Back in the Saddle (where we drink all the beers)

Trips to Texas are the best. Pulling on our boots, our lassos at the ready, we find a pocket of time and make a run for it. Plunging onto the jetway in Austin, I took care not to suffer the heat. Refusing to be smothered by that thick, molten, air, I pointedly took in the smells: intoxicating waves of distant BBQ, hot pavement, Texan ladies' perfume, (deeply infused with hairspray and pheremonally activated in temperatures above 95*) and the promise of hard sun. When I touched down in Austin, I had a special thirst for a beer on Congress, which took me and my sister straight to Snack Bar. We ordered some local craft drafts, Jade had the Rock Star Bagel, toasted, schmeared, and topped with some distinctly dyed smoked salmon, (easily spotted by a savvy NW salmonite), capers, dill, tomato and onion. Snack Bar's breezy, shaded patio is a favorite of mine, home to calm and sensible staff with enough time to deliver whatever tragically hip items you ordered off their menu and chat you up about local goings on.

And that gossip is hot, too. 

That cigar smoking clown in the background?
Oh, we got him.

Ready to downgrade for some cheap happy hour eats, we said goodbye to Snack Bar's $1 cans of Pearl, and crossed the street to Doc's, Vicky and Jon now in tow. Finding sunny seating in their barnyard of a street-facing patio, we ducked under an umbrella, ordered Modelos and a fried flight and started in on the locals. Vicky and I are particularly bad about this. We got to dishing out scathing reviews of our waitress right away, who was a scowling mess in bad shorts that gave us away to another server after bringing our second round of beers. Apparently, we were overwhelmingly impressive or oppressive, it's really hard to say. We were busy laying waste to a basket of really perfect fried mushrooms, chicken fried steak strips, queso, chips, and beers, beers, beers. 

A few hours later, Jade and Wyatt and I were at it again, finding our dinner at the Flying Saucer in the triangle. Desperate to stay awake from my first day of drinking in the heat, we ordered a pot of coffee, and a few delicious sandwiches. Our local draught emporium, they're modeled after a German pub, serving pretzels, brats, and my favorite, German potato salad. Basically just mustard, fantasy and potatoes. I ordered the Pork Belly Sandwich, a thoughtful answer to their jalapeno-apple chutney, but maybe not the right one. It was palatable, but easily upstaged, and did a fair job at almost being close to nearly being as delicious as Jade's Hippie Burger. Jalapeno-pesto mayo, avocado, and cucumber on a veggie patty and a wheat bun. It was just, so much better than, whatever you're thinking it tasted like. Forget it. 

Oh yes it did.

The next day we met up with Bobby and Braden, slathered on some sunscreen, got the gear (thanks Wyatt!) and took it all to Hamilton Pool. A collapsed grotto, the pool is deeper than you dare, the wall jutting up and over you, overrun by errant ferns, and dripping down with surprising pressure onto a rock just off the edge. The size and presence of this place is staggering, begging the question of why and how and what did this? Feeding into the Pedernales river via a suspect, creeping creek nearly a mile long, you're guaranteed to glisten on your way from the pool. Leave your flip flops, bring your water hikers, and carefully disguised party favors. Drop your stuff on the bank and wade in the water, children. It's a shallow, smooth sandy bottom perfect for bare feet. Drag yourself onto a rock and nourish your sun-starved flesh.

You will go to Hamilton Pool if you're in Austin. They charge $10 per car, so start saving now. Old pro at Hamilton Pool? Then you agree, any day is the right day to go and go early. And if you like swimming holes, naturally you know all about these.

If we needed an occasion to visit, we had some options. The first annual gathering of the Sandifers' Cajun cousins is a good one, or there was Bobby's visit, or we could use Bill's 31st birthday. His mom flew him down, and gifted him an in-home cooking class. Uh, yes!

I guess we'll be branching out from cake, then.

It'd been a few months since I'd seen Jade, since I'd played some pool volleyball, and since I worked up a good sweat. So basically, it was goddamn time. Thanks to Jade, Wyatt, Vicky, Jon, Coors, Braden, Bobby, Rush, Amber, Audrey, John, Shan, Judd, Kim, Debbie, Patrick, Po, Bianca, Micah, Mom, Grandma, The Sandifers and their raucous band of Cajuns for making our visit a great escape.

Oh, friends and family. What a treat.
But the real charm of Texas? The simple things. Like Sonic onions rings. Breaded in donuts, I think.

also, sexy Shipley's donuts. Like, a lot of them. Plus slightly more.

But the crowning glory of the south as I know it, are these beauties.

Tamale, Egg & Cheese and Chorizo, Egg & Cheese from Maudie's, who makes some excellent Jamaica. (Hibiscus tea, dummies.)

Bill's step dad Hershel makes some killer breakfast tacos. And we do a phenomenal job of eating them.

O ye holy of holies.
Miss you.

Dine of the Week
A serendipitous find by our friends, the Yellow Jacket Social Club made me french toast I'll never forget. The company was grand, the Coors was flowin, the heat was pumpin and everything that hit the table was delicious. Not to be missed: The Mister. A ham and gruyere panini dripping with bechamel, it makes best friends fast with that $2 pint of Coors. Also, their frittata. God.
Do yourself a favor. Take yourself to the east side for brunch. Slummin it never tasted so good.