la Barbeque: The Best Brisket I've Ever Had

Let me start out by saying this: I have never eaten at Franklin's. I've had intentions, but then there's always something I'd like to do with my mornings, and one things leads to another, and it's 100 degrees, and I skip it.

So, it is entirely possible that better brisket exists. Just really hard to imagine what that might be after a lunch at la Barbeque.

LA BBQ sits on that fuzzy line between a trailer and storefront. It's outdoor seating (pleasantly shady and bearable even in late June Austin), and there's a pretty straightforward two-window trailer where you order and pay. At the same time, it's a permanent establishment, with two enormous smokers set up off to the side of the lot, firewood stacked up, and a gravel parking lot all on its own. A galvanized trough filled with ice holds sodas in glass bottles - Mexican Coke FTW.

It's kind of the perfect setting, actually, and the operation was remarkably efficient  - busy, but hardly a wait at all.

The glory here, though, is in the meat. I was there with my daughter and we split a few slices brisket and a link of the sausage. Both were off the chart. The brisket - smoked for about 16 hours over a combination of Oak and Pecan wood - was meltingly tender (go with the fatty - the lean was still amazing, but less of transcendental experience). The flavors were layered and balanced, with smokey, almost sweet flavors, against the peppery crust. There was sauce on the tables, but I have never been less tempted to use it. It was also thickly sliced - I used to think I only liked brisket sliced Rudy's style into thin strips - but this cured me of that right quick. It was simply ideal meat, no need to shave it off like deli meats or slather it in sauce like lesser cuts.

The sausage, which we ordered as an afterthought, was no less extraordinary. It was a little looser than others I've had, with a touch more crumble to it and just the faintest of spicy kick. I wish I could identify the spices in there, but it was all too completely integrated to pick out individual notes. Salty and blissful.

We ate all we could hold, and then some.This redefined the meaning of barbeque - we weren't leaving any of it on the tray.

Josephine House, Spectacularly Reinvented

I can barely imagine the Austin Jeffrey's opened into nearly 40 years ago. The city was a third of the size it is now, the downtown skyline stretching up only half as high. In a town like ours, a restaurant from 1975 is monumental, it stretches into legendary history. And over the decades, Jeffrey's kept on plugging away, a fancy neighborhood hangout getting a bit worn around the edges as more and more ambitious dining options opened all around it. Finally, it just didn't fit anymore, and there was a moment of hesitation where I don't know that any of us really knew whether it was going to pull through.

Over the last year, the McGuire Moorman Juggernaut has been restoring and reinventing Jeffrey's and its sister restaurant (they share a kitchen and a breezeway) Josephine House. I have yet to try the mother ship, but Tracy and I stopped by Josephine for a memorably lovely lunch this week.

Josephine House - the teeny tiny house that has mostly served as an event space for years - is Jeffrey's outpost for lunch and a bit of an early happy hour. The indoor dining space isn't much larger than a typical suburban dining room - a handful of tables under a gorgeous front window. To supplement, Josephine House spills outside onto a side patio under a giant ancient tree, onto to the front porch, and even onto a picturesque 8-top on the front lawn. It's getting a little steamy for al fresco dining, but you settle into it, and at least on a breezy 90 degree day in late May, it just works. Every design detail here is thought through - the contrast of  navy and white details, the buckets of lilies, the copper gutters and downspout, the marble table tops. You can't find a space that isn't beautiful.

The menu is straightforward and simple, with first rate details and execution. This is a place that has every potential of being stuffy and pretentious, and while it's definitely a fancy lunch, it's completely approachable. Case in point - Tracy had the BLAB. That would be Bacon Lettuce Avocado Beet. The house made bread was a little spongy with a hint of sour, the bacon deep and smokey, the beet sweet and the green just the faintest hit of bitter. It was brilliant - in just one bite, the tastes bounced from one flavor to the next to the next, trailing on.  In one way, this is just a sandwich with potato chips. But it's one of the best damn sandwiches and some of the best damn potato chips I've tried. And just try to say "I'll have the BLAB" and have it sound pretentious.

I had the Chicken and Egg - again very simple and beautifully conceived - cannellini beans, roasted carrots, roasted brussels, chicken thighs, garlic, with a fried egg balanced on top. With a bit of their sourdough to mop up the broth, this was a stunning, simple stew, and a perfect lunch. We lingered on for a bit, ordering a pot of the Stumptown french press (not bad) and an incredibly rich, dense chocolate torte with marscapone cream and macerated local strawberries. 

