Late night in Houston has found me once again at the club. A few too many doubles brings on a bad case of alcohol munchies. I’m not necessarily starving so much as I’d like to have something to make the walk home a little more bearable. There’s lots of late-night dining options here in the inner loop. I’ve been to at least four of them and the experience at each of them is unique.
My first after club dining experience was at Charlie’s, long since closed, but still very vivid in my mind. Another time was at the House of Pies at 3112 Kirby, known locally as House of Guys. I found that to be the most fun dining experience because it’s busy, it’s loud, and sometimes a little raucous because of the patrons who’ve overindulged. The wait staff was always patient, kind, and sometimes a little perturbed, but still a lot of fun.
Even though there’s almost always a wait for a table at peak times, it’s worth it. Just remember if you’re not ordering, you’re still going to have to pay for that seat. Most of the action’s in the front dining room, formerly the smoking area. It’s nothing to see six or seven people jammed into a booth, and the people sitting elbow to elbow at the counter. The back dining room is more subdued, a little quieter, probably more conducive to studying or just clearing your head after a crazy night.
House of Pies is that one constant along the ever evolving Kirby Drive. It’s the one restaurant that’s refused to leave its circa 1980 time warp, and that’s a good thing. Even with all the development that’s cropped up around it, the restaurant refuses to fade away. The food is legendary, and some of the stories surrounding the restaurant even more so. There’s huge platters of food if the munchies are really bad, or just a piece of pie or cake with coffee to settle the stomach.
Once I moved to Houston, I found out about other late-night spots. Most recently I went to Chapultepec Lupita at 813Richmond Avenue. I sat in the patio area with my friends and someone had cranked up the jukebox. There was a drunken girl dancing around to Michael Jackson as she prepared to make more selections. She mentioned that Wild Horses was the Rolling Stones only greatest song, and I gave her a go to hell look. That led to a discussion at the table about some of the Stones’ other great hits as we dined on chips and salsa.
I’m an omnivore, but it’s still worth noting the veggie chimichanga and the veggie burger. On this visit I ordered a fully loaded burrito and a hibiscus tea. The burrito was way better than one I’d had at another local spot a few months earlier. The prices aren’t too astronomical, and there’s plenty to choose from on the menu. Breakfast also is available, but it isn’t served until four in the morning.
As we ate I realized that the jukebox had gone silent. Then as we were about to get up and leave, someone had selected Latin music. I remembered looking at the jukebox in the past and the selection varied from classic rock to Latin to country. Maybe next time I come I’ll bring some change and rock out the jukebox a little.
One of the other late night spots I’ve enjoyed is Bibas Ones a Meal at 612 Westheimer. Originally located at 607 West Gray, they recently opened on Westheimer a block west of Katz’s. I always liked the West Gray location, but it was good to have them a little closer to home now. There’s plenty of the traditional options to choose from like Gyros, but my favorite are the calzones and the pizzas.
The last time I went I split a pizza with my friends. I ordered the Aphrodite, which was mostly meat. It was great, right up there with a couple of other local places I’d tried before. The one thing I enjoyed about Bibas is the service. They’re always prompt, even when I’m on my own, and glasses almost never go empty. There’s almost never a wait for a table, and even when there is one, it isn’t long.
Even with the new location on Westheimer, the Bibas on Gray is still going strong. I remember the Gray location was always busy, the service a little slow, but hopefully that’s changed. This location opened in what had once been Rouge restaurant and the Plant House. With this location there’s even room for a banquet space upstairs without disrupting the service downstairs. What’s more is the HPD substation is next door, so you’ll feel safe because officers are always in and out of the place.
East of Bibas is Katz’s Deli – no relation to the one in New York – so don’t expect anyone faking orgasms here. What you’ll find is chain restaurant décor as this is the second Katz’s in Texas. The original location is in Austin with a satellite location in the Woodlands. Others have told me the Woodlands spot isn’t as good as this one, and I’ve read that the one in Austin is just as popular.
This location when I moved to Houston was nothing more than an empty shell. It had sat exposed to the elements for years it appeared. I read that it once housed Tila’s, which now sits on the curve on South Shepherd. Ten years ago Katz’s Deli took over the spot and it’s since remained a staple along lower Westheimer. Word of mouth has kept this place going, and hopefully it’ll be here to stay.
This is a New York style deli and the sandwiches are the place to start. There’s the downtown size, which is huge, but still manageable, but the uptown might require a to go box. Besides sandwiches there’s entrees and even pasta. The one thing that separates this deli from others is the fact that they have a full bar, and there’s milkshakes on the menu.
Most notable is the cheesecake shake, which is huge like the sandwiches. Depending on what time you visit, it can be split between a group of friends, or it’s enough for one person. This place is especially busy after the clubs let out, and a table can be hard to come by. Expect to wait up to ten minutes or better at peak times, but once you’re seated, service is prompt unless of course you’re by yourself.
I have had some great dining experiences in the past at Katz’s, even by myself. Lately though I’ve noticed the service has declined a little. If you’re at a table by yourself, don’t be surprised if you’re largely ignored. I went by myself around the beginning of August and the service was terrible. First I was seated in a corner of the dining room near the restroom hallway. On top of that my waiter appeared randomly, and then again when it was time to settle the bill. I hate when servers stand around and expect a good tip for bad service.
Other than that one experience, the service has been fairly consistent. I can say that no matter what I order, the food’s always good. Whether it be just a hot dog, or a full entrée, it’s always warm. Another must try on the menu is the fried pickles appetizer. I haven’t had the cocktails, but I’ve heard they’re good and strong. The one thing on the menu I haven’t tried is their breakfast, but the waffles looked really good on one visit.
After I’ve eaten, there’s a heavy feeling on my stomach and my wallet feels a little lighter. Walking home I don’t weave as much or list to one side the way I did when I walked into the place. The night air is thick with humidity, but the walk does me some good in that it gives me time to think. I can look back on all that’s happened now and go home with a clear conscience. The bed beckons me home, and the sounds of the urban jungle subside once I’m safely locked in my apartment. There’s more to do and see, but for the time being, it’s time to catch a nap and rest up for the next adventure.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Out with the old . .
French restaurant brings to mind dishes I can’t pronounce, snooty chefs, and rude wait staff. Recently SoVino at 507 Westheimer changed its name to Café Moustache and advertised that it was now a French restaurant. My knowledge of French Cuisine was limited to what Julia Child brought me every week on Channel 8 locally. I’d had snippets or bastardizations of French food in the past, but now I wanted to try the real thing.
Walking into the restaurant I had an idea that this might be out of my comfort zone, but I was wrong. The dim lighting, the cavernous dining room, the candles on the table were all familiar to me. There was a barbecue joint like this back home in Texas City, but the food was a little more down scale than this. A server wanted to sit me at a table, but after my last dining experience, I didn’t want to be seated at a table in some forgotten corner of the dining room. Instead I chose to sit at the bar.
I’ve found that when dining by myself, there’s no in between in service. I either get really great prompt service, or I get ignored. Tonight it was the former. Monday night was slow at the restaurant. Maybe one or two other tables in the whole place were busy, and I didn’t see the need to burden the one server with one more table. I was brought the dinner menu, the wine list, and the special menu.
It was explained to me by my server that I could get three courses for $35, and I had three options per course. The bonus here was that a portion of that money would go toward the Houston Food Bank. I remember an Italian restaurant back home had escargot on the menu, but it was never available, and that’s what I chose as my first course.
For my second course, there was chicken Provencal – been there done that – trout – no thanks. My eyes went straight for the duck with cabernet cherries in port wine demi glace . I chose that as my second course. Crème Brule I’d had once before, so I went for the chocolate instead. I figured that since I was in a French restaurant, I should at least try some wine, but I was confused as to what I should order.
My server suggested the wine flights. What it amounted to was three different wines to compliment each course. She suggested reds, and that’s what I went with. Each wine paired perfectly with each course. The escargot reminded me texturally of mushrooms, the butter decadent, and I had to soak some up with my baguette. I had to restrain myself from just taking the sauce and pouring it out all over the bread.
With the escargot out of the way, I could cleanse my pallet with bread and water. The same routine was repeated with my second course. I was poured my wine, and a matter of minutes later, I received the main course. With the dish came mushroom risotto and vegetables, but they were an afterthought.
Duck I’d never tried, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. It was fatty, the sauce out of this world. I’d never had anything this rich in my life and I couldn’t get enough. I ignored my side dishes until I couldn’t stand it anymore. The mushroom risotto was perfect, and the vegetables weren’t overdone. For once I actually got fresh vegetables and not the frozen reheated kind served in most restaurants. I felt like I’d truly spoiled myself this time.
I savored each bite, fought with some of the tougher parts of the duck, but it was all worth it in the end. The merlot was strong, but the pairing didn’t overpower the flavor of the port wine demi glace or the cabernet cherries. With mushroom risotto and the vegetables, the flavor was a little off putting, but easy to overlook.
I’d ordered dessert not sure what chocolat por de crème was. All I knew is it had chocolate in it, which is my drug. I’d had chocolate in many different forms before, but I wasn’t sure what I’d gotten myself into until my dish came out to me. I saw sliced strawberries, crème fresh, and underneath was the chocolate. For a minute I was apprehensive, but then I dug right in.
All these sensations came rushing to me all at once. There was the strawberries for one. They were tart and sweet all at once. Then the crème, and finally the chocolate. It was so rich I thought I’d pass out. The wine that went with this course was mild and light so that it didn’t overwhelm the flavor of the dish. For a moment I felt the urge to do something childish like wipe the dish out with my finger and lick it off, but again I held back. This was after all, a fine dining restaurant.
I felt a little light headed. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the rush of all these new flavors to the brain. Either way I nearly food comatose, and I hadn’t even seen the bill yet. In fact I didn’t care how much it cost this time. I got my money’s worth for a change. No reheated frozen ingredients here. Everything was fresh and tasteful. The atmosphere was an added bonus, but the lighting was almost too dim for me to read my menu at one point.
I had to take a moment and drink some more water to make sure I could walk again after this meal. If I ever travel to France, I hope my experience will be similar to the one I had at Moustache. I did look over the menu and I was intrigued by the hamburger as one of the offerings. If I do go back, it’ll be at the top of my must try list.
As I step back out onto the street, I look around and see more opportunities for another fine dining experience. Of course, that’ll be sometime down the road. Hopefully these restaurants will be around once I have the money again. I see Japanese, Indian, and pizza just within a one block radius of Moustache.
As I walk along lower Westheimer, the neon from Katz’s Deli and the Ruggles Restaurant light up the street. Within the next couple of years, there’s talk of a sushi restaurant going into the former Felix Mexican Restaurant, a Spanish style building at Westheimer and Grant.
It’ll compete with Bibas to the east, and Aladdin to the west. Further up the road, the former Tower Theater and most recently Hollywood Video, is a planned Tex Mex restaurant. It’ll be a venture of former Houston Press restaurant critic Robb Walsh. Just two more places I’ll have to try if and when they do come to fruition.
