Travelogue: the Americas (part 1)

[heidih]

I don't live in Houston or plan to travel there, but as always, I am enjoying your report. Keep eating & blogging- you are performing a community service.

[Peter Green]

Part 2 has started up.

Now I can try and keep two threads going, and get some info back to dipsophilia on the drinks.

And work.

Why do I do these things?

Peter

[Shelby]

Part 2 has started up.

Now I can try and keep two threads going, and get some info back to dipsophilia on the drinks.

And work.

Why do I do these things?

Peter

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Lol it must be quite hectic!!

[Peter Green]

Peace has broken out about me, and I find myself with a 45 minute lag before the next flurry of activitiy.

Let’s take a look at what happened on Saturday, January 26.

Life in the office kept on getting better and better. We’d run solid, but one of the people providing support had been kind enough to secure some meals for us from the cafeteria before it closed.

This was a masterpiece of congealement. Chicken fried steak with something rather mucal coating the whole affair. A bun that had come to expire gracelessly, and some potatoes of unknown origin.

I took one bite, purely in the interests of science.

The taste was as graphic as the image.

Next: Redirections

[jscarbor]

Peter, that was a real treat. Next time you are in Houston give us a heads up and we can oint you in the direction of some other great places if you would like.

[tupac17616]

Peter, I just now stumbled upon this thread. It's great! Thanks for sharing.

[Peter Green]

What’s In a Name?

I still had that horrible congealed taste in my mouth when I got back to my room.

Like the day before, I needed something to cheer me up.

I got on the phone and tried to make a reservation for Reef. It’s developed quite a reputation, and I figured it should be on the list.

I’d waited too long, though. They were booked out for the evening. I considered my options, and decided that, with the Sunday stretching ahead of me and no work to worry about, I might as well go for controversy.

Monica Pope’s latest venture has been a subject of discussion here in the Texas threads. Amongst my friends I here good and bad, but I will say that items on the bad side are generally not under her direct control (service at T’afia was one complaint). On the good side, I’m curious about her market, and the Milk Maids in particular.

I approach the subject with an open mind (and mouth). In terms of food, I’m curious, and in terms of mixology, the credentials seem very solid.

I did the freeway to save time. I’d thought, at first, that it was downtown, but once I checked the maps, it appeared to be closer to the Heights. I parked the car in one of those behind the store lots with only one entrance that ensures sobriety, and then walked around the building to enter by what was posted as the “entrance”.

The room is, as declared, an ice house. They’ve partitioned lengthwise down the middle, and then cut off one third into bathrooms, the middle third was opened up for the bar (literally, the centerpiece), and then the kitchen took the rear left corner.

Simple tables around the edges, padded benches on the outside, pull up metal chairs, and a few stand-up/stool pedestals over at the bar. A fair bit of seating, but I could see this place getting pretty crowded pretty fast.

I was stunned by the beer list. I spent ages just writing it down, and then smartened up and asked if I could steal one of their menus. They’re just paper. My waiter obliged by stealing the one on the next table over for me.

I’ll save the gory details for Dipsophilia, but they had three good small brews on tap, and what I’d count as 75 bottles (of which only 13 are what I’d classify as “industrial”).

But I’d heard a lot about the cocktails, and I wanted to see how things were done. They were doing their own syrups here in-house, I knew, and I was curious to see. Of course, I should’ve gone up to the bar, but I was wedged in against my table, and was hungry enough that I wasn’t in a mood to budge.

I started with a Dax’ Obsession. This had caught my eye with the Hendrik’s gin. With that went tamarind syrup and orange juice.

This was to give me something refreshing to put away while I waited on my stuffed pepperoncinnis.

This little peppers came out nicely stuffed with cream cheese and pork. Very mild, and fried crisp, with a good batter (why can’t I get a decent batter? Lack of talent, perhaps?).

I followed that with a Texas Lemonade; Citadelle Gin, Paula’s Texas lemon liquor, lime, agave nectar, and some soda.

I felt the cocktails would go well with the deep fried started, but for mains, I’d gone out on a limb and went with the evening’s special, the slow cooked (5 hours) boneless pork chop, topped with smoked PEI oysters and horse radish pan sauces.