I assume that this menu will be shifting on a regular basis - strawberries like that are fleeting - but if what we ate was any indication of how brilliantly it will continue to come together, we have a revival on our hands that could go another 40 years. We'll see what Austin looks like then.

Veritable Quandary Issues Grubbus Wake Up Call

It took some seriously amazing Eggs Benedict to wake Grubbus from a months-long slumber.

Veritable Quandary is a gorgeous little restaurant in an out of the way corner in downtown Portland. It's a strange sight, a cozy little restaurant there by the river and the highway, surrounded by parking garages and nondescript office buildings. Tracy and I walked the 10 blocks or so from our hotel, and the closer we got, the more certain I was that we'd taken a wrong turn.

Then - around that last turn - it appeared, a little black and gold house emblazoned with its clever mouthful of a name.

When we showed up for brunch on Saturday morning it was still 30 minutes before their unambitious 10AM opening time. But not long after we sat down at a little table out front to wait, a man - newspaper in hand - walked right in. We followed him, and were greeted by the warm sounds of a restaurant getting ready for the day. Rather than shoo us out, they offered us a cup of coffee (Stumptown, natch) and a seat at the bar. It was brilliant - Tracy and I, a gorgeous interior space filled with deep leather booths and a long polished wood bar, the flaming lips, a huge bay window out on the street.

A few minutes later, we were whisked off to a table in a sunroom off the main dining room, coffee refilled, and handed a short brunch menu. People were filtering in, and the Flaming Lips was replaced by a more "we're open now" Miles Davis. I ordered Eggs Benedict, Tracy got the french toast.

The first thing that hits you with these eggs is the color. Before VQ, the brightest yolks I'd seen were Jerimiah Cunningham's. These made those look pale and listless by comparison. Amazing, gorgeous, yellow-orange yolks. Then, you notice the tall cylinders of homemade english muffin. The smoked pork tenderloin. The frothy hollandaise. And the perfectly geometric, perfectly browned block of hashbrowns. It's a remarkable thing, this Benedict. Second best I've ever had, in fact. (East End Eatery in Gainesville, FL still holds the title for the best).

If I could have tweaked, it'd be little things - homemade english muffins are hard to do well, and are a bit heavy at this height. And while the eggs were truly stunning, the hollandaise could have been just a bit lighter. But I quibble. This was the best breakfast I've had in the last 6 months, easy. And Tracy's French toast was no less impressive - the bacon crispy and substantial, the bread etherial.

VQ was our last stop in Portland, a pause on our way out to the airport to catch the flight home. I can't think of a better way to remember a city that I fall in love with a little more every time I go.

Ten Good Things in Tallahassee

I first came to Tally in November 2005, and returned to Austin last week from my last planned trip there. Over those 5 years I managed to eat out. A lot. Mostly I ate the sort of middling sustenance that gets one through the day when traveling. A few times, I got to partake in the memorable.

Sitting here, back in Austin on a sunny day off, I was just thinking through the places I'd go back to should I get back to Tally at some point down the road. And here it is, in no particular order.

1. Best Place to Stay: The Aloft

Technically, the Aloft is not food. But it is the sweetest deal going in Tally accommodations. Aloft is a Starwood hotel, and it makes a big deal out of being the pipsqueak version of the W. Hipster without being too precious, the Aloft pretty much nails the cheap hotel formula. Comfy bed, modern interior design, perfect mid-century design desk chair, good espresso in the lobby.

And the clock. The bed-side clock rocks.

2. Best Bar: Level8 at Hotel Duval

I am not cool enough for this bar, but I love it anyway. Level8 opened up sometime in 2009 with the slick boutique Hotel Duval. While an 8th floor panoramic balcony in another town might face you at a brick wall, in Tallahassee it presents a view over the rooftops and trees, out toward the setting sun. Drinks and bar food are about what you'd expect - nothing earth shattering - but the people are all trendy and beautiful, the breeze is refreshing even on sweltering summer afternoons, and the whole deal is a step away from Florida small town and into something cool in a whole different class.

