Fort Worth Top 10

Grab some waders and read about it in the Marsh.

Did KC just get trumped?

Kansas City, Here You Are

So let's say, hypo, that you're coming a visitin'. What shall I reveal to you about my Midwest digs? What will I show you? What will I feed you?

Here's my meme. My KC tops. Spread the word, and then share the word.

In no particular order, except for the fact that I, well, ordered them:

1. Nelson Atkin's Bloch building. We have a new addition in town to our city museum. And if it's not fab--that's under discussion--it is unique and the hands-down hottest thing we have going. It's been covered in NY Times, New Yorker, and other sundry estab'ed pubs.

2. Boulevard Brewery. Actually, we haven't been there, but we've sampled its wares quite often. In fact, right now! (Ah, the gratuitous exclamation point. How I abhor thee. And yet, how useful you are!) We do have a rockin' brew. And that's not just because I'm drunk.

3. Record Bar. Which must have the best logo (recordbar) and slogan (eat. hear.). Their menus are posted on vintage 70s albums, like those real gatefold things. Great indie bands, great trivia nite. We like The Nuge sandwich. You post the cash for the 'sitter. We'll buy your sammie.

4. Murray's Ice Cream and Cookies. OMG, my peeps. It's the Amy's of the Midwest. Not as good, granted. But we're at least 10 hours away. My favorite flaves: Truffalufagus, Citrus Avenue, Malt Licker, Smitty's French Lemon (creamy, baby), Fred & Ginger. And the Snickerdoole is a half-inch high.

5. 18th and Vine. Our own little Hollywood and Vine, Haight-Ashbury, Beale Street, etc. It's Peach Tree Restaurant (re: sweet potato muffins), it's the Jazz Museum, the 24-hour jazz jam that we've never been to but we'd like to be invited to (members only), Negro League Baseball Museum. Charlie Parker, among others, started here. See Altman's Kansas City. We should split this out, but we've only got 10, so I feel the need to conflate.

6. 18th and Wyandotte. As weird as KC gets. And we, as former Austinites, like us some weird. Birdie Panties, Spool, and YJs. Lingerie, baby goods, and caffeine. Back to back. It's the nexus.

7. City Market. Here we go. First, we'll do breakfast at Succotash and see Sean Ward's painting of Jamie Warren eating tomato soup. Then we'll buy heirloom tomatoes from the Amish. We'll buy a bedley of spices at the Middle Eastern shop, eat risotto gelato, grinders from the vendor stands, spring rolls from the Vietnamese restaurant, and whittle away whatever cash we have left on the scarified juggler of knives. Oh, yes, Baby Cakes, the yummified morsels of glory are here.

8. 39th Street. Vintage shopping at Revue, Boomerang, Prospero's Books.

9. Christopher Elbow's Chocolates. Objet d' art chocolate. Seriously, they're almost too purty to eat. But somehow I get past that. We're actually looking toward a second mortage on our house to finance my obsession. Fleur de Sel turtles. Chocolate and salt. Nuff said.

10. And the cliche of Kansas City. BBQ. We'd take you to Gates. "Hi, may we help you!" Being the Texas expats we are, we'd never say the BBQ here is better than Texas (e.g., Coopers, Rudy's, Salt Lick, Green Mesquite, Lufkin BBQ Company). But KC comes close. Closer than say, Nashville. (Game on!)

Okay, it's your turn. I meme you Austin, Fort Worth, Portland, Bloomington, Houston, Omaha, and my lone China reader. Crank out your tour. I'll even post the worthy right here.

But We Do Have Good Food in KC

So we eat out a lot. A lot. Wait a minute. I mean A LOT. Caps lock on and no looking back.

We've tried to curb the extra-abode feasting. It hasn't worked. And it should work. Here. There just isn't as much good eats in KC. Well, that we've found anyway.

But a few weeks ago, we eavesdropped on our local NPR conversation about food. And one of the food critics mentioned this little El Salvadoran cafe in Merriam. Or Shawnee. It's so hard to keep track of KC's outerbanks.

They critics ended up having the folks at El Pulgarcito make them what sounded a lot like migas. (Whatever, like, so entry level.) We decided that the glowing review deserved a taste. Like we're hard to convince.

El Pulgarcito (does it mean lizard? I can't remember) is just south of Johnson drive, nestled quite firmly among autobody shops. Oddly, it is just, just to the left of the street we take to our good friends' house, who we visit so often I do think we've suitably worn out our welcome. Yet we've missed the El Salv revelation and tiny sign every single time.

(And the eats, especially the pupusas would've come in quite handy on those occasions when we had to spend the night. If you get my meaning. Oh God, not that one. The other one.)

We had the pupusas, these corn tortilla pancakes, stuffed with pork, beans, and cheese. And it's accompanied by (and this is why I'm not food critic), a large jar of jalapenoed coleslaw whose El Salvadoran name I can't remember. Finn dished that up, and yet surprisingly (I'm waxing ironic here) avoided it. But he did gobble up the pupusas and chased them with watermelon juice.

Note: the 'slaw is called curtido.

And they do have damn good salsa. And that comes from a girl who has seen Las Manitas' salsa on a good day.

A Mouthful of Austin. (I Miss You.)

Some friends of ours are making the trek to Austin for the Austin City Limits Festival. And since we, once upon a time, were all things Austin, they've asked us for some crib notes to our former hometown.

So Bear and I started brainstorming.

"Oh, they have to go to Las Manitas."

"And then to Guerro's."

"And polish it off with Amy's."

"And start it up again with Salt Lick."

"Or Ruby's."

"Kerbey Lane pancakes?"

"Magnolia Voodoo Chicken."

And together: "Texadelphia!"

Nary a spring or a trail or a store--outside of Waterloo Records, of course--came up in our first-draft picks. It was all food.

And, of course, that got me to thinking. As I am wont to do and as I have the nasty habit of spelling out here. In great detail.

I don't think I have an unhealthy relationship with food. The extra 10 to 15 pounds I'm packing just give me a cushy landing when I invariably trip over one of Finn's transformers. But most of my memories have surrounded not places or people or even things, but food.

When I was growing up, we didn't take any elaborate vacations, but we went out to eat every Friday night. When I was in college and graduate school and near improverished, the big credit card splurge would go to Castle Hill or Irish Lion, not a spa treatment. When I think of Prague, I think of those hot dogs stuffed in skinny rolls with moutard. When I think of Italy, I think of gnocchi. When I think of France, I think of bouillabaisse. When I found out I had cancer, I wanted cupcakes and chimcurri. (Not together, of course.)

There's something to be said for exploring the world with your mouth and not just your eyes--biting off a morsel and savoring new cultures, experiences, a city's flavors on your tongue. Getting to know the textures of the places you've been and really making them a part of who you are. That's how Finn started--stuffing the world in his mouth, block by stuffed bear. And now we know where he gets that.

(And I just remembered, they have to, have to, order up a batch of Hyde Park fries.)