Fishnet stuffings.

Birth of an American Pop Star. © Ryan Schierling

Imagine your holiday dinner ruined by a precocious little girl who stuffed her Barbie doll into the Tom turkey – along with the onions and apples and rosemary – mid-way through the roasting process. This is a true story, some 30 odd years ago. This is Kim's story.


Happy Thanksgiving.

TGICFS.

Union Street Station - New Braunfels, Texas. © Ryan Schierling

I never met a chicken-fried steak I didn't like. 

I guess that means I really haven't had bad CFS yet. And by bad, I mean completely mediocre – a TV-dinner-quality piece of gristly meat, with greasy, soggy breading and a bland, pasty glue of a gravy that I wouldn't even bother to take more than two bites of. I'm certain it will happen one day. 

But today, here in New Braunfels, is not that day.  

Brown and white food groups
Red-checked tablecloth landscape
Familiar comfort

Oven-fried snack attack.

Midnight crack snack burritos. © Ryan Schierling

This weekend we attended a birthday party. Good people, good times, and - good God - there I found myself on an after-midnight drift in the direction of the food table... 

When hunger kicks in, you naturally gravitate to what satisfies. What kept drawing me back on this particular night was a platter of miniature bean burritos; appetizer-style burritos you could eat in four bites. Nothing fancy about them, just flour tortillas with some refried beans and a little cheese. Um... and probably a load of sodium? I don't know, had to be, though, because these babies were hitting the spot like potato chips on game day. 

I think I ate one too many, because on the way home the little fellas were sitting in my stomach like a tortilla and refrito brick. However, I knew the real trouble had begun when the next morning I woke up thinking "I totally have to make some of those!" 

Taquito-size flour tortillas, a schmear of plain refried beans, monterey jack cheese - plus an obligatory sprinkling of kosher salt, of course. I didn't deviate. Okay, in the name of variety (and because our pepper plants are currently busting out the hot goodness) a thin slice of fresh jalapeno or habanero pepper were added to a few. Where I took necessary liberties was with the cooking method – a magic little formula for cooking burritos with flour tortillas I discovered many years ago, almost by accident. 

TGICFS.

Dan's Hamburgers. © Ryan Schierling

Dan's Hamburgers is legendary in Austin. Fran's Hamburgers is legendary in Austin. 

A long time ago, there used to be Dan and Fran's Hamburgers, when they were married. But, Dan and Fran split up. Now there are separate restaurants serving exactly the same menus. I'm not one to choose sides where matters of the heart are concerned. However, choosing sides when it comes to the southern staple of "meat and two," matters of the heart are cast aside, obviously. Fry it, and put gravy on all of it. Please. 

The breakfast menu at Dan's (and Fran's, since they're eerily, matrimonially, exactly similar) is pretty utilitarian and mostly meat-heavy. No one would look at you sideways if you ordered an omelet stuffed with bacon, ham and sausage, with bacon bits on top. But ask for a fruit cup and you'd be out of luck. 

Actually, they were ridiculously accommodating. Chicken-fried steak is not on the breakfast menu, so it went sort of like this: 

Me: "Can I get a chicken-fried steak, with two eggs over easy, two biscuits and hash browns?"
Our waitress: "#6 (2 Eggs of Your Choice w/ 2 Sides) plus CFS, you got it."
Me: "I am very excited."
Our waitress: (smirk)
Julie: "Okay, I don't mean to be difficult...but, what I'm craving this morning is a grilled cheese sandwich with two eggs and hash browns."
Our waitress, smiling and shaking her head a little: "Okay. We can do that." 

The coffee was as expected – and turned out to be – best-case truck stop, worst-case all-night diner. But it kept coming fresh and hot well after we'd completely decimated our plates and were sitting there badgering about whether or not it was too late to put more tomato plants into the garden. The hash browns and eggs made me want to kiss whoever did, or didn't, clean the well-seasoned flat-top every night. Fluffy – not flaky – biscuits were nicely buttered and salty and too large for me to finish both. 

Salt of the earth joint
Beefy anticipation
drowning in gravy

Best Costume.

Whoppers®, incognito. © Ryan Schierling

Excess enthusiasm has led to an ungodly amount of candy stashed away in our wee cupboards. Yes, I confess, I was a poor judge of the number of kids that would show up at the door this year for Halloween. I got excited at the prospect of hordes of adorable little goblins showing up on our doorstep dressed as superheroes and princesses and pumpkins with chubby arms and legs. 

I bought too much candy. 

You can't really blame me. For some reason or other, the urban nature of my living situation for the last decade has simply not been conducive to trick-or-treaters. I'd usually keep a bag on hand just in case, but made sure it was something that I liked, should the inevitable absence of children occur once again. 

But this year... we're living in the SUBURBS baby! A school bus even stops on our street! Ha!  Yes, kidlets of all sorts showed up, and they were cute, and they were sent away with candy. 

Now, I have the sobering task of figuring out how to use all the leftovers... and luckily we're heading full tilt into the holiday baking season. Taking inspiration from Megan Seling of bakeitinacake.com, I decided to start by making Whoppers® cookies. I don't usually bake cookies this big, but it seemed fitting, somehow. 

Guess what the secret ingredient is.......Ovaltine®! © Ryan Schierling

I'm afraid those Tootsie Pops® are going to pose a bigger challenge, however.

A year of plenty.

Shredded pork and pork chop with rice and egg. © Ryan Schierling

Exactly one year ago, Julie and I were on the road from Seattle, pointed south. We arrived in Austin on November 1 – exhausted, relieved and, in my case, with a touch of the collywobbles. I blame the latter on my penchant for strawberry milk and beef jerky when traveling, but that's entirely another story. 

A month prior to the move date, we flew to Austin to find our place to live – our place to land. We spent three frustrating days scouring the city and surrounding areas north, south, east and west. Nothing was clicking for us. During an excursion north, we stopped at a little Vietnamese restaurant in a beat-down strip mall. Hungry, a little irritable, and unsure we were making the right decision in moving halfway across the country, Thanh Nhi was a welcome oasis. The owners were bend-over-backwards gracious and effusively friendly. 

We had bánh mi sandwiches that were easily as authentic and satisfying as any we'd had in Seattle, and decided then that we should also be hunting for the things that we wanted most in a new town – the important resources that were nearest and dearest to us. We found Fiesta, we found MT Supermarket, we found Indian and Pakistani grocers, we found Phoenicia. We researched farmer's markets and began sourcing local gardening centers. We began to see the validations of diversity we were looking for, and that's when the sea change began to occur.