WhutsHappening

Evans Ale and delicious lunch at the Albany Pump Station

Exterior with plenty of parking.

Coaster with their logo.

Exciting and risky menu.

Bar room looking up to tanks.

Awards

Current beer selection.

Taps discrete and classy.

Their 2 beer engines!

List beers...

 

 

Grandiose dining room action.

 

 

 

Beef Ragout topped with cornbread.

The house smoked pulled pork sandwich with tangy barbecue sauce on a garlic baguette with slaw and crinkly cut sweet potato fries.

The Gobbler: Thanksgiving in a sandwich! House smoked turkey breast on a warm baguette with cranberry sauce, herb-bread stuffing and provolone with some turkey gravy on the side.

<a href="http://www.evansale.com/">www.evansale.com</a>

Glorious Oregon pt.4 (Part One)

We awoke in a little bit of a daze and donned sunglasses to go the The Black Rabbit Grill for breakfast.  I think I got an omelete but I can't really remember.  I know I got a bloody mary.  This and a smoke started out the day right, and after a little hanky-panky back at the room, it was time for golf.  I'd been trying to train for the occasion by golfing my local course, but it turned out it was just a pitch and put.  I borrowed a sand wedge and putter, bought a couple cigars, and yes, a pint, and we were on our way.  Sara chose to come out with the boys instead of tie ribbons with the girls (which later became a small point of contention.  Bridesmaids, keep in mind that to be a good Bridesmaid, you must not only satisfy the brides verbal requests, but also read her mind!).  It was me and Sara, Dane, Sara's cousin (all 6' 7" of him) and Chris, one of the other BM's fiance's (why is it that marriage seems to spread like a virulent infection.  Really...).  Chris was kicking all of our asses at first, basically by not playing like an idiot while we did.  It is amazing how hard a simple par 3 course can be if your first shot sucks.  The raging Oregon sun sucked the beer from our veins so we looked over every rise and fall for the drink cart, but lo, it was not there.  Somewhere around the 10th hole (of 21) we sent the now over-golf Sara back to the beer shack.  Now mind you we had some dozen foursomes on the course, all dudes, and all experiencing the same beer-withdrawals; but somehow my baby made it past the $100 dollar bribes to bring us two pitchers of Rubenator across the rolling hills-she may have had a halo, at this point, I believe. 

After giving up on whacking the little white balls, Sara became the ball retriever/discoverer.  I believe she found an average of 3 balls a hole over the last 10 holes, with the bramble-cuts to show how commited her search had been.  I worried about her bleeding, she worried about what the bride would say...

After a bit of time to clean up, the reception barbeque was fast-approaching.  Sara and I got into our slightly fancy clothes (once you move to the islands, your 'dress-up' clothing doesn't go beyond linen pants and a button-up shirt-a fact that I have no problem with) and decided to, you guessed it, grab a drink.  True to McMenamins high standards of random perfection, right past Sara's mom's room was a tiny little pub (called such, I believe).  We split a beer and a quessadilla, but were caught by Nicole, who kindly hid her concern as she explained that there was going to be lots of food at the barbeque.  We felt mothered, but understood.  It must be hard being a bride-kind of like putting on a show for your whole family, with a cast that only gets to practice once, and it is taped, live.  Salon.com had a great article on drawing the line as a bridesmaid that talked about requests for cosmetic surgery, and/or fitness programs.  My favorite was the bridesmaid for a mormon, who wasn't a mormon, and was asked to stand outside the church and ask people "Are you a believer in Jesus and the Book of Mormon?" and if not, not let them in the temple.  I am sorry, but Mormons just don't make any sense in the end, no matter how rich they are...

The barbeque was dank, and though it was just gourmet burgers, potato salad and chips, I'm sure it was like three grand, not counting the open bar.  I was in charge of the music, and I found an outlet and hid the Ipod dock in the shrubs.  Dire Straits, Jack Johnson and others played while the guests took thier seats.  Another priceless feature of weddings is the slapdash variety of ages and types of people, and the desultory development of thier interactions.  Sara and I sat next to Chris and Verinda, as well as the random cousins who spent most of the time discussing thier Magic Cards tip books, and the corresponding powers of thier main characters.  One of the kids was probably 12, and the other, of course, was only like 9.  I tried to talk magic with them to no avail-sometimes I am such an ignorant bastard.

TBC...

