Surprising Septuagenarians in the South West (or "Eating Like An Asshole Week: Day 6")

The following morning was a bit hectic. My sister's car had been having trouble for a couple of days and had symptoms of a bad battery. We'd had to jump the car off after returning from Artz the night before and it only grudgingly started again afterward. So this was of great concern to the parents when they phoned at 8:30 in the morning, because they were afraid they might have to give us a ride to a battery place and they didn't have a lot of time on their hands--at least, according to them.

See, on their way to Austin from Dallas, days before, they'd very nearly missed their plane. They said they'd left their hotel in plenty of time, but with a side trip or so and rental car return they'd arrived for check-in so late that they were advised by the airline agent not to take the time to check their bag or they'd miss the flight for sure. They arrived at their gate in the nick of time, and were told that they should have missed the flight as the plane was past time for shutting its doors. (I have a theory as to why that was the case, which we'll get to in another entry.) The previous night, after helping us jump the sister's car, dad had announced they would be turning in early so they could arise in time to get to the airport early in order to avoid a repeat. It was heavily implied that if we wanted to eat breakfast with them or get a potential life to a battery place, we'd need to arise early too.

Eight thirty may not seem very early, but for those of us who stayed up til all hours drinking White Russians, not to mention those of us needing to sleep off our food benders, it was. Now, the previous evening, while drinking the White Russians, my sister and I had already determined what the parents would want for breakfast, there in the capital city for not only Texas but also of the very concept of Amazing Breakfast itself: yep, McDonalds.

And, surprise surprise, when dad called at 8:30, he said that in order to help facilitate their rapid escape to the airport in plenty of time, he was suggesting we all stop off at McDonalds. Now, my family has a long and storied history of loving McDonalds and, these days, the parents eat there nearly every morning. But there was no way in hell we kids were settling for Mickey Greeze when there were ginger-bread pancakes to be found elsewhere. Still, we agreed to accompany them there in order to spend time with them before they had to leave--which was actually the other thing we were amused by. Despite the fact that my sister lives ten minutes from the Austin airport, and despite the fact that there are plenty of great breakfast places in the neighborhood, the parents wanted to scarf down their McMuffins and be at the airport by 10 a.m. so they could get to the airport in plenty of time for their 11:30 flight.

We had to jump off the sister's car in order to get to McDonalds, and again after breakfast in order to get to Auto Zone, but we saw the parents off by 10 and got a new battery installed shortly with no real problem. Then, as the parents were no doubt settling into their seats at the gate for a nice long 90 minute wait, we settled into a booth at Kerbey Lane for heaping breakfast tacos and pancakes. Our waiter seemed just a little bit annoyed by something. We couldn't tell if it was us or any of the five other tables he was responsible for, but he didn't have a lot of the standard customer service beaming-attitude. (Kerbey Lane wait staff tends to be drawn from multiply-pierced and tattooed Indie Music scene day-job types.) It was kind of refreshing, really, as he seemed very much like a real person and not a plastic servant to our needs. And as a former waiter myself, he proved to be my hero in that department in how he dealt with a table full of granola neo-hippie types who were seated near us mid-way through our meal. From the moment they sat down, they began plying the waiter for what sort of food the place served without bothering to open their menus or even pause for him to take their drink orders. After about three such questions on pancake flavor options, or vegan content, all of which could have been answered far more efficiently by the document in front of them, the waiter said, "You know, you could just try looking at the menu." There was a pause as it seemed to dawn on them that they could indeed do that and that it wouldn't violate their free-spirited nature to do so, and gave him their drink orders. We couldn't help but laugh out loud.

By 5, we weren't hungry, but were starting to think about it. Especially since our dinner destination was going to be a bit of a drive. We were headed, as I might have mentioned before, to the Salt Lick.

(TO BE CONTINUED...)

Surprising Septuagenarians in the South West (or "Eating Like An Asshole Week: Day 5")

As much as we'd adored Casa Maria when the sister took us, we thought we had to bring the parents there, too. Everyone ordered the migas plate again, except for me. Wanting to be more adventuresome, I ordered the machacado plate--which turned out to be almost exactly the same thing as migas, only without tortilla chips and with dried beef instead of chorizo sausage. (That's okay, cause I just added tortilla chips on my own.) Once again, their flour tortillas, used to wrap up our breakfast-matter, were amazing, heavenly cakes of pure goodness. One major revelation of the meal, though, came when the waitress told us that the tortillas were actually made at a completely different restaurant owned by the same people and imported. That means that potentially there exist even fresher tortillas which could only be better, right? The concept boggles my mind.

