Texas Gold

Sugarcane Dr Pepper. Singles sold cold at Picnic on Bissonnet

Complicated Woman? Maybe.

But simple needs. Late night snack of a Zin and turkey sausage dog. Mustard or die.

A Rum for your Whiskey

As we grow older, Christmas often loses its spark-- it turns from a time of looking forward to presents and tons of food and crazy relatives, to a time of looking forward to when the presents and the food and the crazy relatives are long gone. In order to preserve that joyous occasion, my husband and I started a new tradition where we get to enjoy Christmas once more- Christmas Eve at least, when we invite all of our best friends into our home to eat and drink and be me-he-he-rry.

The first year, the cops were called because we were being too merry and my husband and his fellow musician friends were jingling the rocks a little too loudly. The weather was cold and rainy, but it was no match for the warmth of the whiskey cider I had brewing in a crockpot where friends would inevitably top off steaming fragrant cups with a touch more whiskey. 

The cider was very popular at the party and I knew I would make it again, but I wanted to find another warm drink to serve should Houston be granted with weather calling for another hand-warmer. Possibly something with chocolate...

Long story short, I came across a bottle of Ron Brugal's 1888 Ron Gran Reserva Familiar. It's tasting notes sounded like something any 'gentle' whiskey or Scotch lover would appreciate. By gentle I mean it doesn't taste smoky, overly oaked or too mature. Double aged in American Oak followed by Spanish Sherry barrels, the first taste of this rum told me that it would be a shame to hide any of its character by using it with any mixer. Not even ice was necessary to enjoy this smooth sipping rum- a rare treat! In fact, I kept this baby in the reserves for myself and a few friends who I knew would appreciate the 1888's company. It opened this whiskey lover's eyes to the possibilites a good rum can offer and now ranks as one of my favorite spirits served neat. 

In the end, the whiskey cider sufficed at this year's holiday party; the 1888 was long gone by then anyhow. 

To New Orleans, From Houston: Good game.

When Spring Break rolled around this year, my grandparents surprised my husband and I by stealing our kids off to Disney World, leaving us a week to indulge in the quiet company of each other. Instead, I decided to bolt to New Orleans with three girlfriends. After all, it's not everyday that you find a classy hotel with a rooftop hot tub available just far enough away from Bourbon Street to get away from the noise and crowds, yet close enough to walk to Cafe Du Monde for beignets and café au lait at 3am and to Brother's Food Mart on the way back for a few paper boat of fried chicken and french fries. (Ridiculous, I know; and I couldn't care less!)

The two requests that we had of our hotel was that it should be located where four rather young ladies would be safe walking back from our evening adventures and that it had to have a hot tub. I went a little crazy searching for the perfect location on Trip Advisor...I looked at e.v.e.r.y listing in NOLA including the B&Bs and guest houses. I even used Google's aerial view to seek out visible pools and spas. I'm a very thorough researcher! I hovered over a promising blue square near Canal Street and zoomed in. Location was the ultimate deciding factor and the Omni Royal Crescent on Gravier Street couldn't be beat, for it held a rooftop hot tub.

Being from Houston, I had some really high expectations of New Orleans cuisine. I thought I would be stumbling over boudain and po-boys all day and night. I will cut to the chase and say that from my experience, which was only three days long and very centralized in the Quarter and nearby areas, Houston still wins. For variety, cost, and convenience, H-town has it on the lock down, IMHO. Both cities lack in the late night eats department. But we did get ahold of some very tasty grub in some unexpected places that definitely granted NOLA bonus points.

The Grocery- 2854 Saint Charles Ave, New Orleans

We decided to ride the trolley just for kicks and go take a picture of our friend's home, though she lives in California and sublets the place to someone we don't know. After that we walked over to the Lafayette Cemetery. It was beautiful and majestic in an old world kind of way that you don't see often in newer cities like Houston that do little to preserve such sites. We were already hungry but wanted to see this hallowed ground first. It was a quick visit as our stomachs soon rushed us back out the gates.