Glorious Oregon Pt. 3

Glorious Oregon pt. 3

The show was great even through the fence, and Death Cab jammed their flowing finale as the late summer sun disappeared through the evening trees.  With no specific agenda, we moseyed toward Lucky Staley's, the pool hall bar to continue our consumption of delicious draft beer.  Here we had some half dozen pool tables and an old-school billiard table, as well as my favorite bar pastime: Pinball.  I can't say exactly when the simple analog contraptions stole my heart, but the affair has been grand and varied for at least the last 4 years.  The very first tastes were much further back; Cyclone, Terminator, even FIFA soccer from 1994.  But the true romance began with the modern classics: Lord of the Rings, Pirates of the Caribbean, Simpsons, and most recently Family Guy.  During my time as a District Manager for Cutco in Eugene, working horrible 70 hour weeks in the middle of the summer, I could often be found spending my off-hours in the infamous Horsehead Pub and John Henry's with a pint of Mirror Pond and a few extra credits from hitting replays.  One of the joys of the beat Eugene pubs is the music is almost always solid-Radiohead, Star Sailor, Yeah Yeah Yeahs and the likes; perfect background jams for the courtship of a big glass-covered maze.  After a year or so I was addicted.

My tiny Island is nearly sans pinball, so when I saw the Gone Fishin', and Royal Flush machines at Staley's, I was beyond stoked.  Soon enough I was settled in, this time with the Rubenator that flowed so free on the trip, and happy, but unimpressed with the formats for the games.  Can't stand it when they don't have even a few seconds of ball-save for those times when it shoots the ball straight down the middle.  The games kept me entertained until I was good and buzzed, and the rest of the family arrived.

Again, the Piebald family is rather large, as is the Ornel clan.  As one of the only relative strangers, I had the opportunity to observe the masses in their habitat: usually a festive, multi-generational reunion that brought out the drinker in all.  Pizza's were ordered, I personally bought a few cookies and oranges from the bar, and pitchers were a plenty.  I was privy to a three brother chat, Tim (Sara's Dad) and Tom and Kevin.  They were reminiscing on the injuries they had sustained at different times, disputing the number of stitches and severity of head wounds, and and recounting who had broken who's arm.  The energy of the whole pub, though it was a dimly lit and dark-wooded old place, was magnificent.  Here was a family that could drink steadily into the night without "assing-out" as we used to call in the Frat, or losing their ability to have a generally sensical conversation.  Groups moved and morphed as families came and went.  Soon after chatting with the old guys, I found myself hanging with just-graduated-from-highschool Cole who had acquired a glass drinking boot, about a pint and a half, which he fanagled ways to keep full throughout the night.  I ended up playing a game of pool with Matt, Tim's friend and coworker, who was one of the few 30-somethings there.  This garrulous chap wore a beard and long hair the likes of Grizzly Adams, but spoke softly.  I scratched on the Eight ball and they won, but all was fun, and all the games were just a means to mingle.  I joined the wedding party booth for a while, bartering a piece of cookie for a piece of pizza.  We'd all lost track of time, rightly so, and just kept ordering beers of different kinds taking breaks only to go for different types of smoke breaks.

As hours blended into one another so did families and friends, strangers and acquaintances, tastes and time and thoughts of sleep.  At some unknown hour Sara and I moseyed back the house right down the way from the pool hall.  We had pitch-and-put golf to look forward to the next day, as well as the reception barbecue, and of course beanbag game.  After a final smoke in the warm night we passed people from our wedding party as well as a two or three others going on at the same time.  We nodded goodnight to a few on the stoop, and found sweet sleep in our antique room on the second floor.  It was a good first day for all.

Glorious Oregon Pt. 4

Glorious Oregon and The Adult Playground, Pt 1.

Ever since moving to Hawaii last year and living amidst the paradise that people save all year to experience, my vacations have been back to old Glorious Oregon to search out the undiscovered nooks and crannies that bear little note when they are in your backyard.  Much like the Kiwis I used to meet in N Zed who had never been to the South Island though it was a short ferry ride to what was essentially a different country.

This meander back home was inspired by my girlfriends sisters wedding (ah, going to weddings with the partner, one of the secret symbols that things are getting serious) which due to brilliant foresight on the part of the families, was going to be at the McMenamins Edgefield, a quintessential complex of brews, gardens, eateries, and general adult distraction.  Built on the remnants of what was once a poor farm and then an old folks home, the maze of buildings range from the Main Lodge with massive porches touting rocking chairs and swings, to the Little Red Barn Bar in the midst of the vegetable garden, to the most recent addition of the soaking pools by the spa.  All of this was relayed to me sporadically over the preceding months as I was slowly deciding that it was worth $750 bucks to fly out for less than a week, both to support my wonderful GF, and to experience the abundance of the grounds at the expense of the parental units; I may be in my late 20's, but I'm gonna milk this "kid" thing for all it's worth before I find myself being father of the bride (hopefully not for three more decades). 