Let me say a couple of words about barbeque: good stuff. I don't deny it. However, barbeque is kind of one of those foods that people take really personally. The regions of the country famous for making it each have their own spin on it and each region claims there's is the best. Now, I'm able to enjoy nearly all kinds of barbeque because I'm not terribly picky, though I do confess to not eating ribs often because I just can't deal with the mess of them. My wife is not so blessed as me. She's a vinegar-based barbeque gal and is even pretty choosy within that sub-genre. And it is because of this reason that until the day before our trip, we had not dined at the local barbeque joint in Borderland. Then, the very night we left to drive to Charlotte, on our way out of town, we decided to give it a try despite the fact that it claimed to be barbeque of a style more at home in a major mid-south city, as opposed to NC or Austin. Our logic in this was that we would soon be in Austin and were planning to head to the world famous Salt Lick restaurant at some point so we may as well get the barbeque party started early. We needn't have bothered, for it turns out that our local barbeque joint is aggressively sub par in nearly every way. We were pissed off.

So, for Day 5's dinner, we decided it was time to head to the Salt Lick. Before we could leave for it, though, we talked ourselves out of it. From what we'd been told, and what Mapquest suggested, the Salt Lick was a 45 minute drive at minimum and usually had a wait for a table of around the same. Instead, we headed to Artz Ribhouse, on Lamar. The sister had heard it was good, but not tried Artz herself. Turns out, she heard right. There was a table the size of our party readily available and the live band that fired up was of exactly the correct volume to allow for conversation. I ordered a brisket plate, but I should have ordered the ribs. One look at my sister's rib plate and I could see and smell my error clearly. The wife took one look at them and ordered one rib of her own to accompany her cheeseburger. I wound up having a bite or two myself and can attest that they are pretty awesome.

However much I enjoyed Artz Ribhouse's ribs, though, I may never set foot in the place again due to the the ribs I ate the following evening when we finally did make it to the Salt Lick.

(TO BE CONTINUED...)

GASTRONOMICAL JOURNAL FOR DAY 5
Breakfast: Return to Casa Maria for Machacado.
Lunch: -
Dinner: Brisket and ribs at Artz Ribhouse

Surprising Septuagenarians in the South West (or "Eating Like An Asshole Week: Day 4")

Okay, lemme just tell you, if you're interested in breakfast and you're in the Austin area, you need to head up to the Original Pancake House in North Austin. My sister had told us tales of the incredible things to be found there. So we made the 20 minute trek north and braved the additional 20 minute wait time for an 11 a.m. table, by which time we were starved. However, the meal was WELL worth the wait. Original Pancake House is a wondrous, wondrous place because not only is their food fantastic but nearly every meal combination they offer comes with delicious buttermilk pancakes. And for a slight fee, you can have those pancakes exchanged for nearly any other kind of pancake on the menu. So, for instance, when I ordered my Meat Lover's Skillet, I had my buttermilk pancakes exchanged for bacon pancakes. That's right: Bacon. Pancakes. That means pancake batter mixed with chunks of bacon in it, then slapped lovingly into a skillet, fried up and served with syrup on the side. They were outEFFINGstanding!

After breakfast, the parents departed for a field trip to see some friends of theirs in the area, leaving us to our own devices. First on the agenda was to visit a comic shop we'd passed by on the way there, Capstone Comics. I'd not been to Capstone before, but it was quite an impressive place with a fine selection of books. Unfortunately, they didn't have the two collections of THE GOON I was looking for, but they did have plenty of FABLES, so I picked up the "War & Pieces" trade.

For "lunch" we hit another of our favorite places, Amy's Ice Cream, in down town Austin. Amy's is similar to Cold Stone Creamery, offering many flavors into which toppings can be mixed. I had Coffee and Heath ice cream with Oreos and Nutter Butters mixed in. It was not the only time we'd visit Amy's that day.