These are uncertain times economically speaking, and I’m not pessimistic as much as I am realistic. La Strada, a long-time Montrose staple at Taft and Westheimer, shuttered and sat empty for months until restaurateur Tony Vallone took it over. Recently it reopened as Caffe Bello and generating all sorts of buzz. Not so much because it’s Vallone, but because he’s set up shop down the road from three of his former protégés. I imagine for Vallone it’s a chance to start over again after selling off some of his restaurants to Tillman Fertitta of Landry’s.
Houston is a constant work in progress from its neighborhoods to its roads right down to its restaurant scene. Moustache is an example of that. One concept didn’t work, so instead of shuttering, they shifted gears. It remains to be seen how the new concept will work out, but judging from the amount of cars in the lot on weekends, it appears to still be popular. My hope is that these restaurants down lower Westheimer will hold on long enough for me to try them at least once maybe twice even.
Walking into the restaurant I had an idea that this might be out of my comfort zone, but I was wrong. The dim lighting, the cavernous dining room, the candles on the table were all familiar to me. There was a barbecue joint like this back home in Texas City, but the food was a little more down scale than this. A server wanted to sit me at a table, but after my last dining experience, I didn’t want to be seated at a table in some forgotten corner of the dining room. Instead I chose to sit at the bar.
I’ve found that when dining by myself, there’s no in between in service. I either get really great prompt service, or I get ignored. Tonight it was the former. Monday night was slow at the restaurant. Maybe one or two other tables in the whole place were busy, and I didn’t see the need to burden the one server with one more table. I was brought the dinner menu, the wine list, and the special menu.
It was explained to me by my server that I could get three courses for $35, and I had three options per course. The bonus here was that a portion of that money would go toward the Houston Food Bank. I remember an Italian restaurant back home had escargot on the menu, but it was never available, and that’s what I chose as my first course.
For my second course, there was chicken Provencal – been there done that – trout – no thanks. My eyes went straight for the duck with cabernet cherries in port wine demi glace . I chose that as my second course. Crème Brule I’d had once before, so I went for the chocolate instead. I figured that since I was in a French restaurant, I should at least try some wine, but I was confused as to what I should order.
My server suggested the wine flights. What it amounted to was three different wines to compliment each course. She suggested reds, and that’s what I went with. Each wine paired perfectly with each course. The escargot reminded me texturally of mushrooms, the butter decadent, and I had to soak some up with my baguette. I had to restrain myself from just taking the sauce and pouring it out all over the bread.
With the escargot out of the way, I could cleanse my pallet with bread and water. The same routine was repeated with my second course. I was poured my wine, and a matter of minutes later, I received the main course. With the dish came mushroom risotto and vegetables, but they were an afterthought.
Duck I’d never tried, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. It was fatty, the sauce out of this world. I’d never had anything this rich in my life and I couldn’t get enough. I ignored my side dishes until I couldn’t stand it anymore. The mushroom risotto was perfect, and the vegetables weren’t overdone. For once I actually got fresh vegetables and not the frozen reheated kind served in most restaurants. I felt like I’d truly spoiled myself this time.
I savored each bite, fought with some of the tougher parts of the duck, but it was all worth it in the end. The merlot was strong, but the pairing didn’t overpower the flavor of the port wine demi glace or the cabernet cherries. With mushroom risotto and the vegetables, the flavor was a little off putting, but easy to overlook.
I’d ordered dessert not sure what chocolat por de crème was. All I knew is it had chocolate in it, which is my drug. I’d had chocolate in many different forms before, but I wasn’t sure what I’d gotten myself into until my dish came out to me. I saw sliced strawberries, crème fresh, and underneath was the chocolate. For a minute I was apprehensive, but then I dug right in.
All these sensations came rushing to me all at once. There was the strawberries for one. They were tart and sweet all at once. Then the crème, and finally the chocolate. It was so rich I thought I’d pass out. The wine that went with this course was mild and light so that it didn’t overwhelm the flavor of the dish. For a moment I felt the urge to do something childish like wipe the dish out with my finger and lick it off, but again I held back. This was after all, a fine dining restaurant.
I felt a little light headed. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the rush of all these new flavors to the brain. Either way I nearly food comatose, and I hadn’t even seen the bill yet. In fact I didn’t care how much it cost this time. I got my money’s worth for a change. No reheated frozen ingredients here. Everything was fresh and tasteful. The atmosphere was an added bonus, but the lighting was almost too dim for me to read my menu at one point.
I had to take a moment and drink some more water to make sure I could walk again after this meal. If I ever travel to France, I hope my experience will be similar to the one I had at Moustache. I did look over the menu and I was intrigued by the hamburger as one of the offerings. If I do go back, it’ll be at the top of my must try list.
As I step back out onto the street, I look around and see more opportunities for another fine dining experience. Of course, that’ll be sometime down the road. Hopefully these restaurants will be around once I have the money again. I see Japanese, Indian, and pizza just within a one block radius of Moustache.
As I walk along lower Westheimer, the neon from Katz’s Deli and the Ruggles Restaurant light up the street. Within the next couple of years, there’s talk of a sushi restaurant going into the former Felix Mexican Restaurant, a Spanish style building at Westheimer and Grant.
It’ll compete with Bibas to the east, and Aladdin to the west. Further up the road, the former Tower Theater and most recently Hollywood Video, is a planned Tex Mex restaurant. It’ll be a venture of former Houston Press restaurant critic Robb Walsh. Just two more places I’ll have to try if and when they do come to fruition.
These are uncertain times economically speaking, and I’m not pessimistic as much as I am realistic. La Strada, a long-time Montrose staple at Taft and Westheimer, shuttered and sat empty for months until restaurateur Tony Vallone took it over. Recently it reopened as Caffe Bello and generating all sorts of buzz. Not so much because it’s Vallone, but because he’s set up shop down the road from three of his former protégés. I imagine for Vallone it’s a chance to start over again after selling off some of his restaurants to Tillman Fertitta of Landry’s.
Houston is a constant work in progress from its neighborhoods to its roads right down to its restaurant scene. Moustache is an example of that. One concept didn’t work, so instead of shuttering, they shifted gears. It remains to be seen how the new concept will work out, but judging from the amount of cars in the lot on weekends, it appears to still be popular. My hope is that these restaurants down lower Westheimer will hold on long enough for me to try them at least once maybe twice even.
Foraging for Food 7/29/2010
I am restless once again in the asphalt jungle. Summer is in full swing and it’s hotter than – well, it’s hot. The weekly routine of lunch at the local fast food restaurant has grown tiresome. I want something more, something that doesn’t come on a plastic tray in a paper wrapper. Something that would fill me up, but also something that wouldn’t cost a lot of money either.
Each day I ride by or walk by dozens of local eateries down on lower Westheimer. I’ve watched them come and go, and I felt like now was the time to give it a try. The reason I wanted to try it is because Washington Avenue in the Heights has transformed from a run-down string of dives, used car lots, and abandoned buildings into the trendy place to be. The plague of townhouses that sprouted up around the corridor has now spawned a big box apocalypse of sorts.
First Target opened in the Heights, then Kroger expanded its South Shepherd location to accommodate the newcomers. Now HEB threatens to encroach on the Montrose, and Wal-Mart looms on the horizon. In spite of efforts to push them back, them and even Whole Foods want to cash in on the trend while they still can.
When I moved to Montrose the first time over ten years ago, the neighborhood was in transition. Gone were the discos and the gay bars, and eventually even Mary’s Lounge faded into the collective memory of the old timers. The bars and discos were replaced with strip malls and trendy restaurants. It’s a virtual United Nations along the street before reaching the crossroads at Montrose and Westheimer. There’s cuisine ranging from English to Italian, even Greek, Mediterranean and even New York. I started at Belgium.
At 106 Westheimer sits Jeanine’s Bistro. This is where my journey begins as I attempt to eat my way through the Montrose, or at least lower Westheimer. I have to admit I have my apprehensions about eating at some of these places because I worry too much about the impact it’ll have on my pocketbook. Then again I have to figure at least once a week - or even once a month – can’t do too much harm.
Most restaurants on lower Westheimer now offer lunch whereas before they were dinner and weekends only. I really had no idea what to expect walking into Jeanine’s. It sat at the end of a strip center at the confluence of Neartown, Montrose, and Midtown. I was seated immediately and brought a menu and poured a glass of water. Sometimes I walk into a restaurant and ask to see the menu before I eat, but not this time.
Instead I opened the menu and found exactly what I expected, but I was also surprised at the selection. The menu opened with soups, salads, and sandwiches – the three things I could get at almost every other chain sandwich shop. I flipped to the dinner section, and as expected, it was steep. Included were chicken, filet mignon, the usual fare. Then I flipped back to the front of the menu and stopped. There was a lunch special for $10.95. Included in the deal were soup or salad, an entrée, and a dessert.
I figured I couldn’t go wrong and asked my server about the options available My choices on this visit were a house salad or watercress soup, bacon quiche, and a caramelized apple crepe. I’d had salad for dinner the night before, so I went with the soup. For a drink I got iced tea, but there were beer and wine selections available. Maybe if I went back at dinner, I might look into the alcohol selection, but it was too hot for that when I went.
The server brought me bread and iced tea followed by the soup. It was only a cup, but it was flavorful, maybe a little too salty, but I could overlook it. There was watercress in each bite, and the bread helped in cleaning out the cup. I cleansed my palette with water and waited for the entrée. Even though it took some time, the wait was worth it.
The server brought me a generous portion layered with bacon, bell peppers, and I think cheese too. On the plate was some tomato sauce, but it proved to be more or less an afterthought. My focus was on this enormous wedge of quiche. The only time I found the tomato sauce helped was in digesting the crust. I was full, but I remembered dessert was on its way, so I stopped with the bread. Even though the crust was a little chewy, it wasn’t dried out in the center.
I had some more water, some more tea, and waited for the dessert. By this point I salivated at the thought of that caramelized apple crepe. When it arrived at my table, it was smaller than I expected, but the right portion for this meal. Where most places would drown the desert with vanilla ice cream, this was served with just a dollop. It didn’t overpower the dish, and it melted nicely into the butter, cinnamon, and crepe.
I even scooped the juices off the plate with my iced tea spoon rather than pouring it down my gullet. Some of it was stuck to the plate, and I wanted to get at it badly, but decided against it. I calculated the bill in my head to be around twelve bucks, which was close. With the tip, tax and drink, the final bill came out to $15.86.
I walked out feeling like I’d robbed the bank because it was so much for so little. On my way out, I had to avoid getting run over because of people trying to back out of the tiny parking lot. The only other gripe I had about the place was accessibility from the street even though I had no problem getting there on foot.
If you’re driving up Westheimer, it isn’t like you can pull into the parking lot from that part of the street. The other thing is it takes some turns around the block to get to Jeanine’s from Bagby because it is one way outbound. Going eastbound on Westheimer, swing a left at Brazos, make a left onto Tuam, and then a left onto Bagby and the shopping center’s on the right. Another way to get there would be to hang a left at Taft, a right at Avondale, and then a right at Bagby.