Photo - SheltonDean Designs

3. Best Dinner: Cypress -

One of the first posts I wrote in Tallahassee was in reference to a lovely evening at Cypress. Nothing's changed since then. Cypress is easily the best restaurant in town, hitting the right notes on service, on wine, and on food. It's fancy, but it's a foodie fancy - nothing for show, all for taste. When folks came into town for a quick visit, for team celebrations, for goodbyes or welcomes, if I had anything to do with it, this is where we ended up.

4. Best Lunch: Kool Beanz -

The basic rule that nice restaurants do not name themselves with whacked spelling does not apply to Tallahassee. Nowhere is that on more blatant display than Kool Beanz. A cozy place with a pretty patio and an ambitious menu, Kool Beanz is as good a lunch as I've had in town. It's not fast-food cheap, but for what it is - creative American cuisine made from fresh, sometimes local ingredients - it's exceptionally well priced. I've been for dinner as well, but I think the fancy/casual atmosphere does better at lunch. Menu changes often. Never a dull visit.

5. Best Cheap Eats: Gordo's -

In the grand scheme of basic cleanliness, Gordo's is about as low on the scale as I'm willing to visit. That said, this is college-dive Cuban done right. The arroz con pollo is better than any I've had at even far more upscale spots; the maduros, totally on point. Weakest points at Gordo's are the sandwiches, which I found kind of bland.

6. Best Pizza: Momo's -

Slices as big as your head. Like Galapagos wildlife left to evolve in an isolated environment, Pizza in Tallahassee has grown to proportions I have never seen in the outside world. An XL Momo's Pizza is 30 inches across - 700 square inches. And it's not just enormous, it's really fabulous pizza - thin crust, beautifully spiced kind of punchy sauce, huge array of fresh toppings. Momo's and Decent Pizza are nearly identical in these respects, and both are contenders here, but I'm giving the nod to Momo's because they came first. I prefer the north location for the huge patio and the lack of insanely loud (but pretty good) music that they incessantly play down at the campus location.

7. Best Sweets: Lucy and Leo's Cupcakery -

Cupcakes hit Tallahassee a few years later than they hit Austin, and Lucy and Leo's pretty much sums up the trend - tasty, a little fru-fru and obsessively cute. L&L's, named after the owners' dog and the dog that lives next door, takes up the front half of a little shop. The back half is a quaint little shop full of art, handmade clothes, and little DIY knick knacks. They compliment each other nicely. As for the cupcakes, L&L rocks the best buttercream in town, and hits some pretty killer inventions. The lemon cupcakes in particular, topped with a little blueberry, are to die for.

Photo - Lucy and Leo's

8. Best Groceries: New Leaf

New Leaf was the best grocery store in town before they expanded. Now, with a bunch more wine, a ton of local produce, a pretty stellar selection of meat and cheese, and a more navigable space, they're way, way out in front. Still, New Leaf is no Whole Foods, and shopping there requires some flexibility, almost like a farmer's market - they've either got the best damn grapefruit in town, or they don't have grapefruit at all. Always an adventure.

9. Best Park: Southwood

This one has really, literally, nothing to do with food. It's just a really good park. A postcard-perfect park, with a trail winding a mile or so around a lake, under monumental old oaks draped with Spanish moss, and across beautiful little wooden footbridges. When my family was down in the summer, we went here nearly daily (that's my daughter reading her book under one of the giant oaks). The pool is off limits to non-residents, but the rest of the park, including a modest but lovely playscape, is open to everyone and just about perfect.

10. Best Random Find: The Soup Swift -

The Soup Swift may very well be the best soup-and-salad place physically connected to a retirement home in the South. Soups are creative, constantly changing and often a little daring, salads are well executed, and the place is just about as cute as you can make a linoleum-tiled, windowless cinder block establishment. A coworker refers to it as BYOD - Bring Your Own Doily - which is about right. The trick with the Swift is to get a seat at one of the half dozen picnic tables outside. Perched there, under the umbrellas, dipping into an expert gazpacho or lemon grass curry and munching a crisp salad is an unexpected pleasure.

Have iPhone, Will Travel: East End Eatery

East End Eatery is an absolute neighborhood gem - thanks to a couple of sweet apps on the iPhone as we passed through Gainesville, we got a taste too.