The ticket just fit in my budget, and I flew a red-eye a few days after Sara as I was not obligated to be there for all the wedding party preparations.  I have learned that the secret of Red-Eye travel is to make sure you are tired enough to fall asleep near the beginning of the journey, and just keep napping the whole way.  With only mild consumption of inebriates, success, and suddenly I'd time-warped to SFO, losing three hours and arriving around dawn.  Indubitably, my flight itinerary, which for reasons known only to the confounded arbiters of air travel, went north all the way to Seattle before returning south to PDX.  I made a few buddies while standing in front of the departures board staring at the dozens of delayed flights including ours to Seattle.  They were looking into a Eugene flight, and on to PDX and found a way on as well, instead of waiting to be stranded in Seattle.  Worst case scenario I was only 2 hours away and had quite a few connections in my old hometown.  I was the last person on the plane as the frazzled Asian ticket-tearer punched the computer and ran off to some other delayed flight gate.

Blink, yawn, and we're landing in Eugene.  Oh, Oregon, you really are as East coasters stereotype: an expanse of farmland interspersed with the odd College Town, and intersected by ranging, rugged roads to the West over the Coast Range to the churning shore, and elevating east over the Cascades into the high desert (see BEND in Off the Mountain, on the Trail).  But they don't know your secrets, being that you are the only real secret left after the west-going wolves took over California with their now-burst real-estate bubble.  But Oregon, those Little towns-Eugene, Corvallis, Bend, Ashland-are just jumping off points for innumerable destinations; chilly Triangle Lake hiding in the hills, Silver waterfalls flowing just to the east, Cougar Hot Springs tucked next to the cold western reservoir where only the locals know.  Even though it was summer, the deep greenery marked my brief return to what I called home for two-years after graduating from OSU just to the North.  Of course there was a track event going on in Runtown USA, Olympic Trials at famous Hayward Field I'm sure, and everyone friendly and organic.  I poked around the uncrowded gate and found my way onto a flight departing to Portland in an hour.  Even the Airport food prices weren't the shameful inflation of SFO, and I ate an $8 Focacio concoction as I dug the college kids and the general calm.

Another blip in time and I touched down at Portland International, 20 minutes earlier than I would have on my original itinerary.  My girl and her parents would be coming by on their way from Astoria, the coastal hometown where Sara and my younger sister had been best friends a decade ago.  Astoria has always been a tourist destination, both as the gateway from the Columbia to the Pacific, and historically as the end of the Oregon Trail.  John Jacob Astor was a wealthy fur trader (it seems all our namesake American Hero's have some skeletons in the closet: Jefferson's slave sex, Fords Naziizm, Rockefeller's worker suppresion and blatant political bribery.  Our town, and the Waldorf Astoria, were named after a baby seal clubber) and built the town up in the 19th century.  Once a Salmon Fishing and Logging Mecca, it hit hard times in the 90's as resources diminished, and rose like a phoenix into what Sunset Magazine called "one of the best places to retire".  For the urban youth, the Urban Cafe, and Fort George Brewery, have provided dependable diversions, whereas when I lived there we were reduced to smoking under the piers and going on "loopers" an activity that will have to be elaborated in a later blog. Sara's parents still resided in this dynamic coast town, her father a contractor/builder who had built and sold homes almost singlehandedly for the past 30 years.  He was a savvy, overworked dad of two beautiful daughters who'd gone from a party-happy young man raising his babies in a half-built house, to well-known local craftsman able to bankroll his eldest daughters three-day dream-wedding without missing a step.  Sara told me he had nails in his leg from an accident that he'd just shrugged off--back to work!

