But in talking with owner/manager Colin McClelland, I quickly came to realize that there’s an intangible magic in the air; largely due to McClelland’s enthusiasm and dedication. As my hour of eating pressed on, I felt more and more at home.

Colin and I clicked right away, and were equally curious about each others’ business paths over the last 10 years. A native Texan, his feet found their way to southern California. Trying his hand at different vocations, he returned home and seized the opportunity to buy Hickory Street when it came up for sale.

Black Bean Burger @ Hickory Street. Tasty.

I learned this as I snarfed my way through a well-made black bean burger, made by hand in the kitchen that was only 20 feet away. A mix of tastes and textures, no one component outweighed the other. Seated next to a healthy fistful of handcut fries, my bb burger scored well on the tasty and filling scales; a feat not easily accomplished in joints that specialize in non-vegetarian fare.

As Colin and I continued our conversation, I scanned the room. To my left was a monster salad bar — easily 30 feet long. Well stocked with options that would satisfy any palette, including separate potato and soup bars, it served as a unique DIY meal option or accompaniment. I also noticed signs for their Sunday brunch, which includes a build-your-own bloody mary station. Neat.

To my right, however, was a mural the full length of the wall. Capped by rows of flat copper-tinged tiles, the painting displayed cartoon images of people eating, drinking, toasting each other, and generally enjoying whatever’s happening at that moment. It evoked obvious comparisons to the classic Cheers atmosphere, and coupled with Colin’s generally pleasant and welcoming demeanor, I could see why Hickory Street is home to more than just its downtown lunchtime regulars.

The energy seemed to charge higher as lunch wore on as more people flittered in for their hasty and hurried 45-minute lunch break, which Hickory Street can easily oblige. With reaches into local catering gigs, a quickly expanding drink menu, and a terrific covered outdoor patio that looks right onto the bustling Congress Avenue artery only blocks from the capitol building, McClelland is now stewarding a legacy that dates back almost 30 years. His crew works hard to maintain that balance of comfortable surroundings with downtown class, and all the while serve up some damn fine food.

I popped open the fridge door and took inventory.

The bad ass pita bread was staring me in the face, begging to be used.  So were those thick slices of Monterey jack.

And then, in walked the Veggie Patch meatballs.  These things are really starting to grow on me; I’ve been using them for more than their intended “on-top-of-spaghetti” destinies lately.  I think this is the second time in a week I threw them on a pizza.

So, here’s how it all started.

I took out a piece of pita and reserved it on a plate.

I then heated olive oil in a pan on medium low, turning the dial to “4.”  After a couple minutes, I got about 7 or 8 meatballs in a pan and tossed them around to coat them fairly evenly with the oil.  I then covered them up with the glass lid so I could keep an eye on things.

That’s a great little technique, by the way.  I didn’t want the meatballs to dry out, and when you’re cooking food in a pan without a lid, it’s allowing moisture to escape.  That’s why if you want a runny liquid to thicken, you leave the lid off — it concentrates what’s in there.

However, I’d had enough concentration for the day and knew I wanted these things to keep the moisture with which they were frozen.  So, lid on.

As they started to thaw, I took them off the heat and sliced each one in half.  I then threw them back in the pan WITHOUT the lid.  This way, the insides got a chance to brown.  Things tend to brown better when you leave the lid off.  Following the inherent logic, there’s LESS moisture in the pan at that point as it’s evaporating, and that gives the food a chance to develop that crust that you know and love.

I let them go another minute, then took them off the heat.  They traded places with the pita, which then went in the pan so it could crisp up.  By the way, my compulsive side started nagging me, so I set the broiler to high to prepare for what was about to happen.

I put a little leftover creamy tomato soup (Italian Tomato Asiago, to be precise) and ladled on just enough to cover the top of the pita as a makeshift sauce.  I let it go without the lid for awhile to crisp the bread, but then covered it to make sure the soup sauce heated through.

I took that mess out of the pan and on to my giganto spatula.  Layering on enough cheese to almost cover and smother the thing, it then went under the broiler for about 3 minutes — long enough that when I opened the oven door it was bubbling and pleading to come out.

Slapping the bread, soup sauce, and cheese onto a plate, I layered on some fresh spinach leaves, the prepped soy meatballs, and threw dried  (as I was plum out of fresh) basil to liven up the party.