Jeanine’s is open from 11am to 3pm for lunch, and then from 5pm to 11pm for dinner during the week. On weekends it’s a half hour later for lunch and dinner. The atmosphere was nice with pop music in French playing softly on the sound system. I went around 1pm on a Thursday afternoon and there were only a hand full of diners, so finding a table shouldn’t be that much of a problem.
After my experience at Jeanine’s, I’m not as apprehensive about dining out at some of the nicer restaurants. My only dilemma is where I should eat next. There’s a couple of places left for me to explore, but Westheimer is a long street, and stretches west to Highway 6. I think for now I’ll stick to this end of Westheimer, and look into those places I’ve overlooked in the past.
Each day I ride by or walk by dozens of local eateries down on lower Westheimer. I’ve watched them come and go, and I felt like now was the time to give it a try. The reason I wanted to try it is because Washington Avenue in the Heights has transformed from a run-down string of dives, used car lots, and abandoned buildings into the trendy place to be. The plague of townhouses that sprouted up around the corridor has now spawned a big box apocalypse of sorts.
First Target opened in the Heights, then Kroger expanded its South Shepherd location to accommodate the newcomers. Now HEB threatens to encroach on the Montrose, and Wal-Mart looms on the horizon. In spite of efforts to push them back, them and even Whole Foods want to cash in on the trend while they still can.
When I moved to Montrose the first time over ten years ago, the neighborhood was in transition. Gone were the discos and the gay bars, and eventually even Mary’s Lounge faded into the collective memory of the old timers. The bars and discos were replaced with strip malls and trendy restaurants. It’s a virtual United Nations along the street before reaching the crossroads at Montrose and Westheimer. There’s cuisine ranging from English to Italian, even Greek, Mediterranean and even New York. I started at Belgium.
At 106 Westheimer sits Jeanine’s Bistro. This is where my journey begins as I attempt to eat my way through the Montrose, or at least lower Westheimer. I have to admit I have my apprehensions about eating at some of these places because I worry too much about the impact it’ll have on my pocketbook. Then again I have to figure at least once a week - or even once a month – can’t do too much harm.
Most restaurants on lower Westheimer now offer lunch whereas before they were dinner and weekends only. I really had no idea what to expect walking into Jeanine’s. It sat at the end of a strip center at the confluence of Neartown, Montrose, and Midtown. I was seated immediately and brought a menu and poured a glass of water. Sometimes I walk into a restaurant and ask to see the menu before I eat, but not this time.
Instead I opened the menu and found exactly what I expected, but I was also surprised at the selection. The menu opened with soups, salads, and sandwiches – the three things I could get at almost every other chain sandwich shop. I flipped to the dinner section, and as expected, it was steep. Included were chicken, filet mignon, the usual fare. Then I flipped back to the front of the menu and stopped. There was a lunch special for $10.95. Included in the deal were soup or salad, an entrée, and a dessert.
I figured I couldn’t go wrong and asked my server about the options available My choices on this visit were a house salad or watercress soup, bacon quiche, and a caramelized apple crepe. I’d had salad for dinner the night before, so I went with the soup. For a drink I got iced tea, but there were beer and wine selections available. Maybe if I went back at dinner, I might look into the alcohol selection, but it was too hot for that when I went.
The server brought me bread and iced tea followed by the soup. It was only a cup, but it was flavorful, maybe a little too salty, but I could overlook it. There was watercress in each bite, and the bread helped in cleaning out the cup. I cleansed my palette with water and waited for the entrée. Even though it took some time, the wait was worth it.
The server brought me a generous portion layered with bacon, bell peppers, and I think cheese too. On the plate was some tomato sauce, but it proved to be more or less an afterthought. My focus was on this enormous wedge of quiche. The only time I found the tomato sauce helped was in digesting the crust. I was full, but I remembered dessert was on its way, so I stopped with the bread. Even though the crust was a little chewy, it wasn’t dried out in the center.
I had some more water, some more tea, and waited for the dessert. By this point I salivated at the thought of that caramelized apple crepe. When it arrived at my table, it was smaller than I expected, but the right portion for this meal. Where most places would drown the desert with vanilla ice cream, this was served with just a dollop. It didn’t overpower the dish, and it melted nicely into the butter, cinnamon, and crepe.
I even scooped the juices off the plate with my iced tea spoon rather than pouring it down my gullet. Some of it was stuck to the plate, and I wanted to get at it badly, but decided against it. I calculated the bill in my head to be around twelve bucks, which was close. With the tip, tax and drink, the final bill came out to $15.86.
I walked out feeling like I’d robbed the bank because it was so much for so little. On my way out, I had to avoid getting run over because of people trying to back out of the tiny parking lot. The only other gripe I had about the place was accessibility from the street even though I had no problem getting there on foot.
If you’re driving up Westheimer, it isn’t like you can pull into the parking lot from that part of the street. The other thing is it takes some turns around the block to get to Jeanine’s from Bagby because it is one way outbound. Going eastbound on Westheimer, swing a left at Brazos, make a left onto Tuam, and then a left onto Bagby and the shopping center’s on the right. Another way to get there would be to hang a left at Taft, a right at Avondale, and then a right at Bagby.
Jeanine’s is open from 11am to 3pm for lunch, and then from 5pm to 11pm for dinner during the week. On weekends it’s a half hour later for lunch and dinner. The atmosphere was nice with pop music in French playing softly on the sound system. I went around 1pm on a Thursday afternoon and there were only a hand full of diners, so finding a table shouldn’t be that much of a problem.
After my experience at Jeanine’s, I’m not as apprehensive about dining out at some of the nicer restaurants. My only dilemma is where I should eat next. There’s a couple of places left for me to explore, but Westheimer is a long street, and stretches west to Highway 6. I think for now I’ll stick to this end of Westheimer, and look into those places I’ve overlooked in the past.
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Alien Extraction
Greetings from Suburbia readers. I am recovering with the parental units at the moment. Certainly was a long day for me today. My morning started at 4 after a fitful night of sleep. I had to be at Ben Taub at 6 for surgery. Maybe two or three years ago a lump on my face started growing, and I didn’t have as much of a problem with it as others did.
As it grew larger, people began to wonder what it was, and I did too. I wasn’t worried at first, but I thought I should at least find out what’s up. Back a couple of years ago, I went to my doctor and he diagnosed it as a lipoma, a fatty tumor basically. I was given a referral to an ear, nose, and throat doctor, and it promptly got sucked into the black hole that is my efficiency apartment. Another year passed and I realized in a picture just how large it had gotten and decided to get that referral again.
So I found myself in the waiting room of a plastic surgeon, and I was on my way again. I figured this is it I’m going to get this thing taken care of. Well, it wasn’t that easy. My doctor ordered a CT scan, but he wouldn’t tell me the cost. Then I got a call from the diagnostic clinic later in the week and when they quoted me the cost, I was floored. I had insurance at work, but being a PPO, they would pay only the deductable and the rest would come out of my pocket.
The amount wasn’t exactly astronomical, but on my budget, it was a lot. It was explained to me that they could bill me. Of course I already knew that they wanted that money up front, and not in increments, the only way I was able to pay. To be that close to getting that tumor removed only to be turned back like that was heartbreaking. I was upset, but I wasn’t deterred. There was always the Harris County Hospital District.
Even though I had insurance, it was at least worth a try. I couldn’t disappoint my friends and family and just give up like that. So began another journey for me. I called the hospital district and they sent me to the far north side of Houston to pick up my papers. Once the form was filled out, I had to make an appointment to turn in my paperwork and get registered in their system. Easier said than done when using public transportation.
I had to go to the far southeast side of Houston and be there at an appointed time. The first thing I learned about dealing with the hospital district is that just because the appointment is at a certain time doesn’t mean that I’ll be seen right then and there. So I arrived at the registration office with all the required paperwork and waited – and waited some more. Finally I was seen by a hospital district worker and turned in all my paperwork. I was worried that even though I had insurance I’d be denied.
Then surprise, surprise I was approved. I was now in the Harris County Hospital District system. I was now the proud owner of a HCHD Gold Card, and I was on my way again. After dragging my feet for a little bit, I finally called and made an appointment to be seen at the clinic back on the north side of Houston. I think I must have confused a lot of HCHD employees when they called my name in Spanish and I’d answer them in plain English. \
Being a patient in a public healthcare system means having to give over a lot of my secrets. Foremost my real weight and my real height. The doctor couldn’t understand why I was there until I showed her the mass on my face. She probed the surface with her finger and determined that yes it might just be a lipoma. I was given a referral to Ben Taub and see an ear, nose, and throat specialist.
The doctors looked it over and ordered a CT scan. I thought, oh no here we go again, but no sweat. There was no give us your money or your life this time. I got the CT scan, met back with the doctors again. They determined that sebaceous cyst, and was probably benign. The next step was to have the cyst biopsied. I’m thinking big needles and heavy sedation, but no.
The needle used was smaller than the one used to draw blood, and there was no anesthetic necessary. At the pathologist’s office she took a very fine needle and probed it twice. When she said I might feel pressure, she wasn’t kidding. It hurt and my skin was red in that area. It was the first time that it ever really hurt. Most of the time the only pain I got from it was a shooting pain in the temple and jaw, or when it was exposed to extreme temperatures. The biopsy determined that indeed the cyst was benign, and the next step was to have it removed.
A quick meeting with the anesthesiologist determined that I’d be put under plus have a local applied as well. I was nervous and I had my apprehensions, but the docs assured me that it wouldn’t be that bad. So bright and early on the morning of the 9th, my parents took me up to Ben Taub hospital for the surgery. All my friends and family were pulling for me, and they were happy that I was finally having it taken out. I was probably the happiest though because I’d have peace of mind knowing that it was gone forever.
The surgery waiting room was chaos. Everyone was scheduled to be there at 6 in the morning, but the nurse had to explain that patients would be called according to the time that their doctors could see them. So finally around 8:30 I was sent into surgery. After struggling with the stupid hospital gown, I was sent to pre-op for screening and monitoring. Then the docs came, looked me over, and I was wheeled into the operating room after 10 in the morning.
The last thing I remember is looking up at the OR ceiling with a mask on my face. I woke up again and found myself with the mask still on in the recovery area. At first the nurses didn’t realize I was awake until I got their attention. They took off the mask because that hurt. Then I explained that I was feeling pressure in my sinuses. I was administered apple juice and a Vicodin tablet. The nurse assured me that it was safe to take the pill on an empty stomach.
After a while I felt nauseous and the pain hadn’t gone away. I still felt the pressure, so I was administered morphine. Still nothing, so I was given Ketamine. All that did was knock me out, but I was in so much pain, the nurse brought in the doctor. He loosened the bandage around my head and the pressure went away. I passed out, and when I came to, it was time to go.
Once the docs and nurses cleared me to go home, I was prescribed pain killers and an antibiotic. My parents took me to their house and I’m going to convalesce here the next couple of days. It’ll be a while before you see me out again, and if you shop at Disco Kroger over in the Montrose, you’ll have to wait ‘til Monday to see me slinging meat again. A big thanks to the ENT specialists at Ben Taub for the excellent job they’ve done. And thanks to all my friends and family for their thoughts, their concerns, and their prayers. It’s greatly appreciated and I look forward to seeing y’all again soon.