Her mother was a happy, strong woman who told me later she knew I loved her daughter partially because of the CD I'd made her, including Neal Young's Heart of Gold.  Hmmm.  Dad was the eldest of Ten siblings, all of whom would be at the wedding with their wives and husbands and offspring, and so I was in for the whole gauntlet of familial introductions and inquisitions and assessments that goes with being the boyfriend of the Maid of Honor, and the BF who whisked her off to some archaic volcanic Isle from whence no one had known her fate.  So I was in for a adventure on all ends.  Soon enough it began, as I saw the old blue Chevy with the bed-cover roll up to the recently renovated PDX arrivals area.  I tossed my small bag in the back amongst cases of wine, an assortment of wedges and putters for the Pitch and Put, workman's tools, and what would become one of the most exciting and contentious features for this Chicago-based side of the family: The Beanbag Toss Game.  For now it was small talk and travel empathy, but within hours we'd be filling 1L mason jars with chromatic micro-brews and shouting into the summer night.

Glorious Oregon Pt. 2

Glorious Oregon pt.2

Before heading East on I-84 to the fabled Edgefield, we had a few stops to make. We carved our way through the suburban perfection that is SW Portland to the local Raccoon Lodge, a suburban attempt at a microbrew that was tasty, but unoriginal; my Pale Ale was tepid, and Sara's fruitbrew was expectedly discordant (the only fruit brew that I have ever found true to its beer roots and improved by addition is Lilikoi infused Wailua Wheat, one of the famous Kona Brews).  Here we watched the kids eat chicken strips, and everyone marveled at how much everyone had grown, and Sara told me the unseen mini-drama's taking place in each family (as seems to be the theme for any extended family; if you have enough relatives, there are bound to be a few freaks).  Most of the Piebald (Sara's Dad's) side of the family was from Chicago, so this was "out west" to them and they all commented on the Oregon greenery.  After some shuffling around and fraternal fuss over who would pay the bill, Uncle Kevin won, so Dad gave Sara the twenty that Kevin wouldn't take.  Sara just looked at the twenty and laughed as we moseyed out of the restaurant into the hot Portland summer.

The rest of the Family would first assemble at Aunt Maria's house in SW Portland before heading to their respective lodgings.  I'd been here before, briefly, for a Cinco de Mayo/Birthday/Family Dance party so I knew to expect a wholesome, eccentric scene complete with a house full of artifacts from a life of travels, some sumptuous home-cooked concoction, and a tree house nestled in the wood next to the rope swing.  Sure enough, once we tracked down Maria she busted open the well-stocked cooler (I am a beer snob and will take three Newcastles or Widmers over six Coor's Lights any day of the week) and a large Crockpot of Jumbalaya w/rice; a perfect pick-me-up after my journey.  As we ate, the rest of the family started to trickle in with their spouses and children and the stream of introductions began.  Uncle Rick had driven from Chicago in a beast of a vehicle, a Woody Wagon reminiscent of National Lampoon's Family Vacation, but even more immense and complete with bikes on the back and luggage to windows; it was a Grand Cruiser or yore and all oogled it and kicked the tires for a few minutes.  I met Aunt Vickie who lived in the Bahamas with her Foundation-managing husband who told me about his elbow-rubbing with the likes of the Gates family and others; apparently everyone else already knew the story by heart.

After committing all the names to memory with mnemonic trickery (Uncle Tom was Tall) and by matching the names to the innumerable family reunion stories that Sara had shared, I actually had all the key players memorized by the time we headed to the McMenamins.  We competed with Death Cab for Cutie concert parking for a bit, but veered off to the hotel guest parking area as we would be there for the next three days.  After unloading the cases of wine, our bags, the Bean Bag Game, and the assorted clubs the parents drove off to their hotel as we walked around the grassy shaded yard like the giddy kids we were.  Eventually we walked across the street to the little brick building that housed the spa to track down the key to our lodging.

Right away you knew it was a special place because the key was...an actual key.  Many a younger person may have never stayed in a hotel/hostel that uses real keys but instead a plastic card; I say the best places still use the metal ones.  The place was unlocked anyway, and we entered what was essentially a three floor mansion, with a total of 6 bedrooms, a full kitchen, a scary basement door that was locked but still had light coming from within, and a wicked mean stoop.  The stoop would become our gathering place, a neutral area where the different contingents of this party would blend and intermix.  This was the wedding party house, so only the groomsmen, bridesmaids, and their dates stayed here, and we maximized the broad steps leading up to the creaky old door standing and sitting and smoking and spitting like we lived in the neighborhood.