You can see the finished result here on the page.  However, after the photo was taken, I folded it up gyro style and dipped it in high-grade Ranch dressing.  Cause that’s just what I do.

Time for my gig.  Opa!

Savory vegetarian pizza with an identity crisis. Or a multiple pizzanality disorder.

There are some days when a regular, plain-jane cheese pizza is just satisfying enough to shut me up.

However, that wasn’t today.

Today was the day where I strapped on my welding mask, flung open b0th fridge and freezer doors, and set to task on creating a pie that would satisfy multiple (faux) meat and veggie cravings while emptying my kitchen of most of its contents.

And thus, my chicken+spinach+feta / bacon+cheddar+meatball monster was born.

Details:

SIDE 1: chicken+spinach+feta

Open up a mid-to-high grade frozen pizza and place it on a work surface.  Start heating olive oil on medium heat in a pan for a few minutes, then layer the spinach and feta on one side of the pie.  When the oil is hot, place one Morningstar Farms Chik Patty in the pan and lightly brown on both sides.  When that’s done, take the patty off the heat and slice it into 1/2″ squares.  Layer evenly over spinach and feta.

SIDE 2: bacon+cheddar+meatball

FYI: You can do this part with the same pan, or if you can multi-task and want to save time, do it concurrently while frying up the Chik Patty.

Heat enough olive oil to cover the bottom of a large pan on medium low.  Layer shredded mild or sharp cheddar over the remaining half of the pizza.  Using faux bacon (I prefer Gimme Lean) and faux meatballs (Veggie Patch is killer), place both in the heated olive oil.  Both will need to be flipped.  You’ll know the bacon is ready to be turned when it starts to become a little rigid.  Don’t let it go too long or else the end product will come out the consistency of paint chips.  The meatballs are lower maintenance — they should start to soften from their frozen state after 4-5 minutes, at which point you’ll turn them over.  Let each cook another few minutes, and then transfer to a work surface.

The bacon should still be workable enough to tear/pull apart, and when you’ve done so, scatter the pieces on top of the cheddar.  Half the meatballs, then layer in next to the bacon.

At this point, you can add some fresh herbs to either side; chopped basil on the bacon+cheddar+meatball, and some fresh oregano or fennel on the chicken+spinach+feta.

Bake according to the pizza box directions; probably just shy of 10 minutes.  It doesn’t hurt to check it around 7 minutes — sometimes that extra cheese will brown up quicker than you anticipate.  You’ll know it’s done when the cheese and crust are lightly browned.

Take the pizza out and let it cool for a couple minutes.  If it’s a thin crust, I like cutting it into squares.  But a pie-cut will work just fine.  For this particular pie, I actually cut both sides both ways.  But I like over complicating things for no good reason.

Enjoy!

It also happened to be my last.  The resemblance to a stale chocolate milk that was severely lacking in anything sugary OR chocolate did NOT sit right with me.  It also didn’t help that it was part of an Irish Car Bomb that sent me reeling for the toilet and into one of the worst hangovers of my young drinking life.

Ever since, dark beers and I have had a tenuous relationship.  Up until recently.

Discovering the sumptuous world of Stouts and Porters, I’m really beginning to understand the attraction.  Take tonight, for instance.  At Red’s Porch, an idiosyncratic joint-around-the corner, I went with a local brew; the 512 Brewery’s Pecan Porter.

In a word, terrific.

512 Brewery Pecan Porter at Red's Porch. Sometimes ya feel like a nut...

Nearly solid opaque black, the seemingly imposing beer was surprising balanced — both thick and easy drinking at the same time. Little notes of local pecan essence came through, but didn’t dominate the flavor.  A initial sweetness held steady until a finish just bitter enough.  A bold 6.8% ABV, one was enough to make me a happy kid for the rest of the time there.

512 is based in Austin, and features free tours during their occasional open houses.  Not sure how far they distribute, but I’m sure they have a pretty decent regional radius.

So, maybe dark beers and I can be friends.  I’m not sure that I’ll be dropping shots of Jameson into it any time soon, but we’ll start slow.

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The ultimate peacemaker.

Happy Valentine’s Day.  As with all healthy relationships, you and I need to have a discussion.