Our supper was at Umi Sushi Bar & Grill, a destination we'd planned after assuming the parents would be eating with their friends. My parents aren't known for their adventurous eating and in the past we've nearly had to nearly force them to try more exotic fare. (Which I always find ironic, since it was my dad who used to have to force my sister and I to try new things.) In fact, during our last visit to Austin, I'd started to feel guilty that we had insisted we would be eating Indian Food at the Clay Pit restaurant--that is, until my dad suggested we keep breakfast light one day and just eat at McDonalds instead of one of the many fantastic Austin-based breakfast establishments. However, sushi is something of a different creature, cuisine-wise. The wife and I love it, but the sister and parents hadn't really had anything beyond Chinese buffet sushi, and the real thing is not for everyone. Still, they said they were up for it, though once we were at the restaurant we learned that my step-mother's stomach actually wasn't feeling too good, unrelated to the sushi.

The sushi at Umi Austin, while pretty good stuff, did not arrive in the proportions I've come to expect from dining at other sushi restaurants. After polishing off our own double-roll orders within minutes, the wife and I wound up ordering an additional sampler plate to share with the table (i.e. my sister, as the parents were not going to stray from their chicken teriyaki).

As a refreshing palete-cleanser, we all headed back to Amy's, albeit a different location. I was even able to guess the movie quote on the blackboard ("Somebody blows their nose and you want to keep it?") and won a free topping. I love Amy's.

GASTRONOMICAL JOURNAL FOR DAY 4

Breakfast: Original Pancake House-- had a meatlovers skillet and bacon pancakes!

Lunch: Amy's Ice Cream Heath & Coffee Ice Cream with Oreos and Nutter Butters

Dinner: Umi Sushi Bar & Grill

Dessert: Amy's Ice Cream (different location) Dirt Cake (chocolate cheese cake ice cream with Oreos) plus Nutter Butters.

Surprising Septuagenarians in the South West (or "Eating Like An Asshole Week: Day 3")

My vision restored, we awoke mid-morning and headed out for breakfast with the `rents. Our chosen destination, our favorite purveyor of breakfast tacos: Juan in a Million.

I wrote about Juan in a Million in a previous incarnation of the blog. Since then it has appeared on Man Vs. Food to much-deserved acclaim. Everything I wrote back then still stands. Go read it. SonofaBee the Don Juan is a massive amount of breakfast taco goodness, but especially when paired with their tortilla chips, guacamole and a hearty handshake from Juan himself. We stuffed ourselves into stupidity, and I was still the only one of use who finished his entire plate of food--bunch of amateurs.

Which brings me to a major point: when most people head to Austin, they come for the atmosphere, the shopping, the music, the vibe. We come for the food. No where else that we've been has such a concentration of truly delicious restaurants at reasonable prices. It was our stated goal to get up very early every day so we could fit in an extra meal and enjoy that much more of the food to be had--our diets be damned. Trouble is, our intestinal transit time was not as swift as one would need it to be in order to accommodate the kind of quantities we were envisioning. Very quickly we found that we could realistically only eat about two meals a day, with almost no snacking in between. Sad, really.

We spent our day running the wife and step-mother to find a good bead shop where we stranded them, leaving to go find a proper comic shop. We didn't find it. What we should have done was driven immediately to Austin Comics & Books which, with every visit, further cements itself as my favorite comic shop ever. Instead, we went to find a different comic shop that my sister had never been to. We found it and it was pretty tiny and not at all what I was looking for. By the time we found it, though, we didn't have any time to go to a good shop before having to return to the bead store and rescue the ladies. I would have to wait for comic shop goodness.

GASTRONOMICAL JOURNAL FOR DAY 3
Breakfast: Juan in a Million's Don Juan.

Lunch: Leftovers from Cheesecake factory in which I ate the remainder of the wife's shepherd's pie.

Dinner: Hills Cafe's Original Burger and fries.

Beer Journal: Lone Star beer at Hills Cafe (pretty standard beer). More Blue Moon later.