The first afternoon consisted of smoking on the stoop and talking about great old live performers, like Willie Nelson, and shitty old live performers like Bob Dylan.  I've never seen Willy (sadly) but apparently he is an eye-contact freak and just gets in everyones heads to make em feel special.  I did see Bob Dylan in Gill Coliseum back in 2001 and I don't think the guy was using real words half the time, but instead sounded like a Alzheimer-Afflicted poet who was just too tired to keep it up.  I'm gonna have to check the Willie Nelson tour dates.  We also talked beer, and of course, wedding.  Nicole, Sara's sister, had just finished Med School in Sana Fran and was working in the Free Clinic as her first job.  Most of her bridesmaids were from they Bay are, great girls who you could tell had to pay attention to what to wear, as they were in the big City.  I knew Emily from high school back in Astoria, but hadn't seen each other in a decade.  I must say, it is odd to see people that you messed around with in youth, even innocently, after they are married and settled.  I think we humans create our images of people that we haven't seen in awhile, and these ideas are crushed when you see them in person.  I felt a little like the crew of Bay Area folk thought of Sara and I a bit as the Hawaii bumpkins-I thought of them as the prisoners of the City, to some degree imprisoned by being part of the yuppie scene.  The reality was, we had a lot in common, but while we were camping in Waipio Valley (see Going Down in Waipio Town), they were having Burgers and Beer at hip downtown eateries like Henry's.  The groomsmen, friends and family of Casey Ogden, who was in Orthodontic school in SF, were more my type (maybe just cause they were dudes) and I made buddies with Chris and Carson, Casey's brother.  Carson, we would find out, was a bit of a stoner wanderer poet, and Chris had a Masters in Chinese, but had decided not move there after beating thyroid cancer and determining the ~550 ppm pollution count in People's Republic might not be conducive to remission.  Pesky Chinese carcinogens-I still wonder at how they duped the world into thinking they would clean up their pollution and fascism in time for the Olympics-not going to happen any time soon, from the looks of things.  We were a rowdy crew, ready to soak up the three days of "adult" wonderland with our new and old brethren.

Just as the air started to cool, but long before the 9:30 sunset, Death Cab started in on their often-hypnotic, unique emo show.  DCFC is like one of those worthless Mainstream formula movies, but with a twist you never guessed-they keep you on your toes enough to be entertaining, and teeter on the edge of self-obsessed poetic run-on verses.  I'd seen them once before at at Secret House Winery in Veneta, OR, a right good time dining on fine local cheeses and sipping luscious red wine as Death Cab played against a hay bail backdrop.  I wouldn't say I am a "fan" per se, but I get lost in some of their tracks, like the one that goes "high-way, high-way, high-way, high-way" and also that one that goes "I need you so much closer" over and over and over.  That night they were perfect, as they breezed from the main stage across the grassy knoll into our living room and up the creaky stairs to the hardwood floor rooms and out onto the balcony.  Our fridge was stocked both with shitty Budweiser (we're at a brewery, people) and a half dozen Liter mason jars of McMenamins Drafts with metal lids that would become a touchstone of the trip.  Oh Rubenator, you naughty, naughty brew-how dare you combine the mediocre Ruby Ale, and Stout Terminator drafts in perfect harmony to dance amongst my taste buds like the transcendent nectar you are.  Aahhhhh.  As I sipped my mixture and smoked a spliffy, the layered sounds of the concert washed over our lucky few, as well as the entire rest of the complex.  I got to look down from the balcony of our room at the scene on the stoop, the brothers and sisters (Uncles and Aunts) and their families started to visit our little home, and by the time I wandered off with Sara to watch the show the stoop had representation from at least three generations and as many states.  I could only smile goofily at my good fortune as I grabbed my babies waist and nodded my way through the scene at all my new friends.  Tomorrow was the "Rehearsal Dinner" which had evolved, in an attempt by DAD to include everyone, into a rehearsal for the wedding party, followed by a catered BBQ for all 60 of us.  Oh, and don't forget the open bar.

Glorious Oregon Pt. 3

Baastin '06 --> Beer Works

As much as I hate Massholes, I had to check out Boston before my buddy up there wised up and moved to SoCal. I managed to fit in local beer, exciting food, a Bruins game, and some museums. My buddy was a known local DJ so I got some swanky club action too. I'll start with a brewpub/restaurant properly named Beer Works...

Twelve beers and an adventurous menu is all I can ask for and I got it. I ordered a cup of Boston Clam Chowder and a plate of Mako shark skewers marinated in their Raspbeery Ale. Both were top notch and I wished I could have ordered about five other items on the menu as well. There was all kinds of crazy shit that sounded delicious! I ranked the beer as follows:

Boring: The bland HUB Light, the crisp Canadian style Garden Golden Ale, and the generic Boston Common Pale Ale(perfect name huh?).