Last week, we set off on our little vacation-within-a-vacation, driving from Tallahassee to Orlando to overwhelm the kids with the sensory overload that is Disney. Our food in Orlando was decidedly third-rate (with the exception of a cute little breakfast place on the last day). Our lunch on the way there however, at a little out of the way spot in East Gainesville, rocked.



East End Eatery on approach is as plain as they come - a little cinder-block building with a microscopic parking lot, tucked in an out-of-the-way corner of Gainesville.

The minute you walk in the door, however, all that changes. Every detail here, and there are a lot of details, glows with the love and attention its owners have lavished on it. The restaurant is split up into 3 small sections - each full of art and a nice arrangement of light-wood Ikea tables and powder blue chairs. The light pours in from storefront windows. There is a huge and gorgeous play area full of books and a complete toy kitchen for kiddos.


The menu is simple - either brunch or lunch depending on if you're there on weekday or a weekend. I was there on a Sunday, and the menu was half a small page of pancakes, French Toast, and various configurations of eggs and toast.

I had the Eggs Benedict; as a family, we managed a taste of just about everything. And everything was simply on point. Tracy's strawberry pancakes, the daily special, were thin and slightly crisp, beyond delicious. They were the opposite of the dry spongy plate-filling diner standard, and tasted completely and perfectly home made. My dish came adorned with one of the lightest, freshest hollandaise sauces I've ever had - distinctly lemony and a perfect match for the poached eggs and crispy English Muffins. Poached eggs and English Muffins are of, course, par for the course for Eggs Bendict, but these were unusually fresh, unusually tasty. The sausage was flavorful in hand-formed patties, the bacon crisp, the coffee lovely and french pressed. As with the physical space, the care and attention that is poured into this food comes through shining.


I've been coming to Florida for close to 5 years now, just about every week. And no breakfast I've had in that time could hold a torch to this place. Truly fantastic.

Angelo Brocato ice cream awesomeness

Angelo Brocato is home to the best strawberry ice cream I've ever had.

When you ask a native New Orleanian for food recommendations, expect a long list. This is a city where culture is defined, in a not-incidental way, by food. It's not just the gumbo or po'boys. It's the attention to taste in everything.

Angelo Brocato is a prime example. Open a good solid century before the current gelato fad took hold, this place is a frilly, adoring temple to Italian sweets. Technically, this is the "new" location, which means the location that opened in late 1905, versus the store in the French Quarter, now Croissant D'or, that opened in early 1905.

It's a large place, maybe 20 small tables, and it was pleasantly packed when we arrived around 7 in the evening. Along one wall is a long glass case, filled with Italian pastries on one side, and about 2 dozen ices, ice creams and gelatos on the other. The frozen side is mostly made up of traditional Italian flavors - chestnut, amaretto, moka, spumoni, pistacio - but they've also got the classic American standbys. The pastries looked amazing, but I was there on a recommendation, and the recommendation was for Strawberry ice cream. A small is two scoops - for me, sweet cream on the bottom, stawberry on the top.

It was heavenly.

On the ice cream continuum there's Amy's Ice Cream on one side; so rich it's almost gummy. And there's places like Teo on the other - new school gelato, flavorful but almost grainy. Everywhere else is somewhere between - playing with temperature, ingredients, agitation, and presentation to try to hit the right combination of creamy lightness; the right balance between lush and refreshing. Trying to extract and incorporate the essence of something like strawberries makes it even harder. Certainly personal preference plays a part at finding the optimal point on that scale, but to me, Brocato's hit it - finding the extra depth that's missing from most Gelato and the silky texture that's missing from most ice creams. The strawberry was subtle, worked in as a flavor not as chunks of fruit, and it came through spectacularly.

I ate a lot of good food in our one-day stop in New Orleans. This was up there with the best.

Buenos Aires - Can't Judge an Argentinian Joint by the Cover

Breaking News - as of August 2010, Buenos Aires Cafe is moving their South location to grander digs up at the Hill Country Galleria. Looking forward to checking it out.

Buenos Aires is as unassuming as it gets, from the hack-job sign in Papyrus out front to the tiny little pea-green stucco building; from the patio facing the small parking lot to the tippy and weathered tables.