With this, I switched back to beer - Real Ale’s Fireman’s 4 Pale Ale. A good enough beer, with nothing objectionable about it (damn, there I go again, writing about booze).

The pork dish was not quite right. The mussels didn’t really work with the (extremely soft) cut of pork. It had seemed like an odd coupling (I’d been reminded of when Sam Mason was talking about the chemical grafting of foods at the 2005 WGF), but the flavours didn’t work. It’s one of those things I could see myself doing.

“I like pork. I like mussels. Why not put the two together? It worked for Reese’s!”

Not this time.

Nice pork chop, though. It’s under there somewhere.

Now, I had been warned that the servings weren’t an overload at her places. Normally, I’d be happy with that, but I’d gone the day without food, so I needed a bit more.

The choices looked good. Beef brisket, shredded pork shoulder, pork sausages, and pork ribs.

I decided to go with the pulled pork shoulder. You can never have enough pork in your diet.

And Saltines. Gotta have saltines.

They’d offered to do this as a sandwich, but I knew my appetite would be decelerating, and went with the carnivore concept. Not being a bbq expert, I can pass no judgment on this other than to say that I quite liked it. The pork had a good consistency, and the vinergar in the sauce gave a nice sauerbraten-type feel. I like vinegar in my food.

Dessert I passed on. But I did make certain to finish the cookie.

Dinner done, my appetite slaked, I set off to do the drive back out West.

En route, I stopped off at one of my old favourites, the Big Easy, on Kirby. Really, the proper name would be The Big Easy Social and Pleasure Club. Tucked away in a traditional cinder block building next to an auto shop, it has the sleek, clean design of, say, trailer park. Over 20 beers on tap, and some of the best Blues and Zydeco to be had in the city.

But, I didn’t eat anything there, so I’ll save that for the dipsophilia side of things.

[judiu]

Peter thank you so much for this travelogue! I lived in Houston one winter, but my resteraunt experience there was slight, owing to a very bad case of "myfundsarelow". So much nicer to view it thru your eyes!

[Peter Green]

I’ve a soft spot for brunches.

It’s called my stomach ( I really must find time for a gym session or two on this trip. Heck, even a pool).

I’d made reservations for Hugo’s the day before. I’d been intrigued by their sideline of “regional Mexican specialties” on the menu earlier.

I was also interested in their flights of Tecquila, and in being able to read the menu in the light.

This was also an opportunity for me to catch up with some old friends (at my age, many of my friends are old), and so brunch made a good opportunity.

The room is far prettier by day than in the dark. Mind you, the view would be improved by swapping out Westheimer and replacing it with some pastoral setting, or perhaps bricklined roads, but then, again, you can’t have everything.

I’d arrived a shade early, and so was able to relax in relative quiet as I waited for my friends. There was that quiet happiness of a well organized staff getting things set up that gives you a feeling of confidence before a meal, and I was content to enjoy my lechero (Oaxaca coffee and steamed milk) in this moment of quiet.

The lechero (which I used to think was just something the young girls called me) – coffee strained through cream – is a perfectly good way to get over a really rough night of Zydeco. I recommend it to one and all in this situation. I do appreciate that it’s quite common a situation.

A word of caution. Unless there’s a strict timetable to the meal (which there is not with a brunch) then don’t expect me to wait upon people (in any sense of the word). I hit the line early, and concentrated upon the first table.

What I had was all good. There was zucchini huilla coche - stuffed and topped with cheese, then roasted. Some marinated mushrooms; a bit of marinated chayote; a wonderfully biting chicken stuffed poblano pepper; and, something from the years that Yoonhi has taunted me of – octopus (pulpo) salad.

Maybe it was octopus that set me on this path? Eating at my Japanese friend’s home when I was very young, I was always impressed at what they had on the table, and how much more interesting it was than what I had at home (in retrospect, my mother was a very good cook in a lot of ways, but don’t tell her I said that).

One day, my family went out for dinner, at the Seven Seas, a floating restaurant moored on the North Shore at the foot of Lonsdale.

