Unless you're crazy about Lysol and Tilex, we can almost guarantee that the bathrooms at Jenni's Noodle House are cleaner than yours. You could eat a plate of Jenni's famous disco dumplings right off the floor (not that Jenni would appreciate that). But it's not just the shiny surfaces and sweet smell of these lavatories that make them our pick for best johns. It's their sense of hospitality. A table holds tiny plastic cups and a bottle of Scope, in case you need to freshen your breath after a plate of Buddha soba or Art Car curry. There's a bottle of hand cream in there, too. And a friendly sign suggests that diners wipe down the sink for the benefit of future patrons. While most of us would be tempted to laugh off that request in other restaurants, there's something about Jenni's sense of decorum that makes us want to chip in and help -- or at the very least, not forget to flush.

The Sunday-night Etta's experience never fails to leave a lasting impression on visitors. It isn't simply the soul music or the burgers or the buckets of Budweiser (or the guilty pleasure of partying into the working week). The atmosphere here is spiritual. This is night church. The older, sharply dressed African-American crowd sips Canadian whiskey at the front end of the room, while the casual, college-age mob congregates toward the back. They meet on the dance floor thanks to the music of Grady Gaines and the Texas Upsetters. Young and old do the Harlem shuffle unfazed by the gawky first-timers fighting for rhythm against the waves of veteran shufflers crashing around them. You only learn by doing, child.
On a day when it isn't too terribly hot, take a blanket out to Hermann Park. If it's Sunday, grab a bagel, some coffee and The New York Times. Then settle in and take a look around. You might see a family on the hill singing "Let's Go Fly a Kite" -- until the mother yells at the father for not holding the kite right. You might see a couple rolling around on a blanket in a mad embrace. You might see a weird dance troupe in alien-inspired unitards frolicking around for production pictures. And when you get sick of the people, there are always the ducks.
Photo by Joanna O'Leary
It's easy to screw up a first date. You could: a) come on too strong or not strong enough, b) bring a vegetarian to a steak house or c) spend the evening detailing your sexual history. If you have a propensity for answer c, we can't help you. But choosing the perfect first-date venue could solve your other problems. Backstreet Cafe will send your date the right message. It's classy, but it's not Mark's -- that would signify that you're trying too hard. At Backstreet, there are no tablecloths, but there's a sommelier. The menu offers not only sandwiches but also fancier steak and fish dishes. And just in case your date has forsworn flesh, there's a killer veggie plate. The restaurant is a converted two-story house with intimate dining areas in several rooms, and its easy combination of romance and casualness will set the perfect tone for your evening. If you manage to steer clear of ex-talk, you're virtually guaranteed a smooch or two.
Photo by Troy Fields
The Amacones don't just look cute -- they're delicious.
The love's run dry, and it's time to sit down and talk with the person you've been seeing. It would be rude to suggest a meeting at KFC. It would be misleading to go to somewhere romantic, like Aries. And it would be dangerous to visit any bar, which could lead to excessive drinking -- and a final shag. We suggest breaking up at Amazón Grill. The atmosphere is clean, bright, loud and decidedly neutral; the walk-up service casual; and the Latin cuisine, especially the corn empanadas and tacos, delish. Admittedly, the margaritas are also tasty and fairly strong, so allow yourself only one, just to get your nerve up before doing the deed. If it doesn't go well, you can tell your dinner companion that you're off for plantain chips and cilantro sauce and bolt for the parking lot.
Not far away, traffic is snarled on the Southwest Freeway as motorists fight to regain those lost minutes of lunchtime. Even closer, the crowds are crushing into Shepherd Plaza-area eateries for the midday rush. Thankfully, no such frenzies will ever find their way into The Lexington Grill. Tucked away on a quiet side street, this small restaurant thrives on its atmosphere of peaceful calm. Diners at the handful of tables may be closing a business deal or deep in romantic bliss. Their common love at the Lexington, however, is the dynamic food (including unrivaled crab cakes), splendid service and sense of intimacy -- the ingredients for truly memorable meals.

Cool evenings find the umbrella-studded corner patio at Taco Milagro packed with the young and the beautiful. Whether you're looking to be discovered by modeling agents from Page Parkes down the street or the politicos and oil magnates who frequent the Downing Street cigar bar next door, this place is all about seeing and being seen. Sit back, keep those Gucci shades on all night, and sip tequila. They'll find you.

The front of this market is much like that of any other grocery store. But walk past the pretty piles of fresh strawberries and green beans to the back of the market, and you'll be tempted to look over your shoulder for the border patrol. Here, the vegetables are dirt-cheap -- you can get a basket of anything for $1. There are trucks selling tacos, rows of Mexican candies, even little fruit bouquets like the ones you might find south of the border. The delights of Mexico, with no fear of Montezuma's revenge.

The best way to glimpse what youre missing as a nonmember of the country club set is to attend the annual River Oaks International Tennis Tournament. While the ticket is pricey, you dont need one to get on the grounds, only to enter the stadium. Sneak in some alcohol, because and this is a recent development -- you must be a member to order beer and mixed drinks. Once you're settled, gawk away. But a word to the wise: Stand still, wherever you are, during the national anthem; otherwise, some stiff wearing khakis and a navy-blue blazer may hassle you. On your way out, don't miss the miniature horses tied to the trees in some rich jerk's front yard -- a gawk-worthy site if ever there was one.

It's hard to stay focused when reading a book at a coffee shop. You're deep into Bel Canto, and suddenly the next table erupts into guffaws. The spell is broken. But it's always easy to find a quiet spot at the Houston Municipal Rose Garden. You can wander around and inhale the scents of a rainbow of roses, putting yourself in a sufficiently dreamy mood before settling down on a blanket with your novel. (If you're anti-grass, there's an ornate Chinese gazebo with benches.) And after hours of reading and relaxing, when the sun begins to set, honest-to-God bunnies materialize from nowhere and hop through the garden, chasing each other.

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