greasy spoons (and forks and knives)

Because of my recent dedication to exercising and eating super foods, I haven’t been hitting any of my greasy old haunts. That changed yesterday because of being cooped up in the house for three days straight. Excuses, excuses.

Drove around for a while last night trying to find a place to eat dinner before heading to the Big Top (which the Chronicle called a “night club” in an article about places that were open post-Rita) to see Allen Oldies. Ended up at Christian’s Tailgate in mid-town. I prefer the original on I-10 at Washington, but any port in a storm. The place was packed with white kids. I guess they all live in the over-priced yuppie pads that have infiltrated that area. The guys were wearing tennis visors and the girls were wearing shirts that looked like underwear. Lots of frat boy testosterone and high-maintenance whining. They were only selling chicken tenders or burgers, and though this place has one of the best burgers in Houston, I’m on sabbatical. The chicken tenders sucked, so I only ate a couple to lay a foundation for the drinking that was to come.

Dining al fresco in Houston usually means contending with people begging for money. Two different men came up to our table last night. There was a time in my life when I gave to all who asked. Not any more. Because I know I’m not going to give someone money, I cut off the story before it starts. I have my own drinking habit to support, and I don’t suffer from liberal guilt. I don’t work for the man, nor am I the man. I tried sending the beggars over to the sushi place on the next block, suggesting those people were more apt to have money in their pockets than the kids who were using their dad’s credit card to buy buckets of beer and they said they’d already been over there but were scooted along. Ahhhh, life in the city.

Anyway, took a trip to Pig Stand this morning hoping for a better culinary experience than last night’s dinner. The place is officially non-smoking now, which makes eating there much more pleasant. PS was jumping, and the waitresses were totally frazzled. They were out of all kinds of shit, so when it came time to order, it was eaiser just to ask what they had available. Took the food over 30 minutes to arrive. Probably because it takes time to burn toast and hash browns that dark. So, in essence, since I didn’t eat most of my breakfast, guess I’m not that much in the red food-wise.

The downtown Y is closed until Monday, so I’m off on a bike ride soon. Have to work off the vodka and wine I drank last night. Not together. Vodka at the night club and wine at home. Gotta have that reflection drink at the end of the night…

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