Surprising Septuagenarians in the South West (or "Eating Like An Asshole Week: Day 2")

Our game plan was to leave Borderland on the day before Dad's birthday, stay the night in Charlotte, and then fly out the following morning for Austin. Dad wasn't scheduled to arrive there until the day after his birthday, so we'd have a full day of hanging out with the sister and eating glorious, fantastic Austin food. And that we did. We even managed to keep our yaps shut when Dad called the sister that afternoon, no doubt snooping to see if he could hear us in the background. We made not a peep. And I phoned him later on to wish him a happy birthday, but waited until I knew he was at his F-8 pilot reunion, so we'd show up on his phone as having called without having to say anything untruthful about our whereabouts.

Our next item on the agenda was to crap on Dad's expectation that we were indeed in Austin to give us at least a small surprise buffer for all our sneaky planning effort. It wouldn't do for the sister to pick the `rents up from the airport and bring them back to her place to find us waiting there. It would be much better for there to be no evidence of our presence at all and for us to be elsewhere entirely. She could let them relax around her place for a good couple of hours, then take them out to dinner that night, where they would find us waiting at the restaurant. Not having a car, and not being willing to rent one to pull off that gag, we'd toyed with the idea of simply whiling the time away at the shopping center near our chosen restaurant, the Cheesecake Factory. Something about this plan seemed frought with potential to go awry, though. It would be just like Dad to suddenly develop an aversion to cheesecake or a stomach concern that would not allow for the consumption of tasty food. We'd have to reveal the "surprise" and then the joke would be on us.

Instead, the wife and I decided to go swimming in her apartment's pool, figuring we could work off some of our Kerbey Lane brunch and while away a couple hours. The sister could pick them up, bring them back, lull them into a false sense of our nonpresence for a while (our luggage well hidden) and then offer to take them on a tour of the complex that would end at the pool, where we would be waiting.

The plan worked like a charm, though the ultimate execution was not without some flaws. The biggest of these came from my love of swimming underwater and my lack of swimming goggles. I know that doing this will usually result in some hazy vision due to the chlorine, but mine started going hazy within half an hour of being in the water. And by the time we got out to lounge and read while we waited, it was pretty hazy indeed.

After an hour and a half, I got a text from my sister that they were headed our way for the "tour" so the wife and I got back in the water and hid behind the lip of the pool until we heard them approach some minutes later. Then we popped up from the water and surprised Dad but good. We later were able to get him to admit that he suspected we would be there, but that he'd had second thoughts when we weren't waiting at the apartment.

On the way to dinner, my vision seemed to be getting worse. Usually chlorine haze begins to fade after an hour or two, but mine was increasing to the point that I could barely see due to the haze halos I saw around streetlights. (Fortunately I was not driving.) This didn't stop me from having a fantastic meal at the Cheesecake Factory, of course. I'd never been to one before, though I have eaten cheesecake from there. The food can be pricy, depending on what you order, but is of great quality and satisfying quantity. After all, there's little I hate more than paying a lot of money for an entree and getting two French fries with it. Glad to report that my Fish & Chips had q&q in both the fish and chip departments, and the proportions of everyone else's meals seemed as good.

Before our dessert arrived, I left the table to track down our waiter to let him know that when it came time to bring the bill it was to be given only to me. There were two other men at the table, both known for politely swiping the bill and I wasn't taking any chances on them doing it. Not long after I returned to the table, the waiter brought out our cheesecakes and my dad's had whipped cream and a candle. The wait staff did the traditional Happy Birthday and we dug in. I immediately asked the wife and the sister if they'd told the waiter about the birthday, because I hadn't mentioned it. They'd assumed I had. Now, we must have mentioned it aloud at some point during the meal for the waiter to have overheard it but it was an impressive pull all the same.

When it came time for the bill, the waiter brought it to me as ordered. I took a look at it and realized I couldn't see the numbers very well. It was very dim in the Cheesecake Factory and that combined with my still worsening vision made the figure difficult to see without getting comically close to the bill. I didn't want to pass it to anyone else for confirmation, so I finally squinted until I was pretty sure I had it.

The fact that my vision wasn't getting any better disturbed me. The wife suggested that the extra-chlorinated pool might have stripped away some of the essential oils from my eyes, causing them to dry out in the air and not function properly. My dad suggested I smear some Vaseline in them, and in a pinch I might have, but the wife pointed out it wasn't sterile. Instead we popped by Wally World and picked up some medicated ointment, which felt soothing pretty quickly and had reestablished my vision by the time I briefly woke around 2 a.m.