My brothers, heathens the both of them, ordered hamburgers, as I recall. For me, I rooted about through the buffet, and found marinated octopus. I took a couple of pieces, and scurried back to the table.

It was great. It was chewy, it had the taste of salt water in your mouth when you’ve been swimming in the ocean, and, best of all, I could gross out my family by having a tentacle stick out of my mouth.

As I recall, I pocketed a few pieces to take to school the next day to gross out my friends.

What more do you want out of life when you pre-pubescent?

Once my friends showed up (they weren’t really late, I’m just impatient) we ordered some drinks to get us started. Myself, I tried a marguerita, as I’m fond of lime and tequila ( not necessarily in that order). As this one was made with Hussong’s Reposado and some GM, I felt it was purely a matter of professional duty to try one.

With drinks in hand, we drank a solemn toast to old George McDonald Fraser, famous for his Flashman Papers, who had just recently passed away. His books, introduced to me by my friend across from me, have given me countless hours of fun, and a far better appreciation for the history of the 19th century than anything I picked up in school.

And then, after a bit of catching up (it must have been around a decade since last the three of us had talked) we waded back in, the restaurant now becoming much fuller.

What a wonderful menu this was. Green rice, fseafood tamales, corn pudding, brisket, slow cooked pork….

And there was an oxtail soup – mole de olla - I couldn’t turn down, meatballs in an chipotle sauce, a whole baby pig, and, still coming off of the Korea trip, a nice chili to nip at to get the spices just right.

The selection of meats was excellent. Braised briskets and other selections slow cooked and served up. More stuffed peppers were up there, and steamed egg. Plus tamales, chilaquiles, and probably two or three more things I didn’t write down correctly.

I did mention that flight of tequilas, didn’t I? I did the anejos – 1800, Gran Centanario, and Don Julio. Small differences in the smoothness, and what I can only describe as the “colour” they present on the tongue, set them subtly apart.

During one of my rounds of the food (I was back for more of the octopus and the meats) the waitress prematurely cleared my tequilas. I was panic stricken, as you would well imagine. But, capable young lady she was, she was able to recover them in time.

That was close. I might’ve been able to argue a completely new flight.

Dessert was some chocolate pie, rice pudding, and churros. There was lots of more stuff up there, cakes, pies, and other sweets, but I was beginning to fade, and my guestts had stopped eating (always a bad sign).

My one caution regarding the meal, and nothing to do with the food, which I enjoyed very much over several plates…don’t sit under the balcony.

I like having live music, but I also like to talk with my friends, and we did find that the volume, adjusted to reach to the far corners of this room, was somewhat overwhelming for us.

Lunch done, and the afternoon well under way, we parted and I set about getting more done.

Like planning for dinner.

[Peter Green]

Feeling crabby?

Dinner that evening was at Truluck’s, close by the Galleria.

They’d used to be further down Westheimer, but they’d moved out here a year or so ago when the old lease came up, taking advantage of the lunch business you can draw from the Galleria and the surrounding offices.

Naturally, I walked. The front desk was aghast at this. “You’re not taking your car?”

I wonder about this place at times.

Amazingly enough, I found it without getting lost. Or run over. Or cannibalized. Or whatever other reasons would’ve precluded me from making a five-minute walk.

The new place is posher than what I remember of the old. It’s got that approach where they try to make you forget you’re in Houston. Or at least try and get you to forget you’re effectively fronting a street of strip malls.

We started with martinis, mine a sapphire, and then ordered a bottle of the Oregonian Willamette Valley Domain Serene 2005 Pinot Noir. We figured the Pinot Noir would satisfy the red wine part of our crowd, while still working well with the seafood.

I started with half dozen oysters; two each from Connecticut (Blue Point); Rhode Island (Quonset Point); and Prince Edward Island (Rocky Bay). The waiter tried to convince us at first that P.E.I. is off the coast of B.C., but we know our geography a little better than that.

Of these, I’d have to say the Quonsets were my least favourite, while the Blue Points had just the right thickness to go with the horseradish. The Rocky Bays were acceptable, but given the choices in town, I wouldn’t be in a hurry to order more.