I was recently posed with a tough question.  I was asked, “If you were stranded on a dessert island and had to choose between food and sex, which would you pick?”  My girlfriend was the one asking, so I had to answer carefully.

“Food!” I blurted out.

So much for subtlety.

It’s true.  I’m a foodie to the core.  And yes, I’m also a big fan of sex.  All kinds of sex.  But when it comes down to it and I were forced to pick, I’d prefer to use my mouth to, well…chew.

But hey…I’m all for leaving this open to debate.  In fact, let’s examine the whole thing step by step.

We’ll compare 10 different factors.

Factor#1: Is it good for you?

Food: Depends on the food.  Pizza is good for you.
Sex: Sex relieves stress, boosts immunity, and burns calories.

Factor #2: Can you enjoy it alone?
Food: Yes.  People do it every day.
Sex: Yes.  Some people do it twice a day.

Factor #3: Can you enjoy it with your friends?
Food: Yes.  Go to a pizza place, and your friends will want to go in on a pie together.
Sex: Probably not.  It’s logistically more difficult to go in on someone’s pie together.

Factor #4: Does it cost a lot of money?
Food: Usually, if it’s good.
Sex: Not if you’re in Thailand.

Factor #5: Can you enjoy it in public?
Food: Definitely.  Go to the grocery store — that’s why there are lots of people walking around.
Sex: Not as much.  Nobody likes a wet cleanup in the cucumber aisle.

Factor #6: Do you need tools or utensils to enjoy it?
Food: Not if you use your fingers.
Sex: See above.

Factor #7: Does the smell of it enhance the experience?
Food: Definitely.  Unless you don’t like the smell of fish.
Sex: See above.

Factor #8:  Can you tell your parents about the experience you had?
Food: Sure — gab away.  Telling your folks that you “ate Kosher tongue” has nothing to do with kissing a Jewish person.
Sex: No, unless you grew up where Deliverance was filmed.

Factor #9: Do you have to be attractive to be able to get it?
Food: Nope.  Even if you’re overweight, that cupcake isn’t going to tell you it just wants to be friends.
Sex: See Factor #4.

Factor #10: Can you still do it well if you don’t have any teeth?
Food: This might actually help when you’re eating a popsicle — it won’t make your teeth cold.
Sex: Definitely.  Comes in especially handy when you’re eating someone else’s popsicle.

***

Well, that didn’t solve anything.  So, maybe the best answer is to try and keep a nice balance between the two.  Appreciate food and sex for the pleasure that both can arouse, and keep looking for bold and tasty experiences on both sides.

Although now that I think about it, Sawyer seemed to have a lot more fun than Hurley on Lost.

P.S. I wonder how “big” that smoke monster really was.

One Brave "Fool" on the Dance Floor

My band plays at clubs and bars all over Texas and beyond.  We’ve been through Oklahoma, Louisiana, California, and gig up to four nights a week.  We see a lot of people.  Interesting people.  Happy people.  Angry people.  Drunk people.  More drunk people.

We play three to four hour sets, which usually start around 9:30 pm and last until 1:30 am.  In those few hours, I often have the chance to witness a lot of different types of human behavior.

In the alcohol-fueled Petri dish that is the modern bar, there’s this underlying sense of desperation; people are wanting to escape.  Get away from their everyday fears.  Get out of their shell.  Make an attempt to take somebody home.

“What I’ve got, you’ve gotta get it, put it in you.”
-”Give It Away,” Red Hot Chili Peppers

I love what I do.  But one aspect does wear on me quite a bit; this persistent, almost parasitic sense that some (not all, but many) people are there to look good and be noticed; not to actually just let go and connect with people, on a real, symbiotic level, if even for just a short while.  To pull in the energy, fun, and community that’s going on in that moment, and give it back to everyone else around you.

At the beginning of the night, the dance floor is usually empty.  It’s the first set when most people are only halfway through their first drink.  And we hear all kinds of reasons why this is.

Common excuses range include:

“Well, I don’t want to be the only one.  When other people dance, I’ll go out there.”

“I need a few more drinks.”

“I don’t want to look like a fool.”

And there it is; we’re all afraid of looking like fools, right?