GASTRONOMICAL JOURNAL FOR DAY 2

Breakfast: Casa Maria's Migas platter with extra thick home-baked tortillas. Holy crap this was an amazing meal and the best tortillas I've had stateside. We ordered extra just to sit and inhale their heavenly aroma.

Lunch: Quick light lunch of pastries we bought at Casa Maria's bakery.

Dinner: Cheesecake Factory fish & chips platter, Adam's Peanut Butter Cup Cheesecake

Beer Journal Day Two: Blue Moon from Cheesecake Factory, with a slice of lemon, chosen because a friend of the sister's told me to always bet on Belgian when it came to beer. He was right. Delish. Bought a six-pack of it later.

Surprising Septuagenarians in the South West (or "Eating Like An Asshole Week: Day 1")

It's been kind of quiet here on the blog, but not quiet in my life. Unfortunately, I couldn't write about any of it for fear of spoilers.

See the wife and I flew out to Austin, TX, last week to stay with my sister for a few days. Beyond the fact that we love hanging out with my sister and LOOOOOVE Austin--particularly its food--we had a primary goal before us as well, which was to surprise my dad on his 70th birthday.


Back in June, I approached my step-mother, Myra, about Dad's impending October birthday and mentioned that the wife and I thought it would be fun to throw him a surprise birthday party. In our envisioned plan, we and my sister would fly in to my home town in Starkville, MS, a day or so before the party, stay with friends, have everything set up for the party in advance (place to have it, food, etc.) and then on his birthday Myra would take Dad out for a small birthday dinner only to turn up at the party location where we would be waiting with all of his friends. He'd be surprised, have fun and we'd all eat heartilly and party til dawn or 9:30, whichever came first. Myra thought this sounded good. Naturally, Dad wasn't going to make it that easy.


Not long after we returned home to Borderland, Myra informed us that Dad had announced that there was a reunion of F-8 pilots in Dallas on his birthday and he wanted to go to it. He was a pilot in the Navy and flew F-8s for a couple months. He'd even contacted the organizers for permission to crash it--the reunion, not the F-8s. So we decided to relocate the party to my sister's in Austin, because Dad would certainly pop over to see her for at least a day if he was in the area. Of course, no sooner had we all adjusted the plan then Dad called to let us know he was going to be in Texas on his birthday in case we wanted to come down... HINT HINT.


Dammit!


We decided that even if he hoped we would come, we wouldn't say anything about it and would actively make like we weren't planning to come. Besides, it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility for Dad to change his mind about the trip. We went ahead and bought plane tickets and left it to Myra to convince Dad not to change his mind.


A couple weeks ago, my sister called to point out a flaw in the plan. While we'd assumed Dad & Myra would stay in a hotel while they were in Austin, allowing us to stay with my sister, Dad would be assuming they'd be staying with the sister and wouldn't make reservations. It was a good point. So we let him go on thinking that and reserved a hotel for them as part of the birthday present package.


Meanwhile, we were becoming increasingly of the opinion that Dad wasn't going to be surprised in the least at us showing up for his birthday--after all, he'd suggested it. And while we couldn't count on the surprise factor being strong, we could at least play with the execution of it in ways he wasn't expecting, thus leading to something of a surprise.


(TO BE CONTINUED...)


GASTRONOMICAL JOURNAL FOR DAY 1


Breakfast: shitfer waffles, a bagel and a banana at the hotel we stayed at in Charlotte (where our room smelled like feet and that was the nicest thing we could say about it).


Lunch: A hamburger, fries and a breakfast burrito, plus several bites of the wife's gingerbread pancakes at Kerbey Lane.

Dinner: Indian Food from a nearby buffet.

Beer Journal Entry #1: Lobotomy Bock (which was bitter and not to my liking), and my safety beer choice of Dos Equis Ambar.

Small Deaths #9 : Behold a Fresh Victim

(An ongoing pictorial series chronicling the poor, small, stuffed animals my dog Sadie has murdered during the course of her life. Not for the faint of heart.)

Oops. Called that one a bit quick.