As it grew larger, people began to wonder what it was, and I did too. I wasn’t worried at first, but I thought I should at least find out what’s up. Back a couple of years ago, I went to my doctor and he diagnosed it as a lipoma, a fatty tumor basically. I was given a referral to an ear, nose, and throat doctor, and it promptly got sucked into the black hole that is my efficiency apartment. Another year passed and I realized in a picture just how large it had gotten and decided to get that referral again.
So I found myself in the waiting room of a plastic surgeon, and I was on my way again. I figured this is it I’m going to get this thing taken care of. Well, it wasn’t that easy. My doctor ordered a CT scan, but he wouldn’t tell me the cost. Then I got a call from the diagnostic clinic later in the week and when they quoted me the cost, I was floored. I had insurance at work, but being a PPO, they would pay only the deductable and the rest would come out of my pocket.
The amount wasn’t exactly astronomical, but on my budget, it was a lot. It was explained to me that they could bill me. Of course I already knew that they wanted that money up front, and not in increments, the only way I was able to pay. To be that close to getting that tumor removed only to be turned back like that was heartbreaking. I was upset, but I wasn’t deterred. There was always the Harris County Hospital District.
Even though I had insurance, it was at least worth a try. I couldn’t disappoint my friends and family and just give up like that. So began another journey for me. I called the hospital district and they sent me to the far north side of Houston to pick up my papers. Once the form was filled out, I had to make an appointment to turn in my paperwork and get registered in their system. Easier said than done when using public transportation.
I had to go to the far southeast side of Houston and be there at an appointed time. The first thing I learned about dealing with the hospital district is that just because the appointment is at a certain time doesn’t mean that I’ll be seen right then and there. So I arrived at the registration office with all the required paperwork and waited – and waited some more. Finally I was seen by a hospital district worker and turned in all my paperwork. I was worried that even though I had insurance I’d be denied.
Then surprise, surprise I was approved. I was now in the Harris County Hospital District system. I was now the proud owner of a HCHD Gold Card, and I was on my way again. After dragging my feet for a little bit, I finally called and made an appointment to be seen at the clinic back on the north side of Houston. I think I must have confused a lot of HCHD employees when they called my name in Spanish and I’d answer them in plain English. \
Being a patient in a public healthcare system means having to give over a lot of my secrets. Foremost my real weight and my real height. The doctor couldn’t understand why I was there until I showed her the mass on my face. She probed the surface with her finger and determined that yes it might just be a lipoma. I was given a referral to Ben Taub and see an ear, nose, and throat specialist.
The doctors looked it over and ordered a CT scan. I thought, oh no here we go again, but no sweat. There was no give us your money or your life this time. I got the CT scan, met back with the doctors again. They determined that sebaceous cyst, and was probably benign. The next step was to have the cyst biopsied. I’m thinking big needles and heavy sedation, but no.
The needle used was smaller than the one used to draw blood, and there was no anesthetic necessary. At the pathologist’s office she took a very fine needle and probed it twice. When she said I might feel pressure, she wasn’t kidding. It hurt and my skin was red in that area. It was the first time that it ever really hurt. Most of the time the only pain I got from it was a shooting pain in the temple and jaw, or when it was exposed to extreme temperatures. The biopsy determined that indeed the cyst was benign, and the next step was to have it removed.
A quick meeting with the anesthesiologist determined that I’d be put under plus have a local applied as well. I was nervous and I had my apprehensions, but the docs assured me that it wouldn’t be that bad. So bright and early on the morning of the 9th, my parents took me up to Ben Taub hospital for the surgery. All my friends and family were pulling for me, and they were happy that I was finally having it taken out. I was probably the happiest though because I’d have peace of mind knowing that it was gone forever.
The surgery waiting room was chaos. Everyone was scheduled to be there at 6 in the morning, but the nurse had to explain that patients would be called according to the time that their doctors could see them. So finally around 8:30 I was sent into surgery. After struggling with the stupid hospital gown, I was sent to pre-op for screening and monitoring. Then the docs came, looked me over, and I was wheeled into the operating room after 10 in the morning.
The last thing I remember is looking up at the OR ceiling with a mask on my face. I woke up again and found myself with the mask still on in the recovery area. At first the nurses didn’t realize I was awake until I got their attention. They took off the mask because that hurt. Then I explained that I was feeling pressure in my sinuses. I was administered apple juice and a Vicodin tablet. The nurse assured me that it was safe to take the pill on an empty stomach.
After a while I felt nauseous and the pain hadn’t gone away. I still felt the pressure, so I was administered morphine. Still nothing, so I was given Ketamine. All that did was knock me out, but I was in so much pain, the nurse brought in the doctor. He loosened the bandage around my head and the pressure went away. I passed out, and when I came to, it was time to go.
Once the docs and nurses cleared me to go home, I was prescribed pain killers and an antibiotic. My parents took me to their house and I’m going to convalesce here the next couple of days. It’ll be a while before you see me out again, and if you shop at Disco Kroger over in the Montrose, you’ll have to wait ‘til Monday to see me slinging meat again. A big thanks to the ENT specialists at Ben Taub for the excellent job they’ve done. And thanks to all my friends and family for their thoughts, their concerns, and their prayers. It’s greatly appreciated and I look forward to seeing y’all again soon.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Thai Seafood Curry
What you'll need:
1/4 small onion, chopped
2-3 cloves garlic crushed and minced
1tbsp grated ginger
1tbsp brown sugar
1 tbsp green or red thai curry paste
1 can coconut milk
1tbsp oyster or teriyaki sauce
1lb 51-60 count shrimp peeled
4-6 tilapia fillets
octopus or calamari (optional)
prepared crawfish tails (optional)
prepared crab meat (optional)
prepared lobster meat (optional)
2 cups water
1 cup rice
Curry:
In a dutch oven or deep covered frying pan, drop the curry paste and cook out the oils. Add onion, garlic, and ginger and brown. Add can of coconut milk and add brown sugar and oyster sauce. Stir until blended and then toss in fish.
Once the fillets flake and separate, add in the rest of the seafood. Shrimp will turn pink when ready. Sauce should come to a simmer,but not a rolling boil. Turn off heat and let sit covered.
Rice:
In a sauce pan bring two cups of water to a boil, stir in rice, bring to a boil again, and lower heat, Let rice cook 20 minutes covered on low heat. At end of cooking time, fluff with fork and let sit five minutes before serving.
This dish can be very filling and the remaining paste can be used in other dishes.
1/4 small onion, chopped
2-3 cloves garlic crushed and minced
1tbsp grated ginger
1tbsp brown sugar
1 tbsp green or red thai curry paste
1 can coconut milk
1tbsp oyster or teriyaki sauce
1lb 51-60 count shrimp peeled
4-6 tilapia fillets
octopus or calamari (optional)
prepared crawfish tails (optional)
prepared crab meat (optional)
prepared lobster meat (optional)
2 cups water
1 cup rice
Curry:
In a dutch oven or deep covered frying pan, drop the curry paste and cook out the oils. Add onion, garlic, and ginger and brown. Add can of coconut milk and add brown sugar and oyster sauce. Stir until blended and then toss in fish.
Once the fillets flake and separate, add in the rest of the seafood. Shrimp will turn pink when ready. Sauce should come to a simmer,but not a rolling boil. Turn off heat and let sit covered.
Rice:
In a sauce pan bring two cups of water to a boil, stir in rice, bring to a boil again, and lower heat, Let rice cook 20 minutes covered on low heat. At end of cooking time, fluff with fork and let sit five minutes before serving.
This dish can be very filling and the remaining paste can be used in other dishes.
Friday, April 10, 2009
More Urban Jungle Survival Tips
All right so it's grocery shopping time, and I am always on the lookout for bargains. My eyes are automatically drawn to the yellow or bright red shopper's club card deals. Sure some of them are great, but not everyone can afford those pricey deals. However, there are other options.
Number one is the closeout item. That is a product that the store is no longer going to sell, or is changing the packaging, or any number of reasons. Some of them are really useful, and then there's some that well, just flat out useless. Most grocery stores have a corner or area where these items are gathered. Other places will specify them with a different colored shelf tag to draw attention to it.
Items that are marked down are also kept in some of these closeout areas as well. The one proviso here is that some items in markdown areas are either close dated or damaged, so be careful.
Canned goods that are dented, packages that are torn or crushed are good examples of these. Most times if the top of the can is not pushed out, then the product is still good. Just remember that the clock is ticking on those items once damage occurs. It may not stay fresh as long, so the quicker they're used, the better.
A lot of grocery stores have areas where marked down meats are kept as well. Most of the time these products are a day or two out of date. In the case of processed meats such as ham and turkey, they should be anywhere from seven to ten days from their expiration date. Products day of or older should not be in either of these areas. and if they are, they should be brought to the attention of store management.
Things to look for when choosing marked down meat are color, smell, and packaging. If the product is still red, most of the blood is still in the meat. Anything brown usually means that most of the blood has soaked into the pad underneath or leaked out. When looking at the packaging, it should be rightly wrapped and stuck to the bottom of the tray. If it is not, it can be re-wrapped, but remember to move it to another package at home.
If the product has turned green or gray, move on to something fresher. Also when choosing fresh meat, if the packaging smells, the product may not. However a lot of the time odor has to do with case sanitation and whether or not the package was wrapped tightly. Choosing processed meats is a different game altogether.
Processed meats should look slightly pink or white depending on what it is. If the product has turned beige, green, or gray, don't take it home. Chances are that air has been introduced into that product, thus initiating the decomposing process. If the product has a stomach or has puffed up, then definitely don't take it home.
That means that dangerous bacterias like listeria may be lurking in that package. For the most part listeria is harmless, but it's best not to take any chances. For instance bacon should be bright red or pink and white. If it is brown and the edges look feathered or frayed, chances are it is not safe to eat. At home if the processed meat has a slimy coating, contact the manufacturer directly and discard the product because they will more than likely send a coupon for a free replacement.
Seafood is usually marked down, but it's best to pass it up and get something fresher. But if it's too hard to pass up, there are some things to remember. Fresh whole fish should smell like fresh water, and the eyes should not be clouded over. Shrimp should be stuck to its shell and slightly firm. If the shell has separated, or it's a bit soft to the touch, it's probably best to get something fresher.
Dairy and produce also usually have markdown items as well. Again take the same precautions. Typically milk will last one to five days after the expiration date, but the best way to tell is the smell test. When it no longer beings to smell fresh, pour it down the drain or use it for baking. Most dairy or produce products should be marked down within five days of their expiration date to ensure maximum usage.
Bread or bakery items are usually marked down a day in advance of their expiration date. Most of the time the best thing to do here is take the product home and store it in sandwich bags in the freezer until ready for use.