But behind the lackluster facade is someone in the kitchen who knows just exactly what she's doing, which is totally mind-blowing food. The ambience is the food here, and everything rotates around it. Our waiter, full of laid back Austin casual slouch when we got there, just lit up when we asked about specific dishes. After we got into a little conversation on the wine (Cava De Weinert Carrascal, which was outstanding), he was downright friendly. And the food itself, while not bad looking, had its value locked up in the taste. On looks alone, this place is middle of the pack urban strip mall ethnic fare. On taste, it's off the charts.



We started with a couple of empenadas - the spinach was good - sort of spanikopita-ish - but the chicken was just awesome. Slow, slow roasted and shredded with an intriguing combination of vegetables and spice, the soft and layered flavor in the filling and crunch on the shell came together beautifully.

Tracy went for roast chicken on the advice of the now-friendly waiter, and I had a beef tenderloin and shrimp special. Like the empenadas, the dishes weren't universally fantastic. I thought my shrimp was a bit overcooked, and the asparagus would have been improved with a hint of butter or lemon. But where this place shined, it really seriously shined. My beef, with chimichurri was amazing. Cooked on the rare side of medium-rare, it was meltingly tender and flavorful, with the chimchurri giving the perfect zingy, sharp compliment. Also lovely, the mashed potatoes that served as a pedestal for the shrimp, and Tracy's roasted yukon golds and sweet potatoes.



The empenadas and the entrees both were but prelude to the dessert. The dessert is actually why we came here, having seen a picture of the Quatro Leches cake a friend of Tracy's posted on FB a few weeks back. It did not dissapoint. We got a cylinder of the aforementioned Quatro Leches, and a slice of a completely over the top sponge cake-kahlua-strawberry-dulce de leche-whipped cream invention called Pionio. Not low fat. Not even all that pretty, but oh my, these are desserts that pick you up out of your chair, spin you around, and drop you on the floor only so you can crawl back to the table, begging for more. Amazing. And the dessert menu isn't shy about it - there are maybe 8 entrees here, and something like 15 desserts.

So, if you go, be prepared to look past appearances, and, by all means, get dessert.

I Had a Dream, And That Dream was Frank

In all honesty, it'd be nearly impossible for me not to love Frank. Downtown Austin, impeccably cool, chicago dogs, black cherry soda, killer espresso, and a full bar. Seriously, if I were nodding off, drooling, into an afternoon daydream of food, this is what would be in it.

Frank is in the space that used to house Gilligans, and then Crimson, and then Starlight. It's kind of a strange space for a restaurant, long and exceptionally narrow, but it's light and airy, with a nice view of downtown for the first floor, and it's right in the heart of everything. They've done a fantastic job with it - keeping the rustic old brick wall and adding a ton of warm dark wood. It's comfy and casual (jam jar waterglasses), but completely intentionally done down to the tiniest detail (the best ceiling fan in existence).


The menu centers around, well, franks, and these are taken to their logical conclusion - local, house made sausage; truly transcendental hot dogs. Among a whole range of options including some pretty outrageous combinations are 100% authentic no-screwing around Chicago dogs. There are other things I would like to try, but this time, it was all about the Chicago. And it was perfect, sport peppers and all.


Waffle Fries are another staple here, fresh cut, skins on, with pepper and kosher salt. There's another dozen options for stuff you can have delivered on them, and a bundle of dipping sauces. We had the waffle fries au natural and tried the buffalo blue, bacon buttermilk, and the horseradish sauce. Buffalo was not my thing, but the other two simply rocked. Something awesome about horseradish, cream and salty potato.

There are a dozen other things to eat. I plan on eating them all, even if I have to singlehandedly keep this place afloat (I won't, it was pretty packed even early).



On the way out, I looked up to see a gleaming La Marzocco FB/80 espresso machine, bags of Intelligentsia beans, and a 3rd place trophy from the 2010 Southwestern Barista Jam. Just to put this in context, restaurants NEVER place in these competitions. Ever. So I stopped and tossed back a rich, velvety macchiatto, on par with any I've had anywhere save maybe Victrola in Seattle.

Quibbles: for a place with cold beer in the URL, it'd be nice if there were a few more options on tap. And there was a little "store" that was out of, well, everything. Details. This place is truly one of the best places on the planet, and I plan to return. Often.

Hell's Burger

In DC this week, catching up on some training and strolling through a few bits of my old stomping ground. The days have been autumnal and perfectly clear; even just the walk from my hotel to the Rosslyn metro has involved tromping through freshly fallen brightly colored leaves.