One of my compatriots had order the Stone crab claws as an appetizer. Truluck’s is best known for their crabs, the local Stone Crabs in particular. They have a fleet of boats working for them that keeps them supplied in crabs and fish during the year.

Another member in our party had ordered the prawn cocktail. This was cool. Two mutant sized prawns in dry ice, the dish doing a Morticia Adam’s on our table top.

For my main course, I went simple. Just a couple of crab claws. Dungeness I eat in Vancouver, and we’d been binging on King Crab in Korea. Luckily, they had the Colossals in their latest shipment, so two of those were about right for me.

Precracked, these were an easy meal. And two was the right amount. With crab, I just find that you can suddenly come up against that wall that won’t let you eat anymore.

It’s a horrible thing, that wall.

Dinner done, we contemplated leaving. But it just seemed wrong not to take something from the dessert menu, so we settled on something that looked vaguely like a chocolate skyscraper. We quickly toppled it, and savaged the cream and fruit on the inside. It was definitely a chocolate lover’s dish, as the slabs of chocolate on each side were fairly heavy.

That was my last dinner. There would be time for breakfast the next day, if I had my packing in hand, but for now all I could hope for was perhaps two more evening meals when I returned.

People had been recommending Reef, so I had the hotel make reservations for me for my Saturday night return. Sunday would be dinner with friends, so things were pretty well taken care of. I would try and get in a last bucket of crawfish the next morning, and then I would say a temporary farewell to Houston.

[Peter Green]

Movin’ On

I’d been good. I’d done all of my packing the night before, had everything ready, and had time to spare. I figured I deserved a last bucket of crawfish.

I was wrong.

The Ragin’ Cajun does not open that early in the day.

I considered my options, and there was really only one choice that might work, and that had been on my list of “wanna tries”.

I headed down town to the Breakfast Klub

I’d heard about this place for some time. Marcus Davis had opened it in 2001. He’d been in the food industry for years, but more on the industrial chicken side of things, and then had gone into teaching for several years, before coming back to food and opening this place.

After opening it quickly developed a loyal clientele, and became known for good food, poetry readings, happy service, and long lines.

Now, I wasn’t there at a peak time, so the long lines weren’t a concern for me. However, I did have to get lectured. Not that I minded, as everyone that talked to me was in an amazingly good mood.

The two dishes they’re proudest of are the waffles and wings, and the catfish and grits. For both of these they have Japanese style models up front, so we newbies can know what we’re getting into.

Now, I get pretty good waffles at home courtesy of Tita Sonia, but catfish isn’t something I can buy locally, and grits are on the list of “maybe I’ve eaten them before, but darned if I can remember when or where”. And if I can’t remember what I ate where, then it was a long time.

The smiling face went on to explain the ordering system. You put your order at the counter, you receive a number on a clip, you get your own condiments and cutlery, and then you wait for them to bring you your food.

I could follow that.

Along with the catfish, I also ordered a side of pork chops. Just because I could.

My cappuccino came first (yeah, I know. That mental image of cappuccino and grits just seems wrong, but work with me on this), and I nursed this while waiting on the food.

The room is kid friendly (there were a couple there), bright colours, big windows, and a sort of Jamaican feel to it all that I can’t quite put my finger on. Lots of laughing, and people in just plain good spirits. The line up at the door wasn’t unreasonable, and they seemed to be doing a regular business in ladies from the convention center nearby, as there was a steady stream of well-dressed older ladies with name tags on.

When it came, I had a bad feeling. I had a feeling that I’d ordered too much food. But it was one of those things that I knew I was going to get a scolding if I left too much food on the plate.

I had a biscuit for my eggs, and there was a magnificent puddle of butter on my grits. The pork chops were leering at me as well.

I started on the catfish. Nicely fried, with the meat cooked through and tasty. The grits were good as well, so I can now order them again without getting confused.

But my real favourite was the pork. Those two chops up there were a thing of beauty. I daintily sliced into one, and found it to be pan fried, cooked through, but marvelously soft and moist, not the dried-out shoe leather you usually get with a pork chop. I went to cut another piece…..

“Sir, are you enjoying that pork chop?’ A large hand clapped me on the shoulder.