Fish and seafood can be frozen for up to three to four weeks. Breads no more than two weeks because they will dry out. In some cases that can be a good thing because that can be used as bread crumbs or bread pudding. Fresh meat can survive up to six weeks in the freezer, and processed meats up to three months.
Hopefully these tips can save money and hopefully time in the grocery store. My rule is always if it's green or gray, throw it away.
Number one is the closeout item. That is a product that the store is no longer going to sell, or is changing the packaging, or any number of reasons. Some of them are really useful, and then there's some that well, just flat out useless. Most grocery stores have a corner or area where these items are gathered. Other places will specify them with a different colored shelf tag to draw attention to it.
Items that are marked down are also kept in some of these closeout areas as well. The one proviso here is that some items in markdown areas are either close dated or damaged, so be careful.
Canned goods that are dented, packages that are torn or crushed are good examples of these. Most times if the top of the can is not pushed out, then the product is still good. Just remember that the clock is ticking on those items once damage occurs. It may not stay fresh as long, so the quicker they're used, the better.
A lot of grocery stores have areas where marked down meats are kept as well. Most of the time these products are a day or two out of date. In the case of processed meats such as ham and turkey, they should be anywhere from seven to ten days from their expiration date. Products day of or older should not be in either of these areas. and if they are, they should be brought to the attention of store management.
Things to look for when choosing marked down meat are color, smell, and packaging. If the product is still red, most of the blood is still in the meat. Anything brown usually means that most of the blood has soaked into the pad underneath or leaked out. When looking at the packaging, it should be rightly wrapped and stuck to the bottom of the tray. If it is not, it can be re-wrapped, but remember to move it to another package at home.
If the product has turned green or gray, move on to something fresher. Also when choosing fresh meat, if the packaging smells, the product may not. However a lot of the time odor has to do with case sanitation and whether or not the package was wrapped tightly. Choosing processed meats is a different game altogether.
Processed meats should look slightly pink or white depending on what it is. If the product has turned beige, green, or gray, don't take it home. Chances are that air has been introduced into that product, thus initiating the decomposing process. If the product has a stomach or has puffed up, then definitely don't take it home.
That means that dangerous bacterias like listeria may be lurking in that package. For the most part listeria is harmless, but it's best not to take any chances. For instance bacon should be bright red or pink and white. If it is brown and the edges look feathered or frayed, chances are it is not safe to eat. At home if the processed meat has a slimy coating, contact the manufacturer directly and discard the product because they will more than likely send a coupon for a free replacement.
Seafood is usually marked down, but it's best to pass it up and get something fresher. But if it's too hard to pass up, there are some things to remember. Fresh whole fish should smell like fresh water, and the eyes should not be clouded over. Shrimp should be stuck to its shell and slightly firm. If the shell has separated, or it's a bit soft to the touch, it's probably best to get something fresher.
Dairy and produce also usually have markdown items as well. Again take the same precautions. Typically milk will last one to five days after the expiration date, but the best way to tell is the smell test. When it no longer beings to smell fresh, pour it down the drain or use it for baking. Most dairy or produce products should be marked down within five days of their expiration date to ensure maximum usage.
Bread or bakery items are usually marked down a day in advance of their expiration date. Most of the time the best thing to do here is take the product home and store it in sandwich bags in the freezer until ready for use.
Fish and seafood can be frozen for up to three to four weeks. Breads no more than two weeks because they will dry out. In some cases that can be a good thing because that can be used as bread crumbs or bread pudding. Fresh meat can survive up to six weeks in the freezer, and processed meats up to three months.
Hopefully these tips can save money and hopefully time in the grocery store. My rule is always if it's green or gray, throw it away.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Tex Mex Mac and Cheese casserole
1 bag elbow macaroni
1 can Ro-Tel tomatoes or similar style
1lb hamburger meat 80% lean or better
1 envelope taco seasoning mix
1 bag shredded medium cheddar cheese
1 bag Mexican style shredded cheese
1 stick unsalted creamery butter
6 tbsp flour
4-6 cups whole milk (nothing under 2%)
First things first. Prepare the water for the macaroni and place on back burner. Next brown and then drain hamburger meat. Add taco seasoning until meat is entirely coated. Cover and set aside.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. When water comes to a boil, stir in macaroni.
In a sauce pan, melt the butter and add flour a tablespoon at a time and make a roux. Do not brown. Whisk in the milk and combine until blended. Lower heat and stir sauce until thickened. When the sauce coats the back of a spoon, turn off heat. Add mild cheddar and whisk until blended into sauce.
Macaroni should be fork tender and white when ready. Drain off the pasta and pour into a rectangular baking dish. Add Ro-tel, hamburger meat and stir together. Pour sauce into pan and stir until all ingredients are blended. Spread the bag of Mexican style shredded cheese over top, pop into oven and bake until cheese bubbles and macaroni begin to harden.
This will serve a small crowd, or one or two people over several days. Can also be portioned and frozen for later use.
Quesadilla, pepper jack cheese, or even Velveeta can be used in place of medium cheddar. Other add-ins instead of hamburger meat can be prepared chicken and beef fajita strips chopped into small pieces. Ground turkey, chicken, or even vegetarian grinds can be used.
1 can Ro-Tel tomatoes or similar style
1lb hamburger meat 80% lean or better
1 envelope taco seasoning mix
1 bag shredded medium cheddar cheese
1 bag Mexican style shredded cheese
1 stick unsalted creamery butter
6 tbsp flour
4-6 cups whole milk (nothing under 2%)
First things first. Prepare the water for the macaroni and place on back burner. Next brown and then drain hamburger meat. Add taco seasoning until meat is entirely coated. Cover and set aside.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. When water comes to a boil, stir in macaroni.
In a sauce pan, melt the butter and add flour a tablespoon at a time and make a roux. Do not brown. Whisk in the milk and combine until blended. Lower heat and stir sauce until thickened. When the sauce coats the back of a spoon, turn off heat. Add mild cheddar and whisk until blended into sauce.
Macaroni should be fork tender and white when ready. Drain off the pasta and pour into a rectangular baking dish. Add Ro-tel, hamburger meat and stir together. Pour sauce into pan and stir until all ingredients are blended. Spread the bag of Mexican style shredded cheese over top, pop into oven and bake until cheese bubbles and macaroni begin to harden.
This will serve a small crowd, or one or two people over several days. Can also be portioned and frozen for later use.
Quesadilla, pepper jack cheese, or even Velveeta can be used in place of medium cheddar. Other add-ins instead of hamburger meat can be prepared chicken and beef fajita strips chopped into small pieces. Ground turkey, chicken, or even vegetarian grinds can be used.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Hurricane Hell followup 9/19/08
After being cooped up for almost a week, I decided Wednesday to hit the streets and see what this city looked like. All over it was pretty much the same. Lots of trees still down and lots of areas still without power.
I started out on the light rail line where there was no power, so no place to charge my Q Card, the rechargeable bus pass. Lucky the light rail was free, but none of the ride stores, at least as far as I could tell, were open. Since downtown still had power, I was able to recharge the card at one of the rail platforms.
Waiting for the bus west to the Galleria, I was able to see that Travis was still blocked off Wednesday. All of the windows blown out at the JP Morgan ChaseTower were now boarded up, as were most of the other windows that blew out downtown, as the bus moved forward through the city.
Traffic signals were still out in some places downtown, but Midtown was without power from about St. Joseph's al the way south to Elgin. So that was Wednesday, and I spent the day out. First to lunch, and then the Galleria.
After being couped up this whole time, it was nice to see civilization again, but there were still signs thinngs weren't quite back to normal. There were people all throughout Galleria II that were on their laptops or charging their cell phones.
On my way home I ran into some friends and that really made my day. It was great to reconnect with people, some that I hadn't seen in two or three weeks. We hung out at a local watering hole and hung out there until the owner ran us off 'round curfew time. Yep, Houston's still under a midnight to 6am curfew through Monday.
So Thursdfay I decided to head west to Memorial City Mall and see how it looked there. Still more of the same along Long Point and Hempstead, along the bus route I chose to take. Spotty is the best word to describe our current power situation. One side of the street will have lights, while the other won't.
One improvement I saw in Westmoreland here is a lot of the trees had been cut up and piled on the side of the streets. Out at Memorial City Mall, it was the same scene as the Galleria. Lots of people using their wi-fi and charing their electronics. I can understand what that's like wanting to reconnect with the world at large and let our friends and family in other places know that we're alive and that this storm didn't get us down.
The streets were busiere today with people either heading back home from evacutating, or just coming home from work. Westchase along Gessner and Westheimer all the way east to about Dunvale was spotty at best as far as electrical service goes.
I got the brilliant idea that Wal-Mart, being this mega giant retailer, would have fucking groceries like cold foodstuffs. Nope. Deli, produce, meat, frozen - empty. Nothing left on the shelves but some drinks and a hand full of gourds. I freaked the fuck out honestly. This was not what I was expecting from Wal-Mart for crying out loud.
Yeah I can understand 99 Cents Only, Kroger, and Randall's here in Montrose since they all just got their power back. 99 Cents Only and Randall's were spotty at best in their selection of perishables.
My friend from high school called me as I stood here agape at the sight of the empty coolers. He lives in League City, and he did a recon mission for me down there. His Wal-Mart had some cold foodstuffs, and he came and got me.
Every where he went traffic was hell. Between the lights out in places on Westheimer, and the traffic on the freeways, what's normally a thirty - or forty-minute drive took closer to an hour. Finaly, he arrived and shuttled me down to League City.
All along 45 South the Gulf Freeway, Ike's calling card was every where. From darkened parking lots to broken signs and fallen awnings, the devastation was evident. The League City Wal-Mart was spotty at best, but they had the essentals I wanted like lunch meat and cheese and milk, things I realized I take for granted.
I have to say that I really appreciate my friend braving all that traffic to get me the hell out of here so I could get groceries. And I appreciate all my friends who've checked in on me, or have thought about me in the wake of this storm. I also give a shout out to those who showed their concernts for not just me, but my family too.
So, the lights are back on here in Westmoreland, but other areas of the Montrose still remain in the dark. Hopefully the power will be back on by the time the curfew's lifted Monday. I know a lot of the bars and clubs have been posting bulleteins that they'l be open this weekend, and they'll even open early to accommodate the city-wide curfew. Hope to see some of you out this weekend. I miss y'all, and I miss hangin' out with y'all. Be well.
Hurricane Hell 9/16/08
For the last twenty-five years or so, the Houston/Galveston area managed to dodge some major bullets in terms of major hurricanes. Many times me and my family prepared for the worst and nothing happened. The most we saw in that 25-year span were baby hurricanes and minor tropical storms. Then, about three years ago, we got the wake-up call with Katrina first and then Rita, which apeared it would take dead aim at the Houston/Galveston area. Once again we'd dodged what was a monster hurricane.
This year's hurricane forecast as in recent years didn't look too good fo the U.S. coastal areas. Personally I'd become complacent in recent years. I'd pretty much determined that if it happened, it happened, and there was nothign I could do about it. This year we avoided a direct hit by Hurricanes Dolly and Gustav, but took a glancing blow from Tropical Storm Edouard.