Good: "The Mainestream (Maine Blueberries) Bunker Hill Blueberry Ale,

the unfiltered Belgium style Handsome Devil Pale Ale, the copper colored Crimson Red Ale, and the pre-prohibition style Victory Red.

Great: the hoppy American style Fenway Pale Ale, the creamy Bullfinch British Pale Ale, the chocolaty Buckeye Oatmeal Stout, and the silk

y Curley's Irish Stout.

http://www.beerworks.net/

#1= Their Back Bay IPA was stunning! It was very strong without overpowering and had a exceptionally bitter finish.

 

The Food of Texas (Part Two)

http://www.whataburger.com/

       The name says it all and so did I as I ate their unbelievable burger and above average fries. Its the second best fast food burger I've ever had behind the unbeatable In and Out Burger. I love their slogan, "Waiting for your burger is better than your burger waiting for you." It's genius! The fresh burgers make the order take longer, but that was the only thing I could find to complain about. I guess that's why they made the slogan. The interior was very fun to look around with Whataburger history lessons and vintage pictures all over the walls. They were everywhere too! If you are hungry driving down the highways of Texas this is the spot!

 

North by Northwest Brewing Company is one of the most upscale brewpubs I've ever been to. They are located in a beautiful, high-class area in the outskirts of Austin. They have a opulent dining room and classy bar complete with delicious food and drink. I'll review their beers later, now I must expound upon what I ate on their original and daring menu. I got the spicy meatloaf dish with crunchy string beans and fluffy mashed potatoes. It was delicious, tasting just as I described it! The meal and the service were top notch and I recommend this treasure.
http://www.nxnwbrew.com/

Roaring Fork is located right in the foreground of the state capital in Austin. It is a busy block with a theater and other restaurants all around. We got a nice booth and great service from a a funny waiter. Their theme is wood fire grilling so I ordered the pork shoulder served right in the skillet! It was a savory stew of pork, mashed potatoes, green beans, carrots, and pure deliciousness. To my delight, the veggies had soaked in the juices well while still retaining their own tastes. The interior was fashionable and the music was trendy in this chic martini lounge restaurant. I loved the contrast of the pitch black skillet and the white tablecloth! This is a must if you are going to see a show at the nearby theater. http://www.eddiev.com/

If I had to pick only one of these places it would be Hut's Hamburgers.  I saved the best for last. This hamburger king is a frequent winner of best burger in Austin. They win awards for their fries, onion rings, shakes, as well as veggie burgers. The exterior has that roadside drive-in look and I remember the building being very crooked. Inside this vintage building  are walls jam-packed with nostalgia and memorabilia. The menu has twenty different specialty burgers, daily blue plate specials, plate dinners, sandwiches, salads, snacks, shakes, and more. I went with the Fats Domino Burger with onion rings and fries. My ice cold Coke Classic came in a stadium-sized hard red plastic cup that you would find in a cafeteria for fat people. The fries are hand cut and delicious but I preferred the onion rings. They are HUGE with big specs of pepper and ton of taste without being overpowering. The sides were great but the burger was best in show. You get a choice between their Texas beef, buffalo meat, chicken breast, or a fat free veggie burger. I love having the choice and I went with the leaner buffalo meat. My Fats Domino burger was covered with spicy New Orleans seasonings, jalapenos, onions, lettuce, pickles, mustard, mayo, chopped toms and grated cheddar. This explosion of fiery flavor was my burger of the year 2007! I give Hut's a 9.5 out of ten on the burger joint scale but I don't recommend it to anyone with a small appetite!

http://www.cwrl.utexas.edu/~russell/students/spr06/huts2/menu.html

The Food of Texas (Part One)

Fish Tales is right on the coastal highway looking over the seawall in Galveston TX. It has the most popular beach front balcony and is very spacious on the inside. Unfortunately, it is littered with tons of tacky shit hanging all over the walls. Stupid sayings and alcohol-related anecdotes adorn their walls giving it a lower class feel. Their menu is large with a great selection of everything land and sea. I went for the bacon wrapped shrimp and the country fried steak. I ordered the shrimp because it came with two exciting sauces. If I remember correctly it was a blue cheese type sauce and a cocktail sauce variation and both were excellent with the crispy bacon and tender shrimp. The country fried steak was served with mouth-watering mashed potatoes and over-buttered but delicious mixed veggies. The steak itself was too tough for my taste but that's the nature of that cut of beef. The crispy breading wasn't too heavy and was doused in delicious gravy. I recommend Fish Tales if you are in a beach party mood but I personally would not bring a lady or gentleman there.
http://www.landrysrestaurants.com/pages/restaurants/pg_rest_fishtales.htm

