After joining friends for a drink at a lovely dusk on the patio of Taco Milagro, I suddenly yearned for a shrimp cocktail. There is no method to my madness. I ran home, parked, and walked the mere block past Trader Joe's and across Shepherd to Little Pappas Seafood.
The drink: A glass of house chardonnay (Canyon Road). Charles, my cordial bartender who like other Pappas barkeeps knows exactly the right things to say at exactly the right time, asked me if I wanted the regular or large pour. His soothing tone, commanding posture and cleft chin meant I could only purr "large" as if nothing else would be acceptable.
The food: The Acapulco Shrimp Cocktail. This was a little steep at $11.95 but the half dozen shrimp (seven if you count the garnish one) were impeccably chilled and fresh. Chunks of avocado were silky, but the pico de gallo was very, very spicy. Charles anticipated my need for water and brought it immediately.
On the big screen: Dancing With the Stars All-Stars. I got to see poor Joey Fatone eliminated when everyone in the world knew it should have been Bristol Palin. Of course, her mother was there. And it's true I do want to see as much Mark Ballas as possible. I'm so torn...
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
October 1, 2012: Lupe Tortilla
I actually dreamt of this blog as I sat at the lonely bar at Lupe Tortilla on Shepherd near I-10. I thought it would be far more crowded. But it was the Dallas Cowboys on the big screen, and I guess there aren't that many fans to be found in Houston.
(I was raised in the Dallas area myself and loved the Cowboys during the Staubach, White and Aikman years. Yes, even Danny White. But when I came to Houston in 1998 and we got our Texans soon afterward, all thoughts of America's Team vanished.)
The drink: $4 house margarita on Mondays during NFL games. The first one was admirably tart and gave me a bit of a buzz. The second tasted more of orange juice from concentrate, which I loathe in any margarita.
The food: Chips with an OK tomato salsa, a really good bean concoction, and even a complimentary (small) chili con queso. Inspired by one of my favorite foodies, I ordered the $9.95 Flat Enchiladas from the "Tacqueria" (i.e. no rice and beans) part of the menu. Four corn tortillas were stacked and filled with seasoned ground beef, cheese and tomato, and surrounded by a strongly cumin-centric chili. It was delicious, but I could only finish half, bringing the rest home in a Styrofoam box.
The service: The bartender was very friendly if a little absent for significant intervals. However, as a solo patron, I felt very welcome and would return.
(I was raised in the Dallas area myself and loved the Cowboys during the Staubach, White and Aikman years. Yes, even Danny White. But when I came to Houston in 1998 and we got our Texans soon afterward, all thoughts of America's Team vanished.)
The drink: $4 house margarita on Mondays during NFL games. The first one was admirably tart and gave me a bit of a buzz. The second tasted more of orange juice from concentrate, which I loathe in any margarita.
The food: Chips with an OK tomato salsa, a really good bean concoction, and even a complimentary (small) chili con queso. Inspired by one of my favorite foodies, I ordered the $9.95 Flat Enchiladas from the "Tacqueria" (i.e. no rice and beans) part of the menu. Four corn tortillas were stacked and filled with seasoned ground beef, cheese and tomato, and surrounded by a strongly cumin-centric chili. It was delicious, but I could only finish half, bringing the rest home in a Styrofoam box.
The service: The bartender was very friendly if a little absent for significant intervals. However, as a solo patron, I felt very welcome and would return.
Who is "me" and why did I start this?
I work from home almost every day.
Around dinner time, I get cabin fever.
Most of my friends are married, coupled, or otherwise have the forethought to make other plans for dinner.
Thus, a lot, it's just me, at the bar.
These are the chronicles of life as a single diner in restaurants that serve food (and drink, of course) at the bar. Mostly in Houston, but in other great locales as well.
Around dinner time, I get cabin fever.
Most of my friends are married, coupled, or otherwise have the forethought to make other plans for dinner.
Thus, a lot, it's just me, at the bar.
These are the chronicles of life as a single diner in restaurants that serve food (and drink, of course) at the bar. Mostly in Houston, but in other great locales as well.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)