I went to a Thai restaurant a few nights ago, and I thought it was only fitting that I try a Thai beer. I asked if any of the beers were dark, and the waitress indicated Singha. The bottle was dark brown, I'll give it that much.
The bottle actually read: Singha / PREMIUM / Malt Liquor. I chuckled as I poured, remembering the couple 40s I'd partaken of since college - hey, every guy thinks it is a good idea sometime in their life.
Singha was a golden lager, so clear I could see through it to the people sitting at the table beside me. The problem I have with light beers - it's like it isn't even there at all. I might as well be drinking water for all the taste I get out of the beer. Maybe that is the sign of a good pale ale, or whatever they're called. I know that it didn't taste like the American crud that comes in a can, and I was happy about that! I did notice a hint of sweetness to it, or maybe that was a "rich" flavor, like I said - there wasn't much there.
Perhaps my taste buds just aren't delicate enough. I enjoy drinking porters and stouts, they don't "hint" at flavor or taste.
Restaurant: Del Rio Where: Lufkin, TX Cuisine: Tex-Mex
I had eat*smudge* at the restaurant once before, on my first trip to Lufkin, but I didn't have my trusty notepad with me because I'd *smudge* with a group. So, for the sake of my readership, I vowed to rectify that problem.
Like many tex-mex restaurants, the Del Rio had a lot of brick inside, murals on the walls, and "stuff" hanging where *smidge* wasn't a mural. However, one of the main attractions, what everyone sees when they are escorted to their table was the "tortilla kitchen." I call it that because I have no other name fore it, but both times that I visited, a little plump woman was hard at work kneading and roll*smidge* dough to make fresh tortillas.
They delivered chips and salsa (flavorful, slightly chunky, medium spice), but that's not what *smudge* interested in. Before my rail thin waiter (obviously new at the Del Rio) could even ask I stated, "I'd love some fresh tortillas please." Now, what was I, the man who normally shuns all grain products doing asking for tortillas? They were fresh and warm, and with a little butter (I blissfully ignored the fact it came out of a squeeze bottle) and honey, and did I mention they were fresh and warm... I could've melted.
I downed *smudge* such heavenly treats, not without getting the contents of one all over myself and my notes due to a faulty wrapping technique. But sensible side (curse it!) warned me, I could not stuff my self silly on dough, partially hydrogenated vegetable fat, and honey, I had ordered fajitas. Oh, woe! I forlornly looked *smudge* the thin disks of carbohydrate joy, but another thought occurred to me in the depths of my despair: fajitas are usually served with tortillas! My love and I would soon be reunited!
The fajitas came sizzling to *smudge* table. "Yes, anywhere. Don't mind the golden drips and smears everywhere, sorry." The chicken was good, slightly salty, but I added all the fixins - beans, rice, guacamole, grilled veggies - and wrapped them *smudge* a heavenly tortilla - and it was bliss.
Dinner was over all too soon, but if I *smudge* leave, I would have needed to rent a fork lift to carry me away. I paid my bill, stuffed my hands in my pockets, and walked quickly from the restaurant without glancing towards the tortilla kitchen on my way by. I knew I didn't *smudge* the willpower.
Lunch and weekends at the Del Rio can get packed. If you need your tortilla fix, I'd recommend a week day dinner, things move faster *smudge*
Actually, I have a hankering for a tortilla right about now. Perhaps that wasn't flour I saw them mixing into the dough...
I have an incurable affliction - I can't stop writing. Recently, in the last few months, I've enjoyed carrying a pad of paper around wherever I go. It's handy to jot down random ideas, character observations, scene ideas, etc. I may never come back to the paper, but the act of writing the thoughts down helps keep them in my mind.
As a natural extension of this, when I am in a restaurant, I often jot down thoughts about the setting, service, and food. However, instead of letting all this go to waste, I'm going to start consolidating my mental droppings and turning them into a review. Of course, considering my sense of humor, and the genres I enjoy writing (pulp, fantasy, and sci-fi), my reviews may diverge from the norm from time to time.
There wasn't a sign above the door, well there wasn't even a door, but if there was a sign it would read: Abandon Your Belts All Ye Who Enter Here!
Ignore the fact it only looks like a dilapidated porch from a rough wood-house built in the 1900's. Ignore the holes in the screens, the wood siding that is falling off, and the mostly-faded sign that reads the "Hickory Hut." Ignore the fact the place is nothing more than a porch that's connected to a small kitchen, and the only thing to sit on is a couple of old park benches.
You won't be able to ignore the smoke and heavenly scent emanating from the giant wood burning grill that sits out back. Nor will you be able to ignore the quality of the barbecue, or how stuffed you feel after you throw away the styrofoam box that your meal came in.
The place isn't big on amenities, but it is huge on sending its customers away stuffed full of good BBQ. The only hitch: the Hickory Hut is in Camden, AR. There are a lot of miles between it and the rest of the country.
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