“Yes, yes I am.” I assured the large gentleman who was smiling at me.

“I need to tell you the rules here at the Breakfast Klub. We never use knives and forks with your pork chops. You use your hands and just eat.”

“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.” I picked one of the chops up with my fingers and bit in to show him that I was with the program.

“Good. You enjoy now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Damn they were good pork chops, though. I finished them off, wolfed down the catfish, and did a manly attempt at finishing the eggs. Figuring that I was close enough to done, I made a break for it before anything else happened.

Driving back, I could feel the mass of food working my system. It had been a lot of food to get through, but I felt I’d done well enough. Hopefully, I’d make it through the upcoming plane trip without anything going too wrong.

Really good pork chops.

[Peter Green]

This link to part 2 will take you to what I think is a better start (at least a more coherent one) for the Bogota section of this trip.

I think we'll be seeing more and more of this city as a food centre, and so I'd like to do it full justice.

I was also being overconfident in keeping three narratives going on at the same time. Obviously, I shouldn't be letting work get in the way of things like this.

More soon.

Peter

[Shelby]

Dude, those claws are HUGE!!! I know exactly what you mean about hitting the "crab wall". I'm the same way with lobster.

Mmmmmmmm......grits......... I love 'em with cheddar cheese and jalapenos.

[Peter Green]

Mmmmmmmm......grits.........  I love 'em with cheddar cheese and jalapenos.

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Hmmm, how would shredded parmesan and some olive oil do with grits? We're sort of working on the same lines as polenta.....kinda...... I wonder if I have room left in my luggage for some to take home?

[Shelby]

Mmmmmmmm......grits.........  I love 'em with cheddar cheese and jalapenos.

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Hmmm, how would shredded parmesan and some olive oil do with grits? We're sort of working on the same lines as polenta.....kinda...... I wonder if I have room left in my luggage for some to take home?

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I think it would be GREAT!

Around here, we make something called "mush". It's similar to grits except you put it in a loaf pan and chill it. After that you take it out and fry slices of it in bacon grease--great with butter and syrup, or cheese and peppers.

[Peter Green]

Mmmmmmmm......grits.........  I love 'em with cheddar cheese and jalapenos.

←

Hmmm, how would shredded parmesan and some olive oil do with grits? We're sort of working on the same lines as polenta.....kinda...... I wonder if I have room left in my luggage for some to take home?

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I think it would be GREAT!

Around here, we make something called "mush". It's similar to grits except you put it in a loaf pan and chill it. After that you take it out and fry slices of it in bacon grease--great with butter and syrup, or cheese and peppers.

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That's why I like egullet! We get (and give) the best advice on healthy eating!

[Shelby]

Mmmmmmmm......grits.........  I love 'em with cheddar cheese and jalapenos.

←

Hmmm, how would shredded parmesan and some olive oil do with grits? We're sort of working on the same lines as polenta.....kinda...... I wonder if I have room left in my luggage for some to take home?

←

I think it would be GREAT!

Around here, we make something called "mush". It's similar to grits except you put it in a loaf pan and chill it. After that you take it out and fry slices of it in bacon grease--great with butter and syrup, or cheese and peppers.

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That's why I like egullet! We get (and give) the best advice on healthy eating!

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It's very low fat

[judiu]

Dinner that evening was at Truluck’s, close by the Galleria.

They’d used to be further down Westheimer, but they’d moved out here a year or so ago when the old lease came up, taking advantage of the lunch business you can draw from the Galleria and the surrounding offices.

Naturally, I walked. The front desk was aghast at this. “You’re not taking your car?”

I wonder about this place at times.

Peter, you have to remember that Houston used to be the oil city, so driving everywhere became the "support your hometown" thing to do. It's also because cars are climate controlled and Houston's weather can be horrible.

[Peter Green]

I'll be coming back to this thread for a moment or two, once I catch up in the others. I did have time for one last meal in Houston transiting from Bogota to Midland.

To set the feel for the trip, I've missed out on the background music.

As mentioned in passing, Dengue Fever and the City of Ghosts soundtracks were my aural comforts during this period (and Dengue Fever has a new album out!).

