Welcome back to our weekly food blog round-up. This has been an unusually delicious week for all of you, because, like the universe, it begins and ends with me. Yes, Monday kicked off with my in-depth investigation into the roll-slowing prowess of various extreme relaxation beverages, with the conclusions that a) none are quite as effective as alcohol, and b) I should probably start seeking help.
After a quick dahi poori Snackshot, Robb Walsh filled us in on some primo barbecue along the route to San Antonio, in a town called Luling, which not many people know was actually named by a lolcat. Next, Jay Francis, Food Conquistador, boldly conquered Mexico's Deli and enslaved its people, stole its gold, and forced them to convert to Catholicism. Wait, no... he just had some tasty crema de chile poblano soup. My mistake.
Paul Knight stopped into Bubba's Burger Shack, which, unlike that radio place, is not exaggerating when it uses the word "shack." Nonetheless, it serves up delicious burgers which have been visited by tiny astronauts. (Flag joke, folks. I got a million of 'em.) Robb stopped in for a Chinese breakfast at the Fruitiful Café, which serves things way more pleasant than seaweed, although of course that's available too. Meanwhile, J.C. Reid wasn't willing to let those glory-hogs Feast and Reef, uh... hog all the glory, providing a list of other fine Houston eateries. No Dot's? Underrated, we're telling you.
Margaret Downing let us know of an event coming up May 28 at the Hotel Icon: a five-course dinner paired with craft beer. Excellent! As a beer enthusiast, I'll offer some advice: Hefeweizens and bocks go well with hearty meals, lagers go with light meals, and avoid the IPAs unless you want everything to taste like roofing tar. And of course, you bastards once again correctly guessed Where We Were Eating (Polonia).
GQ's Alan Richman named his best 25 pizzas in the nation, omitting Houston, and a few of you gutless traitors even seem to agree with that. I've had New York pizza. It does not explode in your mouth like a pasta orgasm -- it is simply pizza. Sorry. This week's "Disgusting-Looking Shit That Actually Tastes Pretty Good" post was covered by Robb, whose photos of mien chin made us wonder why somebody chose to dress up those coffee-soaked sponges with noodles. Margaret informed us of a rather pricy charity dinner at Chez Roux in Lake Conroe (well, not in Lake Conroe) which goes for $500-$600 a seat, but goes to a good cause, and offers you the rare opportunity to watch Chef Michel Roux Jr. do his thing.
Katharine Shilcutt rubbed elbows with the upwardly mobile at local non-profit group Recipe For Success's gathering, scarfing some unlikely scrapple in the process. Our health department round-up featured some gross violations by some oddly named restaurants, and our Openings and Closings segment included a new fast-food joint called Spicy Pickle. Why wouldn't it?
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We generously treated you to a sampling of our Café Bites newsletter, featuring a sports bar / Cajun seafood place called Bayou Mama. Robb reviewed the new book of barbecue porn by Wyatt McSpadden, and tofu suffered the literary equivalent of getting its ass flattened while still tying on its boxing gloves when it tried to take on bacon. Bad idea, tofu. Seriously bad idea.
J.C. solved the enigma of the mysterious Kiko's Mexican Café (turns out the problem was inadequate Google coverage), and Paul got his $7 worth at Putty's Pizza. Robb drove all the way out to Bryan to sample some of the Melissa Hof Winery's product, and Jay Francis chimed in with a report on two Houston Mongolian hot spots that know how to keep it spicy.
Customizable cupcakes. Those two words busted up a hell of a lot of diets this week here at Houston Press headquarters. And to cap off the week, Katharine lamented the death of civilized customerhood at her local bagel shop. Honestly, Being An Asshole In Line should be, at the very least, a Class 1 misdemeanor.
Phew, that was a lot of business this week. We do it all for you, you know.