Savenor's hangs its hat on sourcing with a purpose. Local, organic, grass-fed, sustainably-raised beef/lamb/pork/poultry. They know the purveyors, which you really don't see too often outside of that overrun farmer's market. And high-quality seafood (sushi grade tuna, organic salmon... come to think of it I prefer mine wild but that's just me). They’ve also got an exceptional selection of not-your-typical-proteins like like squab and python and kangaroo and alligator, which incidentally all make very nice boots. And if you find yourself in a pinch and fresh out of rendered duck or goose fat, you're covered there too. After all, that cage free chicken ain't gonna fry itself.

One thing I didn't notice was wine, which I assume is the result of a legal prohibition otherwise it’s a glaring oversight because even a small but well-curated selection would go a long way.

So order up. If you're local, they'll get it to you via bike messenger. If you're not, they'll get it to you some other way at what I can only imagine to be an exorbitant cost but hey, squab boots just a phone call away…

SAVENOR'S MARKET
160 Charles Street

Boston, MA 02114
617/723-6328
http://www.savenorsmarket.com/site/

Diving In

2011-07-05T04:44:00.004-05:00

I knew the Atlantic was cold as I walked out the pier. Knew it mid-air as I felt its chill. Knew it going in but seriously, how often do you get to dive into the ocean from a 10-ft springboard? Buzzards Bay was cold. Not lung-cripplingly so, though piercing the surface was a healthful shock to the system... a shocking reminder of the solvency of water. Unfortunately it took more than my breath: I don't know how deep I went but I bottomed-out and kicked hard and up and once I was buoyant I went to put on my sunglasses, still gripped firmly in my left hand, and saw that they had lost their utility. Barring a trip to the West Village in the near future these babies are headed back to Ray·Ban. I had to wear a hat the rest of the afternoon.

Leader

2011-07-04T10:26:00.004-05:00

Washington. Boston Public Garden (June 27, 2011)

Dog Days

2011-07-01T10:04:00.003-05:00

Last week we snuck out to a friend's ranch near D'Hanis to take advantage of the extended sunlight. I brought beer, he brought pizza. And everything else. Pulled some bass out of the tank, great sunset. We haven't had rain in ages, so the water was low and still and the fish were more sultry than spry and really didn't put up much of a fight. Which was ok, as we weren't in much the fighting mood.

On these warm summer nights everything and everyone just gets a little more tranquil.

Sambo

from the passenger seat, the other Sam (no relation).

the Longest Day

2011-06-21T07:11:00.013-05:00

Greetings from sunny Côte d'Azur. This isn't me, but rather a surrogate. That is, brought to you by a surrogate - the photos at least - who's celebrating the Fête de la Musique in Aix-en-Provence. Probably up to her ears by now in free music that's worth every penny and wine that's only slightly better. As though the shots from Monaco weren't irritating enough.

I've only been to the capital city. Three times, all business, which I guess in Paris is still mostly pleasure. Speaking of which, nothing quite like Paris at night. Though today... today you'll just have to wait a little later to take that evening stroll.

Happy summer...

You Can Tell A Lot

2011-06-19T18:25:00.004-05:00

Dad always said you can tell a lot about a man by the way he keeps his shoes. Polished and buffed... a good pair of shoes'll last you longer than you'll need 'em, if they're cared for. He taught me some tricks of the trade before I was old enough to even wear shoes that needed caring. His boots were my lessons. Class on Sunday. Dad in the chair, pull-tab yellow bellies, golf on tv made for a quiet afternoon... though the Cowboys inspired a little more color.

These are the perfect memories I'm allowed to have.

Roadside Eats - Morada Bay Beach Café

2011-06-17T06:47:00.011-05:00

Leg two...

Unwound for a few hours after Alabama Jacks with a little rum and a little sun and headed farther south, toward Islamorada and the Morada Bay Beach Café. Facing west, and blue skies turn to orange-red-pink-night. It was Kentucky Derby Day but unfortunately no Full Moon Party… one could only be so lucky. Arrived at four and left at ten and for six hours my toes never left the sand. Grouper and tuna and end-of-season stone crab… my first of the weekend but not my last.

MORADA BAY BEACH CAFÉ

81590 Overseas Highway

Islamorada, FL 33036

305/664-0604
http://www.moradabay-restaurant.com/

Roadside Eats - Alabama Jacks

2011-06-14T23:00:00.001-05:00

You can get from Coconut Grove in Miami to North Key Largo in less than an hour. It’s a trip I’ve had the good fortune to make a number of times these past few years. Hit the split at US-1 and the Old Dixie Hwy, left at the Last Chance Saloon, and skip over Card Sound Road into the Keys. But just before you pay the toll get ya’ a pit stop at Alabama Jack’s. Since 1947. We'll call this leg one of the Upper Key Doble...

