Welcome back to the weekly roundup here at Eating...Our Words, where we've seen ice cream trucks, carts and bikes, but are still in the design stage on the ice cream motorcycle. Mostly we're hung up on how to keep the refrigerated sidecar from flying open when the Creamcycle launches itself off a 50-foot ramp and lands smack dab in the middle of, say, a child's birthday party. And you were gonna hire a clown.
Speaking of ice cream, we started the week off right with a look into Houston's ten best purveyors of said delicious frozen treat. Given the time of year, you may very well be able to write off ice cream on your taxes as mental health counseling. (Note from the Houston Press legal department: NO, YOU IDIOT.)
New to sushi? Don't sweat it: We've provided a handy-dandy guide to getting started on a lifelong sushi appreciation. And remember: Sushi chefs love it when you give them suggestions on how they should cut, stack and otherwise assemble your sushi rolls. They can't get enough of it! The more hands-on you are, the better! No, really!
Need a sandwich but tired of eating it from between two slices of boring old bread? The Waffle Bus has got you covered on that, as they serve their waffles sandwich-style for more convenient devouring. Has anyone thought of trying this with pizza? Quasi-appropriate sandwich casings are all I want to eat when I'm drunk.
What was foodin' in Texas like 30-plus years ago? You can take a little peek with us if you'd like, but it's pretty tame compared to the Bacon and Wiener Pimento Cheese Jell-O™ Salad of the 1950s or the Key Party Coke 'n' Coke Cakes of the 1970s. Really, the only difference between 1981 and right now is back then most of the food processors doubled as Ataris.
What's an immense, upscale suburban people-hive need more than an immense, upscale suburban supermarket? We don't know, because The Woodlands and Trader Joe's are now inside of one another and we can't even remember the world the way it was before. We tried to pretend the Local Foods in Rice Village was enough, but we were lying to ourselves. We can admit that now.
By the time you're 30, you need to have a signature cocktail or else turn in your License to Be a Grown-Ass Adult and head on back to high school to try again, just like in that Adam Sandler movie but hopefully not absolutely insufferable in every way. In case any of you are keeping track (ladieeeeeees), mine is the French 75 in the summer months and the Whiskey Sour the rest of the time. Yes, you're allowed seasonal signatures, we're not cavemen here. We'll even accept frozen varieties.
We tried to solve the riddle of which is better, pancakes or French toast, and even I have to admit we're kind of sowing discord where none should be. Seriously, this one is like trying to choose between children and that is deeply disturbing to me, especially since I don't have any kids and should not be Streep-level traumatized by choosing between syrupy breakfasts.
Sometimes great places to eat are buried deep within scary little shitbag Klan towns and therefore you're better off eating at a lesser-quality but highway-adjacent chain restaurant. We listed some of the better choices, but omitted a key player. If three or more adults are on a road trip together and they pass a Cracker Barrel and one, just one of them, shouts "BARREL UP!" then the vehicle must pull in to the Cracker Barrel for a meal. Even if you have literally just eaten. Break this rule of the highway and you might as well fill your trunk with dead albatrosses.
God damn, these people did the Fourth of July right. I'm honestly kind of pissed off at myself for not knowing about this.
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Hey, did you know a huge chunk of the populace at large is functionally illiterate? It's true, and guess what, they are all on Twitter. Marvel upon their intellectual putrescence. (Note to dumb people: That last sentence was a compliment. And you smell good, too!)
Finally, some of y'all are getting on in years, and Eating...Our Words would like to remind you to get regular Silpat examinations. Have a great weekend!