Then the Cape Verde season began, and that's usually when I pay attention because those storms have historically taken aim at the Gulf Coast. So when Ike formed just off the Cape Verde coast, I really didn't pay much attention because the forecasters said Josephine would have a better chance of taking aim at the Texas Gulf Coast.
Ike was already ahead of Josephine and tmoving over storm weary Haiti, Cuba, and the Caribbean. Forecasters and meteorologists scrambled to predict where exactly the storm would make landfall. For the first time in 25 years, I actually stopped and took notice. Galveston and Houston were in the center of the cone of uncertainity, and the closer it got, the more likely landfall would be somewhere in the area.
Monday I got in touch with my family in Texas City, just to the south of Houston and north of Galveston. Mom told me that she had no idea we were in the target zone, but that she would concact me later in the week with their plans.
In the mean time, I hoped and prayed this thing would go the other way and miss us, but I knew our time was past due. The grocery store where I work was busy Thursday morning, and then by that afternoon, shelves had emptied of can goods, water, and even perishables like dairy, meat, and produce.
After I got off work, Mom had made the decision to evacuate now that it was obvious Hurricane Ike was about to take aim at Galveston. Dad and Grandma sheltered at my apartkment, and the rest of my family at my sister's house in Bellaire.
We watched the news coverage and waited as the storm got closer by the hour. Ahead of the hurricane water pushed into the bays and bayous south from Corpus Christi north to Surfside, Galveston, the Bolivar Peninsula, and even as far north as Beaumont and southern Louisiana. This storm was huge and it was only a cat 2.
Just after midnight Ike began to move into the Houston area after battering the coast. For eight exhausting hours wind and rain battered my apartment complex. All over the Montrose where I live transformers exploded and the entire area went dark.
Daylight revealed lots of downed trees and there were branches and leaves all over the place. Listening to the battery operated radio I had, word from the coast wasn't good. Many landmarks across the Gulf Coast were gone or destroyed.
Just today I got electricity back, and I was able to see just what exactly happened. East of Houston in Orange County and Chambers County, the devastation was unbelievable. Entire communities along the Bolivar Peninsula to the east of Galveston Island were wiped off the map, and water still inundated areas further east.
Along Galveston Bay, many of the communities from Bacliff to San Leon, and north to Shoreacres and Baytown were nearly wiped out by the 13-15 foot storm surge.
On a personal note, my family went home Saturday afternoon and found their roofs slightly damanged, and the trees knocked oer. Nothing as major as what happened along the coast.
So far the Texas Gulf Coast from Brazoria to Galveston and Chambers counties are closed off. Do not attempt to go south and try and help. Instead I encourage people to donate to their local Red Cross and Salvation Army.
It will be many months, possibly even years before many of these areas fully recover. If you loved going to the Gulf of Mexico to vacation or to party or whatever, then I strongly encourage you to help those people because their situation is dire.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Status Update 10/02/07
Fall is upon the asphalt jungle once again. I have come out from my shoe box to observe the changing seasons. One could hardly tell fall is here with temperatures hovering around ninety. Some trees have shed their leaves or become slightly discolored, but hat could be attributed to the weather.
After a summer of flooding rains and record-breaking heat, I welcome the fall. Months of trekking through the canyons of concrete, glass, and steel has made me almost giddy at the first sign of any cool breeze.Right now, it's my day off from my job at Planet K, and this has given me the perfect opportunity to reflect and ponder on things.
After two years here in the jungle, I have had somewhat of an epihpany. You could call it a moment of clarity, something that's rare in the frenetic pace of life in the big city. I realize that I am not so much happy as I am content. My goals after college were to find a job, get out on my own, and eventually find a mate. In the immortal words of Meatloaf, two out of three ain't bad
While these goals were broad, it was the first time I'd really figured out what the hell I wanted in life. I found a job working at what my friend called the Great Green Titanic - er - Gulf Greyhound Park. After almost two years of not having a job, I was willing to take anything, even if it was temporary. Although the job fell through eventually, it gave me that spark that I needed.
If I could run a VTR, a switcher, a sattelite receiver, and an effects generator all at once, I could do damn near anything. When my friend called me a couple of months later with the prospect of a job selling sunglasses in Houston, I seriously looked into it. Once I landed that job, I moved on to goal number two - finding a place to live
Finding a place to live in Houston was the proverbial daunting task. Number one, I had to find something that would fit in my budget. Number two, it had to be centrally located to be close to adequate public transporation. Probably the biggest deciding factor was that it was in an area that didn't flood. Hvaing grown up on the swampy Gulf Coast, I had lost too many of my personal effects to many a flood.
Once I found the ideal place, I quickly settled back into city life. Finding a mate was the farthest thing from my mind. I was too busy trying to juggle bills, rent, and work.Instead, what I found were two very good friends who anchored me. Now that one has moved, and I've grown apart from the other, I feel more centered.
The odd thing is that I'm happy just making friends with people. I realize this more as I get out and see people for who they really are. Maybe when I'm not looking I'll find that person. In the mean time, I'm looking to the long term.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Survival of the Fattest
Spring time is upon the jungle once again. The weather has gone from one extreme to the other in the past month. With the right skills and equipment, a person can survive in the asphalt jungle. Yes, I said survival skills.
Shopping is no longer for fun and games in the asphalt jungle. It is now a survival skill, and in my case, survival of the fattest. Hunting down bargains becomes crucial when trying to pay the bills. No longer am I that little kid screaming mommy I want. Instead, I’m that person you see in the aisle reading the price tag trying to figure out the best bargain. Hunting down bargains is not as easy as it sounds.
The grocery store I grew up going to was great for bargains early on, but prices eventually climbed so high I’ve chosen not to shop there anymore. Instead, I comb through the mark-down bins, and browse dollar stores. Not all dollar stores are like those that I used to see with cramped aisles of baskets full of junk imported from China. Many stock cleaning supplies, canned goods, and in some cases, refrigerated items. Bargains abound, but beware because some items may not be packaged in the United States, and not all stores stay on top of their cold stuffs. Also, some products may be cheaper at another store.
Cooking used to be something I did when my parents didn’t want to go out to eat, or simply didn’t feel like making something to eat. Today that skill is the one thing that keeps me from going out for fast food every night. Cooking skills do not come easily. It can take months, sometimes years to develop them. For the novice, I recommend starting out with something as easy as boiling water, and working up from there.
Boiling water can be useful for cooking Ramen, among other things. I’ve advanced far beyond this, but I know I still have more to learn. Really, the equipment necessary for cooking is basic. All anyone really needs is a 9-inch frying pan, a sauce pan, and a telephone. It’s also probably a wise idea to have a fire extinguisher and the phone number of the closest pizza place on hand in case cooking just doesn’t work out.
For me, learning how to use the bus system in Houston has become key to my survival. If it were not for my vast knowledge of the alphabet soup of bus route numbers, I would probably never leave my house. This has been helpful in hunting down many of the bargains I’ve come across. Using the bus system has become more and more of a science, and I’ve found there are some helpful tools for trekking across the jungle.
First of all, a backpack is not just for carrying books and supplies to class. It becomes a very important survival tool. In order to survive a day of urban trekking, there’s several things that you need to fill this backpack with. Because of the subtropical climate of the asphalt jungle, an umbrella and a poncho or light jacket are good to have handy. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been caught in downpours, and I’ve been glad to have an umbrella to reach for.
I sometimes carry snack foods, water, and sports drinks with me. While eating and drinking are not allowed on city buses, there aren’t any rules against doing so at the bus stop. Sports drinks may be sugary, but they come in handy on long hot days out in the jungle. A good water bottle with an air-tight lid is really handy because it can be refilled at any water fountain, and it cuts down on the cost of buying bottled water.
Recently, I started putting shopping bags in my backpack so I can carry my purchases home. There’s times I’ve come across things in the stores that I wish I could carry home with me, but had no way of doing so. This is where having a cell phone comes in handy. It can be used to call and find out bus routes and schedules when on the go. The phone can also be used to call a cab or close friend who can tote you home in case you find something really good. Luckily I haven’t had to resort to this yet.
Comfortable shoes are also necessary for survival. In the past, I always touted Dr Martens because they were comfortable, and good for long-distance jungle trekking. They’re also hot as hell after a few miles in the heat. I’ve discovered that Converse All Stars are good during the hot summer months because they are cool, lightweight, and comfortable. Any shoe will work, but I’ve found these two brands hold up exceptionally well in all conditions. An added bonus is that they generally tend not to lose their shape with wear, unlike most shoes.
It is my hope that in sharing this information with you, you too can survive in the asphalt jungle. In the years so that I’ve been on my own, I’ve found these skills come in handy time and again. I’ve saved myself a lot of money by applying what I’ve learned from living here in the asphalt jungle. Hopefully, now you can too.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Untitled
I
Little boy blond,
Where did I go wrong?
Was it when I tried to out you?
because I knew all about you?
Was it when
I tried to be your friend?
Little boy blond
Now you’re gone
- out of my life
And my only mistake –
Was I didn’t know you better.
Boy in the big blue Jeep,
you promised me
You’d sweep me off my feet
You promised:
Walks on the beach,
Candle light dinners,
and evenings at the movies.
But it never happened
you never showed
And I wondered –
Was that really your picture
or was it just you afraid to show yourself?
I fell for your lies.
I waited and watched,
but you never showed
I hoped
that we could make some magic
but it never happened
Instead,
I resolved to give you up
and move on.
III
Now I’m caught
in the spider’s web
He has weaved me
into his web
And choked me
into submission
but now we have made peace
We live in symbiotic harmony
I have left him alone,
and he has left me alone
IV
Some day,
He will come
When I least expect him
Still, I look for him
Because I know he is out there
He Waits
He Waits
Two chairs
rest idly on the shore of the bay
One sits empty,
while in the other, he waits
rest idly on the shore of the bay
One sits empty,
while in the other, he waits
The sun shines brightly
and it reminds him
of her radiant smile
He feels the heat
and it reminds him
of her temper
He looks at her empty chair
- and he waits
She will be back,
she tells him
She’s gone inside.
Maybe for her smokes
- and he waits
He drifts off to sleep
The summer breeze reminds him
of her warm breath on his neck
She comes to him in his dream
I will see you again some day,
she promises
He awakes to her empty chair
- and he waits
The stars are out when he awakes.
- and he smiles
She is up there somewhere
smiling down on him
She is the brightest star
in the sky that night
He knows
she is smiling down on him
He looks again
Her chair is still empty
- and he waits.
- and he smiles
She is up there somewhere
smiling down on him
She is the brightest star
in the sky that night
He knows
she is smiling down on him
He looks again
Her chair is still empty
- and he waits.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Endangered Habitat
Another summer has almost passed here in the asphalt jungle. Much has happened since my last post. I have been mired in work, among other things. Once again, my company has transferred me to another store. I am no longer in a mall kiosk but an actual store with doors and windows. After two months, I am still adjusting. I almost miss the annoying assholes asking me where everything is, if they’re not asking me for a discount. Well, there is much to tell.