They call it weathered… I call it grizzled. They say it’s Downtown Card Sound... I say it’s the only ~~taxable~~ commerce within an 11-mile radius. Bikers welcome… all others discouraged. Live band playing Willie when we walked in, which was as much a welcome as we might hope for. Sat along the rail looking over the mangrove forests, watching the boats head out toward Blackwater Sound, drinking Red Stripe and eating grilled dolphin and shrimp and conch fritters. “Best in the Keys.”

ALABAMA JACKS

58000 Card Sound Road
Key Largo, FL 33037
305/ 248-8741

http://alabamajacks.com/

Free Drinks... Yesterday

2011-06-10T13:53:00.002-05:00

For a couple nights this week I played host to the rock climbing, June skiing, squash playing, Virginia residing fella behind Boys Girls Mountains. It’s one of the more rewarding aspects of this capture-as-you-live exercise… getting to meet good interesting people either on my home turf or on theirs, where otherwise our paths would have never crossed. Hopefully I did my part as Sherpa, helping navigate the local terrain...

We met for drinks at Ocho, the Hotel Havana’s latest offering to the patrons of our famed Riverwalk. Entering to the drumbeat of rumba music on the open-air patio and a full house we were faced with a choice: Havana Margarita, Hemingway Daiquiri, Martinique Punch. All iced up and for the taking, which we did, surreptitiously. What is this I thought... Free drink Wednesday? Even at private parties I still feel like I’m stealing, but this I could get used to.

Then last night we caught Rhett Miller and his band of merry men the Old 97’s, who played a terrific set to a packed house at Sam’s Burger Joint. Sarah Jaffe opened things up, decidedly lower key than what was about to take the stage but a beautiful crooner.

Now we both have stories to share. Read his very flattering and much more thorough recap here. Off to Dallas…

Heritage (est. 1852)

2011-06-05T14:54:00.001-05:00

No more than a half hour west of San Antonio, just outside Boerne, sits Herff Ranch… its entrance marked by a non-descript stone post that at 70mph would go unnoticed. But a closer look shows that it was established in 1852, and for the past 150-plus years has been operated by the same family; that little milestone got it into the Texas Department of Agriculture’s Family Land Heritage program last year, which is a good thing, what with that devastating sprawl butting up against the fence line.

We lucked out – friends of the family – and designated as such spent part of the Memorial Day weekend in the hills poolside. Then skeet shooting until sundown, at which point it was time for sundowners: first gin of the season (a Southside Fizz… more on that later). I woke up early the next morning just before the house stirred and grabbed a coffee and a shot of the oak trees stretched out.

Show Me - Boston

2011-06-01T11:14:00.004-05:00

In the spirit of Letting A Local Be Your Guide I am putting out this blanket request, to all in-the-know, for ideas on things to do in Boston. The Z and I will be in Nonquitt, MA later this month, flying in-and-out of Logan and spending a couple days and a night in Beacon Hill on the back end.

We’ll effectively have Sunday afternoon, evening, and most of Monday to schlep around. I know Boston about as well as I know Bangalore, which is to say not at all, so all comments or emails are most welcomed. Anything along the lines of haberdasheries, galleries, drinkeries, eateries, or whatever else we really shouldn't miss. Sadly, the Red Sox are in Pittsburgh. So let's have it...

Boston seal via: City of...

Loo-zee-anna Saturday

2011-05-30T19:29:00.004-05:00

As we make the slow crawl into summer we leave behind one of spring’s great traditions, the crawfish boil. 115 lbs of mudbugs we went through last weekend, alongside corn and mushrooms, onion, garlic, sausage, potato, and a keg of Mama's Little Yella Pils out of Oskar Blues Brewery in Longmont, CO. Over the years I’ve become quite adept at maximizing my return on these burgundy crustaceans, but when it comes to the process of preparation I am ill-equipped to pass along any great secrets.

Because even though we Texans have a certain state-centric bravado that could, at times, be mis-perceived as arrogance, we also recognize the wisdom of yielding the reins when someone else knows better. And one activity where evidence of superiority is undisputed: Cajuns cooking crawfish. It's in their DNA. Nothing I want to futz with. All I can say is that it’s the later batches that pack the heat. But that’s where the Yella Pils comes in. Mo’ Heat, Mo’ Suds, Mo’ Better.