For reading, I'd completed Orwell's Down and Out in Paris and London, during this phase. It'd been years since I read it, and I find the description of a plongeur's life still to be pretty much dead on, while his talk of poverty makes a lot more sense to me now that I'm older than when I was young.

Okay, I've got to write more about drinking, and then more about Bogota.

[kbjesq]

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Damn! I am in Florida and we don't see claws that size around here too often. FWIW, I think that many people have a wall when it comes to crab, and that's why its safe for Truluck's to offer an "all you can eat" Florida stone crab dinner special on Mondays.

Thanks for your reports, they really have changed my opinion of Houston.

[Peter Green]

Houston, again

This was the briefest of interludes. Just a way stop between Bogota (part 1) and Midland (part 3) .

After an extremely long day of travel on Saturday (and I am still in shock that the lounges in the USA charge for everything, American Airlines’ Miami club including internet access in their fee-based “service”) I arrived back in Houston, cleared my luggaged, and picked up a car to get me back to the Marriott for a night’s sleep and to pick up my left luggage.

After a half hour’s drive, one go around on the the Nuevo Latino CD I’d bought, and an attempt by two blondes to engage me in business from a stop light (“no thank you, I’d really rather sleep”), I found myself back in a bed.

When I did wake up the next day, it was to fog and warmth. The weather had changed. I contemplated my clothing choices with this increase in temperature, and began the sorry job of packing.

I also had to make contact with a friend of a friend. I’d ordered some things from Amazon, and needed to collect them at this time. Our plans had changed, and we wouldn’t be stopping here after Midland, but would rather be moving straight on to Calgary after we’d done what needed doing.

Unfortunately, when you’re relying on people for favours you really can’t complain. I put the dead time to good use, though, and got my luggage in order for decamping the next morning.

When the material did arrive, I finished packing and then headed out for a quick bite. Being a Sunday, I was limited on my options. Reef wasn’t open (I’d had to do a long-distance cancellation of my previous night’s reservations), and it was now too late to get back to Hugo’s for another go at the Mexican. I was hungry, and still tired, so I fell back on my old favourites.

Back to the Cajun

But I only regressed so far.

My immediate reaction was to go for the usual, but I thought, “I just ate here a week or so ago, and I may not be back for awhile. Let’s try something different”.

First, I asked if I could try the infused vodka in a martini. The waiter was kind enough to warn me as to the strength of the flavours, but we agreed that, as this was in the interest of science, we’d put that caution aside.

I’d have to agree with him. It was a little on the odd side, the onions in particular overpowering things (which is surprising, as I figured the garlic would win out) and then the olive and capsicum. Still, it was wet, and I was there, and I really didn’t have any trouble polishing it off.

After that, I set to trying to expand my repetoire. Luckily, the Cajun offers many of it’s dishes in cups, rather than full-sized, so I spread myself out a bit.

First up were two standards of cajun cooking: a crawfish etouffee and a shrimp & crab gumbo.

The etouffee had that rich, elegant sauce that just cries out to your arteries, with the crawfish tails in that gravy just chewing down real easy.

I’m drooling again. Sorry. Just let me clean this up.

I polished that off smartly, and then turned my attention to the gumbo. This was much thinner, as expected, and the stock had a good backdrop of boiled prawn (or crawfish?) heads. It was a black roux, and had that feel of low tide and rotting carcasses that I admire so much. A bit of a bite in there, too, which is good to feel. I’ve had too many gumbos that were scared to offend, and generally ended up doing just that.

Lots of crab and shrimp in there, and the rice was nicely bloated (like me!).

I followed that up with the Mardi Gras oysters. They’d been breaded and fried, then placed back in their shells and smothered in pico de gallo (“rooster’s beak”). These were okay, but I don’t know if I’d be in a hurry to go back to them. I guess if you have oysters that don’t taste that good raw, this is a way to make them more palatable. But if they don’t taste that good to begin with, why have them?

But alongside this was a bowl of red beans and rice. You can never go wrong with red beans and rice, especially when you top up with raw onions and shredded cheese. My appetite was fading, but I added seom Pepperdoux sauce and made certain I cleaned up all of the sausage in there.