I have observed and experienced much. For starters, I have seen the dark underbelly of Rice Village, an outdoor upscale shopping area in Houston’s Inner Loop. Last month, I was awakened out of a dead sleep by a ringing phone. It was my boss asking me to explain to her if I had locked the door. That was the last question I wanted to answer at 6am. So, I trudged down to the store only to find Houston’s Finest awaiting my arrival.
No, I had not left the door unlocked. Instead, a band of marauding thieves used landscaping boulders to break into my store and stole us blind. I was a bit surprised to say the least, but then again, this is somehow expected to happen in an upscale area. Less than a month later, once again, there was another robbery, but at a boutique two doors down. A sales girl was beaten and kicked to the ground for confronting a shoplifter about a stolen shirt. Once again, I felt my habitat was threatened, and it made me wonder if this was really the best environment for me to work in.
I longed for the safety of a shopping mall, where security guards roamed endlessly. My plan is to stick it out until something better comes along, and hopefully, that will be sooner rather than later. Even my home habitat is being threatened. My grandmother recently informed me that the City of Texas City proposed a zoning ordinance in my old neighborhood. No longer would refinery workers be allowed to settle close to their jobs. Instead, the city plans to rezone the neighborhood from residential to light industrial.
Imminent domain giveth and taketh away. My parents can live in their house as long as they want, but if they decide to move, the house cannot be sold as residential. Instead, it would have to be sold as industrial. What’s really screwed up about the whole deal is that only those who are for the proposal are allowed to comment publicly. However, if my family has objections to the proposal, they have to express their views in a letter. I’m sorry, but if that was me, I’d be the most outspoken one at the meeting.
I ask this question. Where are my parents, grandmother, and dozens of my neighbors supposed to live if the city decides they want their houses for light industrial? It isn’t as if they can just pull up stakes and move elsewhere. The cost of living has gone up since my family settled there more than 30 years ago. What’s worse is fair market value is a ridiculous low-ball offer.
It’s too bad fair market value doesn’t include sentimental value. There’s a lot of that tied up in both my grandma’s house and my parents’ house. I learned to bake in my grandma’s kitchen. My parents’ house was the starting point for many of my sisters’ dates. There was the perfunctory screening process followed by curfew setting before my sisters went on their dates. I remember spending my 13th birthday swimming in my parents’ front yard after Hurricane Chantal blew threw the area.
Even the neighborhood has its own memories. I remember walks with my grandfather in search of cans and scrap to sell for cash. Somewhere around the corner is where I first kissed a girl whom I had a crush on in high school. Down the road is the church where I learned Bible stories, Up the street is the school where my sisters attended middle school. No value can be placed on the emotional investment in a home, in a neighborhood.
As much as I say I hated growing up in Texas City, there’s always good memories that outweigh the bad ones. The zoning ordinance was something that I should have seen coming, but never expected. I hope that the city does the right thing and takes into consideration that they are breaking up a large family of friends and neighbors. People who grew up together, who have shared so many memories together.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
The Texas City Disaster – what really happened
The Texas City disaster occurred at 9:12 am April 16, 1947 when the SS Grandcamp, loaded down with munitions, sisal twine, jute, and ammonium nitrate exploded after a fire on board went out of control. In spite of firefighters' efforts to douse the fire, and the crew's attempts to contain the fire in the hold using steam and tarps, the ship exploded. In the blink of an eye, nearly the entire volunteer fire department, Grandcamp crew, bystanders, local residents, and employees at near by refineries were either killed or critically injured.
Businesses, residences, and schools were destroyed by the initial impact. In the wake of the explosion, a barge filled with hydrochloric acid washed on shore with a tidal wave of oily salt water. What was the shaft of the ship went skipping across the rail yard, ripping up rails as it went along. Its anchor was imbedded two feet into the ground almost a half mile away. There was panic in the streets as a wave of fear washed over the city that the enemy had attacked.
Bodies covered in sludge were loaded onto flatbed trucks and carried to John Sealy hospital in Galveston. Black or white, it did not matter. They would be sorted when their bodies were washed. A local garage was set up as a makeshift morgue where bodies were embalmed. The nearby Texas City High School gymnasium was used to store the bodies so that family members could be identified. There is the story of a woman who playfully colored her husband's toenails the night before identified his body by the color of his toes. The death toll grew so quickly that the backs of traffic tickets had to be used as toe tags.
As calm was slowly restored the city, there was fear of another explosion. The SS Highflyer and SS Wilson B Keane were on fire in the port as a result of flaming debris and their anchors were tangled with each other. The Highflyer cargo included ammonium nitrate, and the Keane was loaded down with flour and lumber. Attempts to untangle the two failed and both were towed out to sea. Around 1:17am, they were being towed, the Highflyer exploded. Businesses whose had been replaced after the initial blast shattered once again. For nearly two days, tank farms and refineries continued to burn.
On the morning of April 19, 1947, a community-wide memorial service was held for the dead. The remains of 63 unidentified victims were buried in a cemetery on the edge of the city. A marble angel stands guard over them today and each of the remains is marked with a small pink granite stone and a number engraved on each one. The final death toll is unknown, but estimates are that at least 576 people died, nearly 3000 were injured, and the cost of damage to residences and businesses was in the millions of dollars.
A sketch of a sailor’s tattoo was posted in the New York Times months later, and a reader was able to identify the person that way. Windows in Galveston shattered, buildings in Bay Town swayed, and in Denver, Colorado, the blast registered on a seismograph. People as far away as El Campo heard the blast as well.
Nearly ten years after the explosion, Elizabeth Dalehite's suit against the government was settled for more than a half million dollars. It took an act of Congress to get another half million or so for the rest of the victims' families.
Today, Texas City is a town of more than 40,000 people with oil refining as its top business. On Loop 197 stands the propellor of the SS Highflyer and a plaque commemorating the disaster. At the entrance to the Texas City Dike sits the anchor of the SS Grandcamp and a historical marker. On Loop 197 and 25th Street is the memorial park erected nearly fifty years after the disaster. For years it was just a simple reflecting pool with a marble angel standing over it. Today, it is surrounded by a circular walking path, pavilions, and memorials to the other victims of the blast.
On a personal note, this disaster touched the lives of many of my family members. My grandmother's brother worked in a doughnut shop. At the time of the blast, he was about to drop doughnuts into the fryer when his boss stopped him. The explosion rocked the shop, sending glass into the fryers and scalding him. It was said that nearly a cup of glass was removed from his back.
My great grandmother's sister had just finished having her house set back on its piers after the 1943 hurricane. In the blast, the house was once again knocked off its piers. Her daughter was a student at Texas City High School and was able to tell the authorities who was dead and who was still alive.
My grandfather was driving a truck at Union Carbide that was toppled by the blast. In Galveston, my where my grandmother lived, she said that ambulances had to tear up the esplanade to get to the hospital. Her sister hopped on a flatbed truck and went to man the switchboards, where operators were on strike at the time.
As a result of the disaster, mutual aid was implemented. Now, if there is a fire at any of the refineries, each of their fire departments will respond. It was first used May 30, 1978 during a fire at Texas City Refining. My parents to this day still talk about this accident. Their recollection of that fire is as clear as the recollection of many Texas City Disaster survivors. My family still talks about the mushroom cloud, the explosion, how the it rained debris from the fire, that barrels of oil were sent shooting into the air like rockets. I did my research and there were seven fatalities. The explosion was a result of two 55,000 gallon tanks that exploded as the result of a flash fire in a storage unit.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
040806
Here of late there’s been talk of what the US should do with the influx of illegal immigrants. Yes, Congress came to an agreement on who stays and who goes. However, it’s like putting a Band Aid on a gaping wound. Will we ever fix the immigration problem? Probably not any time soon, but think of it this way. The immigration in this country stretches back for hundreds of years.
Why the first documented illegal immigrants to North America starting in the 1500s with the discovery of Mexico. Just think that if the Aztecs had immigration laws, they could have told the Spanish they weren’t welcome there. Of course, this might have done them any good as the Conquistadores were prepared to take the New World by force if necessary.
However, if the Spanish had been turned away, there wouldn’t be any Mexicans to work low-paying, low-skilled jobs. There would be no one to clean your house, cook your dinner, or cut your grass. Hell, I wouldn’t be sitting here late at night typing this blog if that were the case. My ancestors were colonists who were here before the US pushed the border to the Rio Grande. So if any of you bastards wanna tell me to go back to Mexico, I’ll tell you to go back to Europe.
About a hundred years after the Spanish landed, a group of Puritans skipped the island of England and sought out religious freedom. They landed on the east coast of the United States and gave us the foundation for this country. However, if the Native Americans had stopped them and told them to go back, there’s no telling what punishment the Puritans would have faced had they been forced back to England.
So, if it were not for the first wave of illegal immigrants, none of us would be here. And for the continuing wave of immigrants who enter the country illegally every day, this country could not sustain itself. Cheap foreign labor helps keep the cost of living low. If Americans could do the work many illegals are doing for what they’re getting paid, then things might be different.
The biggest issue with immigration is not the immigrants, but the people who need them. In order to keep a low overhead, produce growers and home builders rely on inexpensive foreign workers as a source of their labor. On the flip side, if Americans did the same job, they would naturally be expected to get paid higher wages plus benefits. If this were to happen, home builders and produce growers would be in the same predicament that the nation’s auto makers are in today.
What’s more, many business owners who contribute to candidate campaigns expect to get something in return. For many years, laws on the books clearly state that if an undocumented worker is caught working illegally in the United States, they can be deported, and the business owner would face some legal troubles of their own. The thing is, many politicians have turned a blind eye to the law so that their contributors, not their constituents, are placated.
The nation’s forefathers had the foresight to see a little bit into the future, and set down the foundation for our laws today. The one thing they didn’t take into consideration is the influx of immigrants. Yes, I understand that Achmed or Mohammed could sneak across the border undetected, but they may have already done so, and we never noticed. And the reason for that is because the people at the top fell asleep on the job.
Now, we’re faced with a dilemma. Send everyone back who’s here illegally, or let them stay. Unfortunately, Congress has allowed those who’ve been here longer to stay, and it’s unfair to those who’re here legally. While I don’t think we should necessarily ship them back across the border, the problem should have been addressed sooner. The only reason anyone noticed the immigration problem is because a group of zealous Muslims mercilessly attacked us on our home terrain.
Think of it this way. What if the US were a third-world country with little or no economy? What would we do? Most likely, we’d do just like our ancestors and seek out a better life in some far off country. The United States would be the land of opportunity that it is today if it had not been for illegal immigrants. Eastern Texas would have never been settled if it hadn’t been for white settlers sneaking across the border to escape their problems in the US.
So, the next time you vent your frustrations about immigration, think of this. You would not be here if someone back in your family tree had not immigrated somewhere illegally.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Elegy
Below is my tribue to the tragedy of the BP refinery disaster on MArch 23, 2005. I was hesitant to post this, but I felt that this would round out my musings and rantings about the incident.