You see, we’re even brilliant in our humility.

The Book as Souvenir

2011-05-26T20:40:00.003-05:00

"One's collection comes to symbolize the contents of one's mind. My mother's college texts, I remember, sat untouched in a corner of our country bookcase, radiating the glories of Renaissance poetry and Greek drama while being slowly hollowed by silverfish. The bulk of my own college books are still with me, rarely consulted but always there, reminders of moments, of stages, in a pilgrimage, while the decades since add their own drifts and strata of volumes read or half read or intended to be read.

"Books preserve, daintily, the redolence of their first reading--this beach, that apartment, that attack of croup, this flight to Indonesia. Without their physical evidence my life would be more phantasmal, as is, they are stacked around me, towering even over my head, as not only an extension into my past, sinking their foundations securely down to my accreted jejune marginal comments and reaching up into clouds of noble intention--books waiting to be read, as tempting as grapes unharvested and musky, years of dust to be blown off in a second of sudden plucking, their moment to be seized and absorbed come triumphantly round at last.

"Such books constitute a pledge of an infinite future, just as their brother books, already read but mostly forgotten, form an infinite resource of potential rereading, of new angles and insights on terrain where our footprints have all but vanished. Books externalize our brains, and turn our homes into thinking bodies."

- John Updike. "A Case for Books" in Due Considerations: Essays and Criticism (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2007), p. 69.

Amazing what one can accomplish while putting off the very things that one actually needs to accomplish. There was a time in my life when I couldn't muster focus to hammer out a three-page paper, but I'll give odds that mine were the cleanest windowsills in Washington. Couple weeks ago I was procrastinating something - probably something I get paid to do - and instead put all efforts into rearranging some of the reading material, by color; after reading the above Updike passage I'm giving serious consideration to staking them auto-biographically. But that's a-whole-nother of commitment.

Pleasant Change of Pace

2011-05-22T22:00:00.001-05:00

After hopping the last minute goat & chicken shuttle across the Gulf, we laid over for a night and morning in Lauderdale, taking care to slow our roll sufficiently before heading south toward the Keys... they don't take kindly to life lived above "leisurely" down there. Started the day with a row on the Intercoastal. Given my lack of both aptitude and achievement on the water I'm hard-pressed to call this a workout, but here we are...

Pandemonium

2011-05-18T22:32:00.003-05:00

On first pass I think you'll agree... that this is one of the louder shops you'll see... and that I happened to be there on Mother's Day, with my mother-in-law, no wilting violet she... well that was just poetic.

It takes moxie just to walk into the Sandpiper at the Ocean Reef Club. Can't quite put my finger on what ya' call it takes to walk out, but over the years I've purchased enough color here to give a Palm Beach bridge game pause. It is unabashed, pasteled chaos, though with a quiet order about it. Operating under the watchful eyes of two sweet old ladies and this here monkey...

Made in China... presumably by the pandas themselves.

SANDPIPER CLOTHIERS
31 Ocean Reef Drive
Key Largo, FL 33037
305/367-3123
http://sandpiperclothiers.com/

Philbin-APPROVED

A Visual Feast

2011-05-16T20:33:00.004-05:00

Tokyo Turnips with Pickled Mushrooms, Beef Heart Tartare, Corn + Lime Yogurt + Chile + Cotija Cheese, Pork Belly Sushi with Miso Caramel... just some of the latest gastronimic offerings from our friends at The Monterey.

But first, bite with the eyes...

Photos courtesy: Newman Photography.

Italian Market (new school)

2011-05-13T15:12:00.001-05:00

Batali. One name, that’s all he needs. The man whose touch turns everything to gold… and orange, like those ridiculous Crocs. And outrageous, like his Ministry of Tourism choreographed “Spain… on the road Again”… you know, just a little professionally produced road trip, across Spain, in a Mercedes, with Gwyneth Paltrow. Nice work if you can get it. And you can bet Willie sets the soundtrack. Batali’s is life over-the-top, so it’s no surprise that his latest venture follows suit…

Eataly - 52,000 sq-ft @ 23rd and 5th Ave, opened last summer to great fanfare. It’s a European-market-meets-artisanal-food-court-meets-cured-Italian-excess, all operating under the self-aware guise that what they’re selling is impressively sourced foodie theatre to foodie-minded folk.

