| I have a tried and true theory about dining in a strange town – ask a local! Without fail, a local will direct you to the best eating, especially if you’re looking for something specific, like barbecue. Almost without fail, if I or my companions simply choose a restaurant, the food and service are mediocre or downright disappointing. We experienced an exception to this rule driving through Louisiana, where we stopped at a rundown diner called the Pink Pig. The only dining area was a few picnic tables out front, and there was no bathroom (which is, where I come from, a regulatory no-no.) But the food was excellent. We discovered a Cajun favorite called a boudin ball – rice and sausage rolled into a ball and keep fried. Mighty tasty – and spicy. So we crossed the border into Texas. I had been to the Lone Star State only one time in my life, and that was to drive across the panhandle in the dead of night when Dave and I were on our cross-country honeymoon trip. I never had much of a taste for the place, maybe because of that famed Texas swagger, the arrogance Texans seem to have about their would-be republic. In short, driving through their barrier islands, with longhorn cattle and oilrigs seeming to outnumber the people, to the lonely expanse of Point Bolivar (though the ferries were quite crowded) and crossing to the lovely and picturesque Galveston, I developed a whole new appreciation for the place. Taking a dip in the bathtub warm Gulf was not at all like tossing with the cool waves on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, but other than the preponderance of seaweed it was a very neat experience. My fascination continued through Corpus Christie to Brownsville, as the luscious green gave way to a touch of a more desert-like feel, and I couldn’t help but think that hey, I wouldn’t mind living here! And so we ended our drive across the southeastern U.S. at a Super 8 in Brownsville, TX, sitting in the bubble filled jacuzzi with a young man from Conway, South Carolina, who had moved to San Antonio. Rather than working in his chosen field of radio, he was employed by a company who does inventory for area Walmarts, and it seemed to me he had been loathe to the idea of putting in his time in the trenches, preferring to be able to just step into the afternoon drive party DJ slot. Guess I could be wrong about that, but it made me think of all those young radio geeks who have toiled away for Dave all these years, putting their cheerful energies to good use for crappy wages. I imagine they’re much happier doing that, no matter the grumbling and frustrations, than they would be to spend their time in cheap motels, counting cheap merchandise all day before heading back for their Denny’s dinner. I have visited many corners of our country: certainly the southeastern states, where I’ve spent the bulk of my life; New York City; Washington, DC, and Baltimore, MD; Burlington, VT; Spokane, WA, and Coeur d’Alene, ID; Denver, CO; Los Angeles, CA; Gallup and Santa Fe, NM; Oklahoma City, OK, in the middle of the night; Hot Springs, AR, and Vicksburg, MS. (I don’t suppose you would count a few hours at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport.) And always I’ve noticed that people throughout the United States live in different ways. The grocery stores feature different brands of foods, and sometimes it can be difficult to find something you’re familiar with back in your zone of comfort. When you cross a certain line you have to add sugar to your tea if you prefer it that way. Attitudes permeate the air of a place in a way that’ s hard to describe. But living in a completely different country? I prepared for a whole new change in attitude. # # # |
Deep In The Heart Of Texas
| On the road to Point Bolivar, I failed to catch any longhorns. |
Pen's Essays - 5
| A park on the Galveston harbor. |
| The Texas shore. |