We went looking for somewhere to eat and stumbled upon a corner deli called The Grocery. There were a couple of little tables and chairs out front and it was a beautiful day so we went in to order a patio lunch. I got to talking to the owner, Marcy, a young woman in her late twenties and it took a moment to notice she was working hard to speak clearly, and when she shook my hand, it was with her left. She turned her right hand over to show me it wasn't quite ready to work the way it used to.

"I had a stroke. From alcohol. Four years ago." She spoke slow and clear to be sure that I heard her. "Tell them that." Her message was clear- she had faced death at a very young age and wants her story to be told as a warning to others.

She struggled through rehabilitation therapy and it seems that she focused so hard on her goals that they had no choice but to materialize. And her food- excellent. While I toot my horn about Houston's food scene, we are direly lacking in the sandwich department. The chicken salad po-boy I ordered was perfect- not sweet, not too creamy, dotted with pecans and the chicken was obviously made on site as it had that home-cooked texture and flavor. We tried the BLT and the BBQ po-boy too and both were awesome. They have a great selection of local beer too. The Grocery is just off the Trolley at 6th and St. Charles. It's a very happy place thanks to Marcy's spirit and the friendly staff.

Fiorella's Italian Cafe- 45 French Market Place, New Orleans

For some reason it was hard to find food in the Quarter after 9pm on a Tuesday night. I guess I had the impression that the Quarter never sleeps but what do I know? It took me 30 years to get to NOLA so I really didn't know what to expect. We walked all over looking for somewhere to eat that didn't require reservations, wasn't strictly bar food, and was within a decent price range. I refused to eat at the seedy little Chinese restaurant that we kept passing- I was in New Orleans dammit! I was going to eat good!

We had walked past a little spot called Fiorella's, an Italian cafe and bar, and decided that would be our best bet. I wasn't quite in the mood for pasta but we were all starting to picture each other on a skewer with a side of drawn butter and I'm the worst about getting snarly when I'm hungry. So we grabbed a table and looked over the menu. I checked Yelp to see what people said to try at Fiorella's and for some odd reason every review was of someone proclaiming the greatness of this Italian bar's fried chicken. I'm not kidding. Check it out yourself.

I hesitated and then ordered the fried chicken, from the Irish bartender who challenged that I couldn't finish it all. Fried chicken. Irish bartender. At an Italian bar. In Creole country. It was sounding more like Houston by the minute. No one ordered pasta- everyone got fried chicken. It was the most ridiculous thing I've ever put into my face. I had to use both hand to lift a single breast and the juicy flavor explosion nearly knocked my hungry ass out. It was amazing. Needless to say a few primary colored drinks and an hour later we were stuck with four heavy leftover pieces that I nibbled on later and brought home the next day as a souvenir for a friend. I owed him one. Sorry for the bad photo- I just took one and dug in. But you can see how one piece towers over the salt shaker, dwarfing the bowl of mashed potatoes (I don't even remember how they were, poor things.) It turns out the cooks were a bunch of college boys. They are going to make some women fat and happy someday.

Johnny's Po-Boys- 511 St. Louis Street, New Orleans

I don't think I've ever stood in a line as long as the one that snaked out and across the street from Johnny's Po-Boys on St. Louis St. I had been told I had to try it. It wasn't Johnny's fault that I wasn't as impressed as I had hoped. It took close to two hours to get the first bite in my mouth and by then snarlies were upon me. The people were nice and the food was good, but not two hour good. We had shrimp po-boys and gumbo. The shrimp was good, but a thick blanket of shredded lettuce hindered the encounter.

We walked with our food to sit by the river so I fed the grass the lettuce, doused the sandwich with our travel Cholula, and chowed down. It was good. I will say that. An hour an a half before that it would have been damn good. The gumbo was bland and had cooled down too much so that it was overly gelatinous. My Lebanese husband makes a mean, painful gumbo that I favor, with every sea creature imaginable so it's hard to contend with that. Oh well. That's what I get for falling into a tourist trap.

3am eats in NOLA

Of course we had to go to Cafe du Monde but the line during the day is laughably long. Who the hell waits that long in a line for some fried dough? When we found out it was open 24 hours a day, we planned a late night return instead.

