Grape Nuts, turtle cheesecake, orange-chocolate chip, mango madness and banana pudding are among the favorites at this vintage ice cream parlor on South Main. Hank and his wife make all the ice cream on site; they even roast their own pecans for their famous butter pecan. You can get yours in a cup or a cone or in pints, quarts and gallons packaged with dry ice to go. There's no gelato, mix-ins or any other gimmick, just old-fashioned homemade ice cream with lots of butterfat. Don't be surprised to see provocatively costumed members of the Houston Texans cheerleader squad buying cones here -- it's a popular after-practice hangout. There are also lots of pictures of football players on the wall, which is devoted to signed celebrity photos.
Readers' choice: Marble Slab
The eggs over easy at Lankford Grocery are cooked slowly so they stay tender -- the yolks are perfect, not too runny and not a bit hard. The patty-style sausage is a little spicy and a touch sweet. The home fries have lots of crisp corners. This place really was a grocery store when owner and head cook Eydie Prior was growing up here. Her parents opened the store in 1939. But it was the cooking that brought in the crowds, and so Lankford became a restaurant. And it may be the homiest one in the city. Eydie's grandkids often sit at the counter and watch cartoons while her daughter waits tables. The dining room seems to be located in what was once a garage. The smoking section is on a former driveway where two picnic tables are adorned with orange marigolds growing out of coffee cans. Every couple of months, Eydie goes on a decorating binge and decks the place out with a seasonal theme.
The malt shop doesn't sell malts anymore, but it goes through gallons of Kool-Aid every day. There is no sign on the building and no way to tell the address. In fact, the red building at the southwest corner of Lockwood and Mulvey looks abandoned. But if you pull into the two-car parking lot and push hard on the screen door, you will find perfection on a buttered bun. The old-fashioned burger is cooked on a hot griddle, so it has lots of dark, crinkly, crunchy edges yet it's still fat and juicy in the middle. Half a pound? Five-eighths of a pound? Who knows. They just grab a big handful of ground meat and make a burger out of it. The beef comes from a nearby meat market, fresh-ground every morning. "All the way" means tomatoes, lettuce, mustard and mayo, onion and pickles. When you get it to go, they wrap it up in wax paper. Now that's vintage.
When Felix Jr. announced that the city's most historic Tex-Mex restaurant would close its doors for lack of business, he set off a near-riot. People came from hundreds of miles to eat one last meal at the restaurant they grew up in. Families who had been eating there for more than 50 years slipped Polaroids of themselves under the glass tabletops. If the enchiladas at Felix, served in Spanish sauce or bland brown chili gravy, taste absurdly old-fashioned, it's because they're geared toward the Anglo palates of the late 1940s. And according to Geneva Harper, who has worked as a waitress at Felix from the day it opened in 1948, nothing has changed. Except that the Mexican Dinner went for 50 cents back then. So why eat there now? Besides the nostalgia rush, Felix Mexican Restaurant provides a glimpse back to our culinary roots. It is to modern Tex-Mex what a scratchy recording of the Delta blues is to rock and roll.
Photo by Houston Press Staff
German immigrant Lorene Brenner and her husband, Herman, opened the first Brenner's Cafe in 1936. When their original eatery was bulldozed to make way for the Katy Freeway, the Brenners relocated to a little house with a big garden and changed the format. From the beginning, Brenner's Steakhouse has served only USDA Prime beef. The 14-table main dining room was softly illuminated by antique light fixtures, and the woodwork was installed with the kind of craftsmanship you don't see much anymore. One wall is made of flagstone with a built-in fireplace, and the opposite one is a floor-to-ceiling window looking out over the enormous garden. The charming little cottage with the excellent steaks became a favorite of Houston's new western suburban set, who were building houses along Memorial in the 1950s and 1960s. Herman Brenner died in 1976, and Mrs. Brenner operated the restaurant alone for many years. When she retired, Tilman Fertitta's Landry's Restaurant Group bought the place. Fertitta spent over $1 million to restore Brenner's to its original state. He even brought Lorene Brenner back as a consultant. In a city that routinely razes its landmarks, Brenner's revitalization is nothing short of amazing.