15 Souls
I
What is the sound
of 15 souls being taken?
Is it the sonic boom?
- God’s voice calling them home.
Is it the ensuing rush of air?
- Their collective breaths
leaving their bodies at once
Or maybe that white plume
atop the mushroom cloud
is 15 souls being lifted to Heaven?
II
in a 5 star company.
Profits, losses, and earnings
spoke louder,
so they meant more
but safety spoke volumes
in violations, fines, and accidents
It would take
15 more souls
to make a point.
III
My sense of home
was shattered
on a mild March afternoon
But nothing compared
to those lives shattered
and splintered by tragedy.
IV
I can never go home again.
The memories are too painful
Those images
are forever burned into my mind
Of watching another fire burn,
Of waiting to know –
what went wrong
Of wondering. . .
. . . will this vicious cycle ever end?
V
What is the sound
of 15 souls being taken?
Is it the sound helicopters
airlifting broken bodies?
Or is it the anguished cries
of loved ones
waiting for good or bad news?
Or is it the cry of a child
who senses the separation
from someone they love?
Monday, March 20, 2006
End of An Era
It is nearly spring in the asphalt jungle, and there’s much to tell. I have been transferred to a new shopping mall, and I have been kept busy by sick co-workers and a busy holiday season. Many things have happened since my last observation. I watched as bus loads upon bus loads of weary storm victims rolled into Houston until the city could take no more. Then, almost a month later, I watched on TV as panicked locals packed up everything but the kitchen sink and rolled north to avoid yet another monster storm. What ensued was mass confusion and gridlock that would rival that of La at rush hour.
I have observed bus drivers go from calm and collected to enraged drivers the instant someone gets in the way. I have ridden train cars where people were packed in like cattle just to get a glimpse of the Thanksgiving day parade downtown. There have been days where I’ve watched bus drivers nearly run over other motorists in an attempt to make their scheduled stops on time. Ah yes, another typical day in the asphalt jungle. The only thing more interesting than the bus ride is the wait. Just the other morning, I had a homeless man throw cold coffee in my face because I asked him to stop pestering motorists. Next time I’ll just let him get run over or arrested.
Some days even the walk to and the stop can have its own highlights. Apparently motorists in Houston think I can read minds and guess which way they’re going to turn. They don’t know that I was out sick the day we covered mind reading in my Jedi training class. On these walks, I’ve noticed the constantly changing weather. Before long, the spring rainy season will be here.
The cold snaps have become more infrequent as they give way to longer and longer heat waves. Winds that blew mainly from the north these last few months have increasingly shifted to the south, signaling that spring is surely on its way. My dad informed me that the mesquites in south Texas already have their blooms, so it will only be a matter of time before spring reaches Houston. These winds scatter leaves and kick up dust, but they also bring with them change.
Houston’s era of self-made men and built fron the ground up companies is fast fading. This is most evident at the Astrodomain complex. The Astrodome, once the Eighth Wonder of the World, is now dwarfed by the much larger Reliant Stadium. The old dome was the vision of Harris County Judge Roy Hoffeinz,. Across from his domed stadium, he opened the Astroworld amusement park.
I remember summers when my cousins from England came to visit, that was at top of their to do list. They were the ones who dragged me onto the roller coasters, usually against my will. I remember the anxiety of waiting to get on the roller coaster followed by the sheer exhilaration and terror of the ride. In recent years, the Texas Medical Center has marched south, propelled by development around the installation of the Harris County Metropolitan Authority’s light rail line.
This has become a symbol of the new Houston as it rises up from the ashes of the economic downturn in the 1980s. In 1984, the real estate industry went bust, and interest rates skyrocketed. Many people abandoned their houses in droves, leading to the decline of many thriving neighborhoods. That was followed by the deregulation of the energy industry in 1986, leading to a bust that left many out of work. Employees were laid off in record numbers.
Now, Houston’s economy is thriving again. Giant metal cranes have nested in the Texas Medical Center as they erect new facilities for the Baylor and UT medical schools. All the development drove up the property value of the Astroworld property to the point that the land it sat on was sold to developers. Recently, I rode the light rail to see what was left, and there was nothing. All the rides had been auctioned off, and the land had been cleared except for a few structures. Soon, the cranes will come and erect a new structure in its place.
Elsewhere the change is more prevalent. Almost daily, old buildings are razed to make way for new developments. Last week, the Page Parks building on Kirby near Westheimer was imploded. In its place will developers have planned a 30-story condominium tower. Further up the road on Kirby near San Felipe stands the high rise where self-made millionaire Kenneth Lay resides. He purchased the pipeline company InterNorth in 1985 and merged it with his own to make Enron.
The company enjoyed a boom in its heyday, but was rocked by scandal in October 2001 when the Securities and Exchange Commission began a probe into Enron’s earnings. What followed as an FBI investigation that led to the collapse of the company two months later. Now, Lay and his successor, Jeff Skilling, stand accused of fraud among a litany of other charges. Each day, witnesses have recounted their heady days with the company, and pointed the finger of blame at the pair.
Enron is an example of leadership that was too effective. The men at the top duped everyone into believing the company was doing well when in fact it wasn’t. One witness likened it to being brainwashed. Communication theorists would call it groupthink. Enron is now just another relic of the old Houston.
In the new Houston, Gilley’s nightclub, immortalized in the movie Urban Cowboy, has been purchased by the Pasadena Independent School District. They plan to one day build a middle school on the site. Many former patrons came and watched as the site was cleared. Fire gutted much of the building years before, and it was only a matter of time before it came down.
In the new Houston, oil giants have merged to make themselves more compettive. Chevron, formerly Gulf Oil merged with the Texaco. Exon, which had its start in Houston as Humble Oil, merged with Mobil. Even Southwestern Bell, one of the baby bells, swallowed up AT&T. Compaq, Houston’s home-grown computer company, is now part of Hewlett Packard, or HP as its commonly known.
Even Foley’s, Houston’s last of the hometown retailers, has been bought out by Macy’s, and will soon bear the retail giant’s name. What started as Foley Brothers Dry Goods on Buffalo Bayou in 1905 grew into Foley’s department store, which now sits on Main between Lamar and Dallas across from what was once Sakowitz, another Houston institution that shuttered in the late 1980s. The Battlestein’s building down the block at Main near Walker is now lofts, and Joske’s was bought out by Dillard’s. While it’s sad to see it go, it’s just another sign of the new Houston.
Houston’s image as a wide open boomtown is slowly fading away. After hosting the Major League Baseball All-Star game, The Super Bowl. The baseball playoffs, the World Series, and the NBA All-Star game, Houston is gaining status as a more world class city. While there may never be an Olympics held here, Houston has proven to the world it can be a gracious host.
Friday, November 25, 2005
My Soul Laid Bare
La Poema de mi Vida
I
My first memory
is watching the refinery burn.
Amoco had blown up
And it wouldn’t be the first time
nor would it be the last.
There were many fires I watched
with the fear of a scared child
or like a wide-eyed pyromaniac.
Between the fires came the floods.
Lurking like a leviathan,
lapping at our livelihood.
Water in the house;
eroding away my sanity.
How I hate the water sometimes.
Water through the roof;
I don’t think
I’ll get over my first hurricane.
Big brother came to stay.
He broke my toys,
then he broke my spirit
before he had to go away.
Mom tried to blow on the wound,
to make it all better,
But it only hurt more.
I would carve my own niche.
Home sick from school,
I would write the words
that would take me away from it all.
High seas adventure
on a stormy sea,
I maneuver it well
in spite of hitting the rocks.
Then puberty hits me blind side.
Every girl looks good,
But they don’t see me.
I am invisible to them.
When I landed one,
it was all a sham.
Girls being cruel to me
for no reason at all.
Another niche was carved for me
when I met the clean side of the blues,
raising my junior high voice in praise.
Grandpa went to ride the chariot,
but I had Mahalia’s beautiful music
to sooth my shattered soul.
Then came high school
and a roller coaster of emotions.
I had a notion it would be tough,
but nothing prepared me
for the road ahead
no matter how ready I was.
II
I am a survivor,
But not the disco anthem kind.
I have survived things
That would turn your head inside out.
And I don’t mean floods, fires, or abuse
at the hands of someone I trusted.
I am talkin’ about gang wars, discrimination,
And the deaths of friends and enemies
who left this life too young.
Shit no high schooler should have to live through.
I heard the stories about
how they gunned down boys in cold blood.
‘Cause they looked like someone else.
‘Cause they picked the wrong fight to break up.
‘Cause they couldn’t choose the right side.
Bloods and Crips.
Stupid shit
this killin’ people over colors.
Yeah, that was years ago,
But it stays with you,
grows inside you like a cancer.
After I lost them,
I lost my cool.
Dumbasses tellin’ me,
‘Why you the only white boy in the choir?’
And I say, ‘I’m Hispanic’
And they say, ‘I’m 1/16 Native American.
And I think to myself Yeah right.
I would have run with the Hispanics,
But they’re too clannish,
And I’m too far removed
from their second-generation culture.
So don’t ask me again why we’re not friends.
I’m happy with my choir sisters and brothers.
They take me as I am, warts and all.
After I lost my cool,
I lost my friends.
Acquaintances and bullies alike,
their deaths a shock to me.
Then,
I experienced the death of many friendships;
the revolving door spun too fast and out of control.
How I wished it had rusted shut
before it was too late.
Of course, I’m never alone
when I think about it.
After I lost my friends,
I found myself
a stronger person
because of my trials,
But I live with the pain of yesterday
aleved with doses of therapeutic poetry
Because I’ve already swallowed enough bitter pills.
III
I wanna howl like Ginsberg.
I wanna go tell it on the mountain
and everywhere my story.
I said there wasn’t enough paper
to write down all the shit I’ve been through,
But stories were meant to be told.
When I started this gig,
I was young and scared
Having shit shoved down my throat
and people ridin’ my ass.
Until I grew brave and bold;
Lashing out against
what I couldn’t in high school.
Fighting urges I didn’t understand
being a naïve young man.
All through college I fight WASPS
with a sting as powerful as theirs.
I learned as I was unlearning,
that old things have to be done in new ways.
That the wheels of progress
can’t turn without the grease of change.
As I go along,
I re-invent myself to keep from getting old and rusty.
Then, there are those routines I can’t shake
Because I think I’m getting something
when it’s just a lot of empty feelings.
I am tired of having lost as much as I have loved.
I am fed up with back room bitches
who won’t give a hundred percent.
I am sick of bathroom ads that go nowhere.
I put this all behind me,
But the songs take me back
like little harpies that chase me everywhere.
They torture me with songs
that bring back suppressed memories.
Of relationships as sour
as a fruit that’s been picked before its time.
Now I’m at academia’s doorstep
ready to be unlearned again
for a turn at something different.
A chance to escape
the prison of small-town life.
No unwanted pregnancies for me.
No poor-paying military service.
Not prison time,
for stupid shit I know is wrong.
No funerals attended
by friends I don’t’ remember.
I’m not quittin’
until I rise above that which has held me down.
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