It turned out that at 3am, there is no line, but the cafe au lait is still hot and the beignets are still made to order. And it's cash only, at that hour at least. Maybe it was because we went the Sunday after Mardi Gras, but New Orleans was sleeping and we were drinking coffee, ready for fun. A few bars were open and we made one last stop before running, yes running, back to the hotel. But just as we crossed Canal Street, a delicious aroma beckoned us into a massive all night corner store called Brother's, where we found ourselves ordering a paper basket of fried chicken and steak fries. Houston. We have a problem. Where is my 4am fried chicken option ?

Bars to check out:

The first night we skipped the whole yard-long drink from cheesy-Nola-Bar-X and headed for where the locals hang out on Frenchman's Street. It was a Sunday night so not a lot was happening though there were a few bars with food and live music. It was chill, which was what we were after.

Don't miss:

Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop- the oldest bar in New Orleans. It's dark and mellow and the clientele is a hazy flux of tourist with a few friendly locals mixed in. On occasion a tour comes through, as the bar is reputed to be haunted. Great whiskey selection- don't order a Long Island or anything colored in this refuge. Please.

Pravda Bar- Another chill bar on Decatur with a great dusky atmosphere and a cute little turtle in a pond out back that likes to terrorize the goldfish.

Fiorella's fried chicken. It's ridiculous.

Blog on the back burner

I can't believe it has been nearly five months since I've posted. When the year rounds the corner, I get caught in 'chaos mode' due to preparations for the Free Press Summer Fest, June 4-5th of this year. It consumes me. Completely. Of course I have a ton of notes and photos to post. Eventually. But there's one I really would like to share and that's coming up next.

Teethpicks is still hungry. And just wait til the summer when I get to eat the eastern hemisphere...

Congratulations to Mai's for their grand re-opening after a massive fire gutted the entire building. More on that in a bit.

Haute Grub and Hot Tubs at La Torretta Resort and Chez Roux

When Houston thinks of a November weekend getaway or a fine French meal, Conroe isn't the first place that comes to mind. Lakeside activities don't quite go hand-in-hand with 40 degree temperatures, but we also know that the weather is apt to change from hour to hour, the sun might come out, and it might very well be lakeside weather the next day if not sooner.

However there is one thing that will always be welcomed in any weather: A hot tub.

Last weekend, my friend Maria and I escaped for the night to La Torretta Lake Resort and Spa in Conroe, Texas. We dined at the resort’s own Chez Roux, a French restaurant founded by Chef Albert Roux, the man behind La Gavroche, which earned Britain’s very first Michelin rating, and three stars, at that. I was excited to try a meal fashioned by one of the world’s most renowned chefs, who happened to be in town tending the restaurant. Many people wonder why on earth he would choose Conroe as his first American venture, and the answer is as simple as it should be. His friend is the main investor of resort and that’s what friends are for, right?

I really hoped to meet Chef Roux, but even more so, I was hoping that he would serve his signature Soufflé Suissesse. And as invariably there would be plenty of wine flowing and we are responsible drinkers, we decided to stay overnight. After all, the website boasted of a hot tub and we had big plans for that hot tub as soon as dinner was a wrap.

Chez Roux’s exterior is unassuming, but inside it hosts an intimate dining room with cozy booths, linen clothed tables, and a glassed-in wine room filled floor to ceiling with bottles from around the world. A panoramic window overlooking the head chef Michael Gray’s kitchen allowed us to observe the various cooks working tenaciously at their stations on our prix-fixe dinners. Gray is the only Michelin rated chef in Texas and we were anxious to see and taste his fare. Suddenly Chef Roux walked out of the kitchen. Wearing his chef whites, he greeted each table, leaning a little on a cane for support. As he approached our table, I tried to think of something clever or adoring to say, but he spoke first.

“I suggest you try the soufflé. It’s a bowl of cholesterol.”

I laughed and joked that it would drink all of the wine, as rich foods tend to dampen the effects of alcohol. I was happy to have met him and I knew then that I would have my soufflé.