"This ain't no drive-thru," Goode Co. Texas Bar-B-Q" was unbelievable! It is a lunch line style cafeteria/restaurant off the highway outside of Houston on the way to San Antonio. My girlfriend and I were starving because I would not settle for anything but real Texas BBQ that afternoon so when we got there we were ready Texas sized portions. I got the spicy pork dinner with cole slaw and jambalaya texana (rice mix). which came with their famous homemade jalapeno bread. The pork was spicy and tender but there was too much chewy skin for my taste. The slaw was well chopped and juicy but could have used some more flavor. The jambalaya rice mix was spicy and interesting but a touch too dry. I had no complaints with their deliciously spicy and fluffy jalapeno bread but couldn't eat it all with all the other stuff in front of me. The big problem was that I needed a week to try everything at this place! All the different meats, sauces veggies, and breads all looked great on paper and would have been better on a plate in front of me. 

       The whole place has an old-time Texas feel to it that really enhances the experience. The outside has a very southern full front porch with saloon-style feel to it and when you walk in you get in a cafeteria line that has buckets of beer and sodas to choose from on the side. There are multiple chandeliers hanging with horns mounted everywhere and there was even cow hide stretched under the glass of our table! The architecture of the inside is interesting as well. There are nooks and balconies throughout the two floor building that add flair to the interior. The floor was multi-leveled which naturally made sections for tables and the ceiling was very high making the first floor very wide open and spacious.
http://www.goodecompany.com/

Shilo's Delicatessen is a German deli right above the Riverwalk in San Antonio. The original Shilo's opened in 1917 and the German family that owns it today still stands by the traditions and good food of the deli's past. The inside looks like it hasn't changed since they opened the location in 1942. There is a large seating area in the middle with old- fashioned bars in the back to sit and and eat if you were alone. I got Mama Schilo's Split Pea Soup and a Reuben to-go because my girl was not into the German deli food mood. I enjoyed the meal on the riverwalk while she shopped for some gifts. The split pea soup had a perfect consistency and was definitely the best I've ever had. The Reuben's tender corned beef, crispy sauerkraut, gooey swiss cheese, and grilled rye bread was an explosion of taste I recommend to all as well (to be continued . . .).
424 E Commerce St, San Antonio, TX 78205

Tracing a Triangle in the Lone Star State

       I've always been a big fan of Texas. I never really knew anything concrete about the state but I always imagined clear blue open skies, succulent steaks, big burgers, bad ass barbecue, bone-breaking bull riding, and the "Don't Mess with Texas" cowboy mentality. I had to see this wild west wonderland with my own eyes so I went the week of Cinco de Mayo last year. Austin, San Antonio, Houston, and Galveston were all relatively close to each other so I hatched a plan to survey those four cities in seven days. I used Google Maps to trace a triangle in Texas that took more time to develop than any trip I've ever taken. There were a lot of "ins, outs, and what-have-yous" as his dudeness said in the Cohen brothers masterpiece. Despite the logistical and geographic challenges and my complete lack of any personal knowledge of Texas, I orchestrated a vacation for the ages. All of my pre-conceived notions were true in general and I found the state to be as exciting as I had expected. I absorbed decades of Lone Star State history and endulged myself hedonistically in their finest food and drink.

The trip went down like this:

1. Touch down at Hobby Airport in Houston late at night >
2. The entire next day in the nearby beach town of Galveston >
3. Astros Game at Minute Maid Park that evening in Houston >
4. Great barbecue place on way to San Antonio the next day >
5. The Riverwalk, The Tower of Americas, The Alamo, and more in San Antonio for 2 1/2 days >
6. Two top-notch burgers, a Cinco de Mayo street festival, a brewpub, the two most unique beer bars I've been to and more over 2 1/2 in Austin >
7. Depart from Hobby Airport in Houston completing the triangle I traced through Texas.

       We ate, drank, did, and saw so much more than that so I have to selectively abbreviate this tale and keep it out of chronological order. Getting into details and time frames would get too tedious so I split it up into these four posts for your reading enjoyment:

1. THE FOOD
2. HOUSTON/GALVESTON
3. SAN ANTONIO
4. AUSTIN

We would like to wish a happy birthday to our founder Unkal Ryno. Thanks for giving us a way to share our travels with others.