If Jimmy’s is the Sophia Loren of Italian markets – classic beauty, shuttling through the countryside in her 1938 Bugatti 57 S(C) – then Eataly is Lapo Elkann doing his best Bronson Pinchot True Romance-style in a Pagani Huayra while drinking espresso sponsored by Lavazza. It’s an experience that makes for some kitsch but loads of good fun.

And experience it you should. We were there on a Monday, twice. It bookended our stroll through some Union Square markets and acted as appetizer to our dinner at momofuku ssäm bar. 8p and standing room only at La Piazza, one of Eataly's six restaurants where standing is in fact the only option. Noshed on some salumi and cheese and readied ourselves with the Bastianich Vespa Rosso 2008, all the while taking care not to yield too much stomach real estate to the marble-clad temptress... pork buns awaited.

EATALY
200 5th Avenue
New York, NY 10010
212/229-2560
http://eatalyny.com/

Banner Assortment via: Eataly.

And They're Off

2011-05-07T10:11:00.002-05:00

Coconut Grove, Miami - Remember ladies... it's all about speed out the gate.

BOB "DADDY-O" WADE

Austin, TX

http://www.bobwade.com/

Honey in Cinci

2011-05-02T23:13:00.001-05:00

Recently took a weekend trip to Cincinnati for a family wedding, though unbeknownst to us the "trip to Cincinnati" would be spent entirely in Covington, KY. Entirely, that is, with the exception of Sunday brunch in a transitional area in north Cinci (gentrification finds another home it seems, though our cabbie still thought it “a bad area”) called Honey of Northside.

I opted for the classic eggs benny alongside a Guinness, but with a multitude of fine options and nothing but empty plates on the table you could have thrown a dart at the menu and done just as well. A must-visit.

Honey of Northside
4034 Hamilton Ave.
Cincinnati, OH 45223
513/541-4300
http://www.honeynorthside.com/

Dispatch and Photos Courtesy: Newman Photography.

Keep Rockin' While Ya Still Can

2011-04-28T21:11:00.003-05:00

One of the first cd's I owned was Steve Earle and the Dukes' Shut Up & Die Like an Aviator (live) (1991). Came in that old packaging that carried like a plastic briefcase. I couldn't wait to get it home. For reasons they'd soon regret my good parents had bought me a Kenwood KRX-891 Amp and all the accompanying bells and whistles any 13 y.o. could ask for... turntable, dual cassette deck, five-disk CD player and (faux) wood speakers as tall as I was. Used to listen to Guitar Town over-and-over cranked up loud as it would go. That bass would hit right at "Speed trap up ahead Selma town..." a lesson I'd come to appreciate a few years down the road.

Looks like the hillbilly rocker's got a few more miles on him here. Reckon that's due in part to his two-pack habit and general bad-assery, but the ol' boy's still got something to say... (audio only. see video here).

Video via: NPR Music Tiny Desk Concerts.

For the Halibut

2011-04-26T19:47:00.004-05:00

I’ve never fully considered the vast utility of the banana leaf outside its more mainstream uses: a runway for potable water, ropes from which to swing through the Ecuadorian jungles, padding for produce carried from farm to market; you know… the everyday aspects of sophisticated living.

But last weekend, as I sifted through the cremini and chanterelle at my friendly neighborhood grocery, I noticed a pile of them there, stacked and folded and ever-so-green against the backdrop of the earth-clod fungi and it dawned on me… I can cook with these. So $0.53/lb and a couple halibut filets later I strode home, bounty affixed firmly to my noggin.

Into a mixing bowl go the filets. Apply a healthy dose of olive oil and slightly more conservatively the S&P. You’ll also need some citrus, so get to squeezing. Then lay out the halibut individually onto whatever remains of the banana leaves not yet fashioned into your weekend footwear. Top with slivered tomatoes, diced jalapeños and grated ginger and wrap the whole thing up like a tamale. Grill them on low heat for about twenty minutes, flipping more than halfway through, and serve over couscous with toasted pine nuts and a little butter. Maybe a little more butter.

Not certain how much flavor my versatile husk provided but the taste was pure and lacked the typical char you get from going directly off grill or that cedar you get from planks. For a few bucks more next time I ought to have enough for that hammock.

The Professor's Hat

2011-04-24T20:57:00.000-05:00

Commercially Viable

2011-04-23T09:57:00.002-05:00

I’ve got no problem taking my music with a little product accompaniment. Part of the business I’d assume. If I had any talent whatsoever I’d sell out faster than you can say bag-o’-cash and free coffee for life. So I’m really digging this Freelance Whales song… brought to you by Starbucks. Happy Saturday…

Video via: NPR Music Tiny Desk Concerts.