But every now and then, we get somebody on the floor by themselves.  They venture out onto that vast expanse in front of the stage, and just release.  My favorite ones are those who look like they have no place up there.  They aren’t dressed to impress; they’re just, well…there to be there.

Case in point: we’re on a three-day run up in Dallas/Fort Worth.  On Thursday, we played our first night at an average pub in a fairly well-to-do burb.  The night started out per usual; the show started and we’re hitting it with all we have.  We plow through the first four of five songs with only a few nods of approval, but most people are staring at us or each other or their phones or the soiled carpet.

The dance floor was conspicuously empty up until about the fifth song, when out walks a man who looked like he could have been the crazy maître d’ at the French restaurant next door who got fired for having way too much fun.  He’s an tall, older gentleman, likely in his 50s, dressed in a striped white polo shirt and to stare him straight in the face, you see some wonderful glint of madness coming from his eyes.  He starts twirling around like a ballerina, stopping to make odd up-and-down waving gestures with his hands.  He immediately commands all the attention in the room, but when the young Latina girl saddles up to his side, he immediately welcomes her and they dance together.

I loved it.  These two were out there going ape crazy.  From where I was sitting, they didn’t look like they were doing it to be watched or admired.  They were there to have a good time; to let loose, be in their bodies, and not give a crap who was watching.  It inspired me to play harder and louder, to smile for a long time, and just be there with them, letting go and enjoying the moment.

“But maybe I’m crazy
Maybe you’re crazy
Maybe we’re crazy
Probably”

-”Crazy,” Gnarls Barkley

Dim Sum Yum Yum.

I love it; good food and sexual innuendo. I already knew I was going to dig this place.

Even with a steady stream of customers on this particular Monday night, Foo told me that this is always their slow night.  She said that the rest of the week is busy and that Saturdays are “packed.”  I was there early enough to bumble my way through the ordering process, which is a little confusing for green newbies like myself.

One of the cute Asian girls came from behind the register, and with a smile, showed me that you’re actually supposed to write on their laminated menu (it wipes off) to indicate what you want.  Being vegetarian, my corresponding options were denoted with a little cartoon broccoli next to the menu item.

I went with a threesome; a steamed vegetable bao (bun), Salt & Pepper Seaweed Tofu, and Sesame Balls with Red Bean Paste.

The bun, made with a dense (rice?) flour and filled with a hearty mixture of shiitake mushrooms, water chestnuts, bamboo shoots, and bok choy; all sliced and stewed down.  Good start.

The S&P tofu, however, pushed things up big time.  They wrap a long, rectangular block of tofu in seaweed, then season, batter and deep fry the whole thing.  Terrific.  A punchy soy flavor came out strong without dominating the the dish (and no MSG — in anything on the menu).  It’s served with sliced jalapenos, green onions, and little fried crispies from the batter.   The heat from the peppers was present, but since they were fried with everything else, didn’t dominate.  Just enough spice to remind me they were there.

Chinese Broccoli with Vegetarian Oyster Sauce

Before I could move on to my Sesame Balls, Foo came out with a plate of Steamed Chinese Broccoli with Vegetarian Oyster Sauce.  Apparently oysters have gotten so expensive that they make the sauce out of alternative, non-seafood ingredients.  And it worked…very well.  Chinese broccoli is far different than what we’re used to; it’s more like a hybrid of thick asparagus and leafy collard greens.  The chef worked well with it — the whole dish was tender but still crispy, flavorful, and balanced — nothing overpowered.  Towards the end, I started noticing a sweet ginger component to the broth left on the plate — really added to it as well.

Finally, on to my balls.

Sesame Balls are one of the great enigmas of life.  I’m sure sitting down and watching somebody prepare them would answer many of my outstanding questions, but as of yet, how they come into being is still a mystery to me.  They are perfectly rounded, multi-layered Asian pastries that house a spoonful of sweet bean paste inside with an inner layer of what I believe to be oiled and sweet gelatinous rice flour, then finish with an seamless exterior of sesame seeds that crunch in tandem with the squishy goo of the rice flour.

The whole thing results in a simultaneous sweet and savory, light and heavy piece of goodness that just rocks my friggin’ world.  And at Get Sum, they did them very well.  All the flavors and textures were there, along with a resounding sesame flavor that again, didn’t overtake the taste, but added just enough to anchor all the disparate tastes.  Yum.

