Welcome back to Eating Our Words' weekly round-up, where each table has salt, pepper, sugar packets, and a Super Soaker full of chile con queso. J.C. Reid kicked off our week with a long-overdue investigation into Tex Chick, Houston's only Puerto Rican restaurant. It's a wonder most Puerto Ricans still prefer New York City to Houston, especially after what happened to those poor West Side Story kids.
Robb Walsh has a new favorite melon: the honey-sweet Swan Lake melon, which will pirouette right into your heart. Er, via your stomach. Wow, the ballet conceit collapsed pretty fast, there.
Katharine Shilcutt brought us the good news of the re-opening of La King in Galveston, which makes us so very happy; it didn't seem like Christmas last December at the Strand without it. Also, it was around 80 degrees out.
Robb settled in for some neeps and tatties with a side of Texan haggis. We love how dishes from the United Kingdom are mostly just made-up words. We're thinking of stepping out for some fleemers and blargs a little later.
E. Ting sat down and N. Vestigated why the Jewish deli appears to be vanishing with Ziggy Gruber, owner / chef of Kenny & Ziggy's New York Delicatessen, while Robb struggled with his extra-fast-melting frozen custard. What a mess.
The extremely environmentally and politically conscious House of Coffee Beans celebrated its 36th year, and Margaret Downing investigated the new Chuy's, while W. Healy endured drunken karaoke with the help of Christian's Tailgate's Lunch Box. Here at Eating Our Words, we firmly believe that singing "Friends in Low Places" at karaoke should be punishable by death.
Robb looked into some artisan teas, which kind of look like cans full of dirt but are actually wonderful. Nikki Metzgar turned up with a recipe that combined two of our favorite things: the cookie and the sandwich. We could eat so many of these. So very, very many.
J.C. - God bless him - did what most of us will only dare to dream: He visited each of Texas Monthly's five best BBQ joints in Texas... in a single glorious day. Life rewards those who tenaciously pursue excellence, kids. Remember that.
Robb was able to find the finest of cock-flavored soup mix, only to discover it contained no actual cock. Talk about a let-down. The grief continued when Robb was given the worst brisket he'd ever had. It really does look like a catcher's mitt someone ran over with a lawnmower. Attempting to eat that dried-up hunk of shit must have been like trying to eat a wallet.
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Nikki, fortunately, got the deliciousness back on track with her look at Houston's 5 greatest macaroons. And even better news: After asking around the office, it turns out "macaroon" is not a racial slur. So now we can enjoy them without feeling that twinge of white liberal guilt, instead feeling only the twinge of cheating on one's diet. Which, of course, we are used to.
That's right: it turns out you can be a doctor or a pepper, but not both.