But first, champagne, a glass of Chef Roux’s own Blanc-de-Blanc, or blankity-blank bubbly as I find my inner punstress calling it, and along with it a beautiful amuse bouche of a fish terrine with a quail egg. I have to mention that the bread basket contained the freshest mini-baguette, a perfect junior version of a full sized loaf of French bread. I ate two. Or three. The soufflé was served next and to my amusement, it was ‘Texa-fied” with Texas Gold Cheddar and corn kernel cream. The original version is even simpler, and it’s basically a soufflé floating in a bowl of hot cream, topped with Gruyere before being given one final heating in the oven. I don’t count calories when I’m eating French food and you shouldn’t either.

The Coquille Saint-Jacques et Salade de Couscous followed the soufflé. The French call scallops ‘shellfish of Saint James’ because the apostle was to have rescued a knight covered in their shells. At Chez Roux, the scallops are perfectly seared and served over a ‘salad’ of diced carrots and zucchini tossed with pearl couscous with accents of chorizo. Garret, the sommelier, poured us a glass of Duet Viogner-Chardonnay from Burgundy, which was light and refreshing and cut through the saltiness of the chorizo.

Next up we were served a veal loin and my first sweetbreads, along with a glass of Belle Valle Pinot Noir, the best wine of the evening, only because it was a red, and I’m a red girl. While I don’t usually eat veal because it comes from poor baby cows, I did so to honor the chef. It was flavorful but tough for something so innocent. The sweetbreads, if you like them, were cooked to where there was a bit of resistance at first and then the follow through was as soft as the scallops. I will try anything once in the name of food and knowing that Chef Roux knows just how organ meats should be prepared to maximize their flavor and highlight their textures, I can say with near certainty that I won’t be trying them again if I can avoid it. I just don’t like sweetbreads.

As if to whisk away any unpleasant memory of the previous course, dessert arrived- five diminutive desserts to be exact. They ranged from brulee to gelato and each was as good and adorable as the last.

After our meal, we walked across the property to check into our room. The lobby of La Torreta is regal with white marble and minimalistic furnishings. The concierge wasn’t just professional, but friendly, and she found us a room with a balcony overlooking the lake and waterpark. Yes, the resort has a kid friendly waterpark complete with slides, their own pool, a lazy river, and a splash area. For us big kids, La Torretta saves the best. A huge swimming pool topped by what seemed to be a heated infinity pool and, drum roll please, a massive hot tub that we had all to ourselves until nearly 3 in the morning. We plucked whiskey from the mini-bar and sipped it while watching the fog roll in over the pool area and then back out again where the moon and stars were visible once again.

When we finally tumbled into bed, the mattress and pillows were so incredibly comfortable that I made a note to myself to find out exactly what kind they were so I could go out and buy them when it’s time for a new bed. After a long hard meal and a rigorous evening of drinking and hot-tubbing, it was the best sleep I’ve had in a long time. The great part is that it was all only an hour away and in the end it really felt like a true getaway.

600 La Torretta Boulevard
Montgomery, TX 77356-5309
(936) 448-4400

Cabbage Chemistry

After running across a website on bento box dishes and the use of natural food colorings to add

vibrance to otherwise colorless foods, I decided to try the following experiment on my children. The resulting colors are totally natural, believe it or not, and the flavor is so innocuous that you could even use the liquid in desserts.

Simply chop about a cup of red cabbage for every two cups of water and boil for about 10 minutes. Strain, reserving the water of course, and use it to cook rice, pasta, potatoes, the ideas are endless!

The chemistry part comes in with playing with acids and bases. Try adding lemon, lime, or vinegar to the water after you strain it and you'll get a brilliant pink result. I added small pinches of baking soda until I found the right shade of blue. Be careful when using the soda as it can impart a bitter taste if you use too much. Pinch by pinch...

Using the blue cabbage water to cook the rice, I then put it on a plate, shaped it with my hands and squeezed lime juice in spots over the rice mound, turning small sections to pink!

I made beef keema with peas, filled the cabbage leaves with the mixture and put it in the oven for about twenty minutes to soften the leaves.