Fun place, good eats.  If you’re in Austin, check them out — www.getsumdimsum.com.  Foo tells me they they make their noodles fresh every morning, and the menu boasts, “All handmade Dim Sum…One Piece At a Time.”

And as long as I get a piece, I’m happy.

Wednesday 2.2.2011

Our last day in Dallas, and it’s another snow day.  My gig even got cancelled because of the mess.  We decided to stay pretty close to the hotel near downtown, but were met with some terrific surprises so close to home.

The Inside of Cosmic Cafe

Enter Cosmic Café.  A semi-Indian, all vegetarian joint that had brightly-colored floor to ceiling murals and imported wall ornaments.  It was the type of semi-self serve atmosphere that had a homemade vibe centered around global consciousness.  That’s cool and all…we just wanted lunch.

We started each getting a bowl of soup.  I finally got my butternut squash bisque omitted from last night’s dinner.  Good, but not really what I’m used to; lighter in color and oddly grainy and acidic.   Wasn’t bad, but one cup was enough.  Kat’s lentil soup was, “the best I’ve ever had in my life.”  I tasted it, and I agreed it was pretty dern good.

Mandala Pizza: Vegetables and Globally-Unifying Consciousness

The rest of lunch was kind of what I expected.  My “Mandala Pizza” – an Indian pizza with fresh tomatoes, onions, spinach, zucchini, bell peppers and mozzarella on naan bread – was just that; a bunch of warmed vegetables with a light smattering of melted cheese.  Kat’s “Cosmic Stir” was a tofu/veggie stir fry with an odd citrus undertone.  Hearty and filling.  In a city that seems to generally overlook good vegetarian options, it was a treat to find another place that does actually take care in preparing a diverse menu for our ilk.

We then got back in the car and went on the hunt for a quiet coffee/wi-fi destination.  Around the corner we ran across the mighty Café Brazil.

I’d heard of this place before.  Open 24/364 (closing its doors only on Thanksgiving), my band has been tempted after many a Dallas gig to stop for a 3 am breakfast.  We’ve always turned away at the sight of a line wrapped out the door and around the building.  Too bad…this place freaking rocks.

A link in the many locations of the local chain, this particular location on Cedar Springs consists of a few narrow hallways, brick/tiled walls, and small, scattered paintings on the far wall.  When you walk in the door, you’re face to face with a wall of self-pump coffee dispensers, with flavors ranging from chocolate fudge to a decaf Holiday Blend.  Plus, it’s unlimited, so if you need to pull that all-nighter or just find an excuse to pop the veins out in your eyes, you’re golden.  Their menu jumps all over the place, but lands mostly on a breakfast-all-day selection; everything from build-your-own omelettes with rosemary potatoes to Breakfast Relleno Crepes.

Chocolate Lover's Cake at Cafe Brazil. Illegal in 32 states.

After a cup of joe each, we dove in to the Chocolate Lover’s Cake, a $4.99 slice of “rich chocolate cake layered with chocolate icing and drizzled with chocolate ganache.”  Mmm.  Super rich, super chocolate.  And more sugar and caffeine.  I’m fun under those conditions for about 25 minutes, and then, it’s crash city.

The whole place is pretty unique – more of an Austin feel than what I know of Dallas.  With the coffee, brick and tile finishes, and up-all-night atmosphere, it seems like something you would stumble on at 3 am in New York City.

Fern; the best part of waking up.

A highlight of the whole experience, though, was our server, Fern.  Trading stories of her time living in Rome and selling smuggled cigarettes and tequila shots, showing off her delicately gorgeous Frida Kahlo tattoo, and relating plans to marry her girlfriend back in Austin, she made us feel completely welcome and at home.  I bet she retains that cool-as-a-cucumber attitude as the 2 am drunks pound their way in.  She seems the type who appreciates a good buzz and a good story.

Before we headed back to the hotel, we symbolically ended the trip with a heaping plate of Cheddar/Monterey Jack/Queso-topped nachos as Madonna and Whitney Houston jams pumped through the tinny, bassless speakers overhead.

Tomorrow we get back in the car.  Our destination?  The elliptical machine at 24 Hour Fitness in Austin.  I think 6 or 7 hours should cover it.

Thanks for reading.