HALL OF FAME FIGHTERS, SO-SO SUDS, AND A TRIP TO THE MIDDLE AGES (Upstate NY Part 5)

       I woke up and headed for Syracuse, eager for a full day of beer and brawlers. The International Boxing Hall of Fame is a quick left jab off rt 90 and was, in my eyes, a must see so there I was right before noon ready to learn. I say learn because I knew nothing about boxing, let alone boxing history, so I planned the stop to educate myself. I figured I would have a full curriculum considering it is the worlds premium boxing museum. I stayed in there for an hour soaking in the flavorful history of the most prominent pugilists and then headed for the highway.  http://www.ibhof.com/

I entered the "City of Champions" right before 2pm and had to go to Syracuse Suds factory first because Middle Ages Brewing had no restaurant. This was the only choice because I needed eats immediately. A thinly shaved prime rib sandwich on pumpernickel with steak fries was my choice and it was wise. I was the only one eating in there so my lunch arrived quickly just as a seemingly homeless weirdo lunatic staggered up to the bar and ordered a beer. I focused on eating my food as he sipped his beer, loosely held in his shaky, bandaged hand. He was creepy but I had beers to sample and notes to take on them. A paddle of six brews came my way and I began with the Honey Light which was not too sweet or too light. It was too boring for my standards. The appeal is there though because it was refreshing and filled with delicious clover honey from the mid-west. Next were the not-too-wheaty Weizen and the nutty Irish Red which both earned a check plus on my sheet. Those two varieties usually score low due to my personal tastes, but they triumphed through my pre-disposed prejudices. The over-malted Pale Ale and excessively sweet Stout were both only worthy of my average mark but both interesting and worth the taste. My favorite was the rich, roasted barley-filled Brown Ale. It was very sweet but didn't have that "peel this film off my tongue" feeling that I got from their stout. I was satiated and stayed awhile, surveying the large restaurant and snapping these great photos. I noticed plaques on the wall hailing the Suds Factory "The Official Pit Stop of the Short Fat Guys' Road Run". What a great event that must be! I hope to be covering it for the Travel Channel someday.  www.sudsfactory.com

      

       Middle Ages Brewing Company was next and I was eager to enter western New York's best brewery. They "welcome wayfaring beer aficionados one and all," and I happily accepted their invitation. My hopes for a tour were shattered when I was told that they were under construction but the rest of the afternoon in the tasting room would be fine with me. The room was interesting because it doubled as an office and was filled with cats. I introduced myself to a the gentleman pouring the brew as an interested out-of-towner and he was kind enough to bring out Mark, the brew master and owner. He told me all about his beers and business then we traded opinions on beers of the east coast and beyond. He was really friendly and down to earth so we really hit it off. I told him how impressive his selection of 20+ beers was and he applauded how much I knew about beer at the age of twenty-five. When he went back to work I got to talk to some of the local regulars that stop in after work. They all praised his products and I gathered that they had been hooked on them for a long time by the individual conversations I had. When I had tasted all that was available and bought the rest of their offerings that were in bottles. I even indulged in their handsome selection of logo beer glasses. Luckily, all the beers I bought made it home in my luggage and I had a informal tasting with them at my bar a few days later. No notes were taken on them but the samples I enjoyed in the tasting room scored very high on my palate.

 

       I love breweries with well named brews especially if they are themed! The Middle Ages medley showcased the Wailing Wench Strong Ale 8% which was grape-fruity and delicious. The Black Heart Stout 6.6% was roasty and robust and the Old Marcus ESB 6.5% proved that it was extra special. I also loved the Winter Wheat 6.3% which was an excellent dark wheat beer that was good and strong yet demonstrated a hint of lemon. Their regular wheat, the Swallow Wit 4.8%, was impressive as well but I would only pick it over the dark variety if I had to drink it in large amounts. Only two brews fell short of the check plus rating but were not disappointing. The Apricot Ale 4.6% was average but very drinkable and the ImPaled Ale was hoppy but boring.  www.MiddleAgesBrewing.com

    Well, we are finally at end of my seemingly endless Upstate NY trip. I slept well and flew home the next morning with a suitcase full of beer and fond memories of the Deep North. I packed a whirl-wind week long vacation into four days without spending much money or missing anything back at home!