Contrary to what The New York Times Magazine seems to think, Houston is green, not brown. But God didn't make it that way, the Teas family did. By 1951, according to the Teas Web site, the nursery and landscaping company had planted more than one million trees in Houston. They landscaped Rice University, the River Oaks subdivision and Bellaire Boulevard, where the nursery has been located since 1910. This ten-acre site is more like a park than a nursery, with soft gravel paths for strolling by nearly every imaginable plant that will grow in this part of the world -- and some that usually don't. But the best part about visiting Teas is the information desk. Ask them anything -- these garden geeks cannot be stumped.

Bean curd doesn't have to be tasteless, especially if you can buy it fresh. Thanh Son-Hien Khanh makes its tofu daily. Unlike the packaged stuff, which can have a tinge of sourness to it and behave with the consistency of an eraser, this tofu is soft, silky and as fluffy as tofu can possibly get. Poke it, and it wiggles back; panfry it, and it darkens to a healthy gold. Or don't fry it -- Thanh Son-Hien Khanh sells deep-fried bean curd as well. This tiny strip-mall store also offers soy milk by the gallon, colorful Vietnamese desserts and the closest thing to tofu pudding you can get without flying to Hong Kong. Served with ginger syrup, the pudding isn't creamy and sugary like the western kind, but more solid and wholesome, and tastes like, well, sweetened tofu.

Summer in a swampland means clawing at your skin, scratching hundreds of mosquito bites. It means every dinner you eat outdoors has to be lit with citronella candles. And it means the constant sound of blue bug lights zapping. Add to that reports of mosquitoes in the Houston area carrying the West Nile virus and you'll definitely want to wipe out those pesky bloodsuckers. You need the Buffy of the mosquito world: the mister system. It lines the fence and mists the air every few hours. The air ends up smelling like Off, which may interfere with the effects of your poolside aromatherapy lamp, but it's a fantastic trade-off.

Yes, Petco is a chain, but it doesn't feel like one. Walk in with your pet, whatever it may be. This store is friendly, convenient and fast. It carries the biggest selection of pet products from the finest brands, as well as lizards, birds, tropical fish, snakes, spiders and all the goodies you might need for your new friend. Whenever we visit Petco, we always spy at least one happy dog eyeing the buffet of gourmet biscuits. And we're grateful they offer low-cost vaccinations and vet services, plus they support the SPCA in finding loving companions for homeless pets. The employees are extremely helpful and are glad to be there. So dress up your dog and take him shopping; you'll love Petco as much as he does.

Okay, we're cheating here. Obviously you can't buy -- in the traditional sense of the word -- CDs at this Web site. What you can do, however, is find MP3s of local and regional bands, then with a few mouse clicks, make a purchase. The site is essentially an MP3.com for Houston acts, but better. It's Houston-based, run by ex-local band geek James Lewey, who knows his shit, and also provides for the sale of T-shirts and other assorted local band paraphernalia. Participating bands, which number about 100 at this point, don't have to worry about huckster surfers logging on and absconding with MP3s. Lewey gives away only about half of every song -- just little samples. Surfers who are enticed and crave an entire meal need to whip out their credit cards. The future of local music commerce is in our backyard.

Little things mean a lot, especially when the family pet leaves big messes in your yard. With both parents working, it's hard to keep up with the cooking and cleaning and lawn care, let alone enjoy home life. But Scoop le Poop makes having a dog that much easier. For a reasonable fee, le Poop makes regular visits to discretely remove offending matter. No need to worry about these professional scoopers transmitting other dogs' diseases to your household. These waste wranglers are so tidy with their equipment, you'd think they trained with a biohazard unit. (Services start at $15, with discounts for senior citizens and service dogs.)

It's mostly the employees of Fluor Enterprises who know about the affordable, honest wizardry of nearby Auto Tech, but it's also open to the public at large. The original owner, Joe, and his knowledgeable staff could make even the most rickety engine purr like a kitten in no time. Before he sold the place (to live a peaceful retirement full of deep-sea fishing), Joe knew most of his clientele by name and remembered details about their cars most owners would forget. Whatever the problem, Joe could find the least expensive solution and was known to recommend wrecking yards where you could find parts to save a few more dollars. What's more, one of Joe's employees drove a Honda with well over 200,000 miles on it. That's a staff that knows how to keep a car going. Even with new owner Alberto Capitallo, the garage is still so reliable, so true to the original work ethic, that we don't mind the trip down to Sugar Land for service.

On weekends, cars wedge into the small lot of this service station-turned-panaderia, with most people hoofing it from distant parking spaces down the street. They know. They've been warring over parking spots every year for the last two decades or so to get at the pan dulce of La Victoria. The apricot empanadas with toasted coconut flakes catch your eye, but soon you notice the maranitos (gingerbread piggies) and the neon-colored galletas (cookies). They vie for your attention amid the other desserts, most of them variations with piña, calabaza, fresas, pacanas, manzanas and coco. Oh, yes, and azúcar. This is where you pick up your Day of the Dead breads, and if you can afford them, the fancy skeleton-shaped ones. But today you came here to pick up a birthday cake, because you know it is, hands down, the best cake in all of Houston, beautifully decorated in a spray of brightly colored fresh flowers. The cake will have to wait until later, but you sit down for a piece of melt-in-your-mouth tres leches to energize you for the walk back to the car.

Arandas Bakery

Many hardware stores are so enormous, they're more of a hindrance than a help. Who wants to hike two miles to find a one-and-a-half-inch beveled polywasher for the kitchen sink, then another mile searching for one-eighth-inch mirror brackets? Then there's the attitude. Unlike contractors, we usually don't know what we're doing in those long aisles, and most hardware store employees aren't interested in helping us figure it out. The guys over at River Oaks Hardware, on the other hand, will leave you alone but keep a watchful eye, intervening at just the right moment. This is clearly not your typical visit to a "big box" warehouse.

Before you get too excited, you should know that SSQQ stands for slow, slow, quick, quick, not sadomasochists squealing and quivering quietly. And instruction in "The Whip" has more to do with fancy footwork than learning how to inflict a blow that will hurt like hell without breaking the skin. But that doesn't mean SSQQ's Whip classes aren't hot. The Whip is a spin-off of West Coast swing, brought home to Texas by GIs returning from their California posts after World War II. But over the years Texas women put their own twist on the upright USO dance: They added a sexy hip swivel, and the dance went downhill (in the very best way) from there. The naughty whippers practiced to the music of Al Green, the Commodores, Barry White, ZZ Top and Stevie Ray Vaughan in the dives and honky-tonks along Telephone Road. SSQQ owner Rick Archer honed his dirty dancing skills at one such club, the now-defunct Four Palms, a place with a sign advising you to "Check your guns and knives at the door." Now, in his much better lit Bellaire studio, he teaches The Whip complete with all the bumps and all the grinds. Try it out at a party. Jaws will drop. Just $36 for ladies and $44 for men gets you eight hours of classes, two hours once a week for a month. Schedules vary from month to month, so call ahead or check out www.ssqq.com.