That done, I considered another dish, and then thought better. I needed to be out in Katie in a few hours for the Super Bowl with some Canadian friends (we treat it as an anthropological study), and I didn’t want to be too full. Cathy’s a very good cook, and I knew I could expect good things out there.

I was not disappointed, either. When I arrived she had pulled pork on the go, and Paul was getting out the buns. We yacked, ate, drank, and occassionally watched the game. It was great not working in real time, as Paul had the recorder going so that when things got real dull (as Superbowls always do) we could cut over and watch some back episodes of Corner Gas.

Some chicken wings, all sauce and juice on my fingers and beard, and plenty of Labatt’s Blue.

Dinner was lamb, and it was very good, much better than the game, which really only came alive in the last two minutes. We had this with a Chilean Carmen Cab (that I’d mistaken as Argentinian) that I’d brought back from Bogota, and the evening just got more fun as we went along.

And for a temptation beyond all other cherries. Remember, I spend several months at a time in the desert. These are something I dream about from a childhood in Vancouver.

I should’ve taken more pictures of Cathy’s cooking than I did, but I was too busy relaxing, catching up, and just being human again. After days on the road, it was good to be eating in a home again. This was my one break in the three and a half weeks of business travel I had, and I needed it.

I got back to the hotel in good shape, finalized my packing, and went to bed.

Next day I had another culture to visit.

Next – Midland

[Joe McNeely]

I'm feeling rather curmudgeonly today, so I'll add a few negative comments about several of these places. I'm pretty demanding when it comes to food and don't put up with very much nonsense. But I visit places wanting to like them, and usually have high expectations.

Cafe Montrose: I visited there last summer and was very disappointed after reading nothing but good reviews. I too had the mussels, but was dismayed by the small serving, the small size of the individual mussels, and the fact that too many of them remained unopened. The fries that accompanied them were abysmal, and fries were supposed to be Cafe Montrose's claim to fame. These were soggy and had obviously been reheated. I've never eaten any meal done so poorly in either France or Belgium. On the other hand, the apple crepe was utterly fantastic! The waiter and owner of the place talked with my companion and me for quite a while. The owner was quite outspoken and friendly. I hope we caught them on a bad day and wish them well, but based on this one experience I wouldn't return.

Monica Pope: I've only visited one of her restaurants, and that was quite a few years ago. It was Boulevard Bistro on Montrose. It was a horrible experience, and far too expensive for what it was. I had invited several couples to join me and had highly recommended the place to them based on reviews. The service was awful throughout, alternating between complete inattentiveness and outright confusion, either ignoring us when needed or getting things mixed up. While I thought the quality of the food was alright, the portion sizes were laughable. We ordered an appetizer for five, and it was three very scant tablesoons of various dips like hummous, tapenade and so forth along with just a few slices of white bread. I remember getting the salmon, and it was one half of a steak. Not even a whole steak, but just one of the slender flanks that extend down where the fish's cavity is, about as large as my middle finger. My companions' meals were similarly portioned and I distinctly remember everyone's faces dropping and conversation stopping when the food arrived. At one point I visited the toilets only to find our waitress passed out in the hallway, obviously high on drugs, which accounted for her extreme spaciness and confusion while serving us. The place was popular with lesbians, and while I couldn't care less about other people's sexual preferences, I'd rather not eat my meal surrounded by women sticking their tongues down other women's throats. And I'm not only talking about some of the customers, but the waitstaff as well, right in front of the customers. Real classy place! I could go on about this, recounting more bad things that happened, but why? I have never returned and will never again eat at a Monica Pope restaurant. Ta'afia or whatever it's called can go to culinary hell.

Trulucks: Only ate there once. I don't remember many details, but do remember everything being so utterly mediocre and bland and tired and uninspired and disappointing. This is another place on my list to never return to.

Sorry for the downer, but I lived in Houston for 14 years and still own a house there. There are good restaurants there, but in my opinion these aren't among them. I do get irritated by those places that consistently get good writeups but fail to live up to them.

Edited March 4, 2008 by Joe McNeely (log)