Designed by David Rockwell, the hottest restaurant designer in the country, the Strip House steak house makes a double entendre of the restaurant's name by using erotica as a theme. The banquettes are red leather. The ceiling is red. The sofas, carpets and throw pillows in the bar are red. Pretty much everything is red, except for the dozens and dozens of photos on the walls, which are black-and-white. They come from Studio Manasse, a Viennese photo studio of the 1920s and 1930s that attempted to capture the erotic spirit of the cabaret era in its dreamily retouched photographs of nude or partially clothed women. Together the ruby-red colors and nude photos create an ambience your parents might have called "French whorehouse." To modern sensibilities, the decor might be better described as "ironic, retro-1950s French whorehouse." Or as one male friend put it, "Steak and tits, what's not to like?"
Readers' choice: Vargo's
If the phrase "Gimme some tongue" flows freely from your lips, then you're gonna love Kenny & Ziggy's, where there's more than just tongue. Here you'll also find the tastiest corned beef, pastrami and chopped liver as well as some outstanding smoked fish, such as sturgeon, sable and whitefish, all sold by the pound. Two different kinds of pickles are available: one sour, the other half-sour. Too lazy to make your own sandwiches? Then let the counter staff oblige. Here, they have everything you would find in a typical New York deli, except one: attitude.
Readers' choice: Jason's Deli
Forty-two-year-old Philippe Schmit was born in Roanne, France, and apprenticed at several two-star restaurants in Paris before moving to New York in 1990 and taking a job as sous-chef at one of the best fish restaurants in the world, Le Bernardin. Schmit moved to Houston last year to open Bistro Moderne. The restaurant takes a playful approach to the French classics. Appetizers are dressed up in dessert shapes like bombes, napoleons and tartes. A lamb shank comes with the meat removed from and balanced on a big bare bone. Schmit has a way with French fish dishes. His bouillabaise is the best you will taste on this side of the Atlantic. Even the humble moules frites (mussels and french fries) on the lunch menu at Bistro Moderne take the street food of Belgium to a whole new level. The mussels are an ivory-colored, extra-fat variety, lovingly farm-raised in Washington State. You can get them in a white-wine broth or a chorizo cream sauce. Go for the chorizo. The sauce is cooked with the spicy Spanish sausage, which is then strained out. When you're done eating the mussels, you can soak up the chorizo-and-mussel-flavored cream with crusty French bread.
Japaneiro's is a fascinating fusion of Asian and Latino cuisines, with sushi, sashimi and tempura dishes living peacefully next to shrimp ajillo and churrasco steak. The tropical bar specializes in mojitos and caipirinhas but is equally stocked with sensational sakes, such as the raspberry-infused version. This is one high-energy spot, and the colorful, expansive interior can get noisy, especially because of the concrete floor and the brick walls and high ceiling. The chef's "nirvana platter" is the perfect way to sample the best and most creative sushi available on a given day. And we recommend the yuquitas, or crispy cassava chips, served with a roasted pepper sauce.
While the former shrimping town of Kemah has been converted to an amusement park, crusty Old Seabrook, right across the channel, is still the home port of a small fleet of shrimp boats. Seafood delivery trucks are parked along the streets, waiting to take the fresh catch to Houston. And the glistening, never-been-frozen, heads-on shrimp in the Vietnamese-owned markets along the waterfront are ridiculously cheap. That's why the shrimp dishes at Merlion, a few blocks away, are absolutely transcendental. Merlion is not an exceptional Thai restaurant -- it's a solid Thai restaurant with exceptional seafood dishes. The chef has the good sense not to overcook the shrimp and to buy it fresh every day. And when you combine perfectly cooked seafood with even average Thai curries and garlic chile sauces, you get something very special.

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