But really what I've been doing here, when it comes down to the memorable stuff, is eating.

Last night, delicious, crisp, light pizza from Pizzeria Paradiso in Georgetown. Tonight, the pure decadence of Ray's Hell Burger. Ray's is as unassuming as dives get, and if it wasn't for the line-out-the-door Tuesday night crowd and the Obama visits and the 40 pages of Yelp raves, you'd hardly notice it. In fact, they don't even really have a sign.

But they do have a burger. Man oh man do they have a burger. 10 oz. Indescribably tender. Charred just a bit on the outside. Toasted brioche bun. This beast borders on the obscene, juicier and richer and more decadent than any burger I've ever had. I went as plain as possible on this go - cheddar cheese, grilled onions, dill pickles, mustard, lettuce, tomato. I won't try to recall all the burger variations, but I will say that by plain I mean that the particular cheese I chose was one of more than a dozen available.

And it's good that the burger is so outlandishly amazing, because Ray's is a one-trick pony. They do fries, and coleslaw, but as a total afterthought, almost the way salad bars include the decorative kale.

Now, if I just jog back to Austin, I should be about able to burn this baby off and return to my pre-Ray's self. But then again, maybe the Persephone rule applies; when you take a bite in Hell, you can't ever go back.

Chuck's Dang Near Perfect Donuts

The measure of a donut place, in my opinion, is the cruller. This is the central failing of Krispy Kreme, the glory of Tim Hortons, and the sole redeeming characteristic of Dunkin. If you can do a cruller well, if you can balance the ethereally light with the deep fried and decadently sweet, you've got something right. Chuck's Donuts, in Belmont, has nailed the cruller.

This was a good thing, since my trip out to the bay area was not off to a great start. For one thing, it's a Sunday to Friday week on the road, with a red-eye on the return flight. Far too much time away from the Austin clan. The flights out here were long and arduous, my rental car was out of gas from the get go with it's low tire pressure warning blaring, and my hotel reservations were lost. The luck continued into the pre-Chuck's food experiences - I ventured out to find Lorenzo's Sandwich shop in Belmont for dinner (it was closed), checked out menus for a few places (weak) and after some wandering, ended up ordering a local, but sub-par pizza back at the hotel (Toto's is not all it's cracked up to be).

But this part of the country is beautiful, and makes it hard to stay mopey for long. I woke up this morning committed to finding something good. I'd passed Chuck's on my drive yesterday and decided it looked promising.

Immediately on walking in, you know you're in for some serious goodness. The place looks like it's been there 50 years, with worn paneling on the walls and 4 little tables attached the floor and each surrounded by 4 miniature bar stools, also attached. The effect is that the tables and chairs appear to have organically sprouted from the floor, like mushrooms. Off the the side is a window into the kitchen, which seemed low tech and in some disarray, but clean. But the main view walking into Chuck's is this almost obscenely voluptuous display of donuts.

And, just like that, this has been a good day. I've got a lot of work yet to get through tonight, but for the moment, I'm happily typing away in a quirky little San Mateo Coffee Shop called Bean Trees and looking forward to finding something tasty and cheap for dinner in the immediate vicinity. Tomorrow, I'm going for the sprinkles.

Cypress or How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love Waiting Tables

I had a succession of food jobs through high school and college. I washed dishes, waited tables, manned the grill, made sandwiches, worked cash registers, tended bar. It was great, deeply satisfying work. Compared to consulting, the problems solved while waiting tables are both more pressing in the moment and easier to let go of at closing time. There's immediate gratification, constant feedback, and a continual sense of providing (literally) substantial value to the people who have put their trust in you. Give me that on a project, and I'll be there in a heartbeat.

So tonight, we all went out to Cypress, just west of Monroe on Tennessee St in Tally. Cypress is a small, upscale, place in the same class as Mozaik in price, ambition and focus, and I think even better than Mozaik in execution and spelling. The ambiance of the place embodies the practicality of Tallahassee elegance: the walls are painted an artful array of rich, earthy colors; these walls are also made of cinder blocks.

The unifying idea here is Nouveau American meets Southern comfort food. I've seen a lot of places try this, but I think Cypress has an innovative angle - quirky uses of familiar, iconic ingredients - that was well thought out and nicely executed. Case in point: I had an excellent salad with local field greens and featuring (trust me, this works) peanut brittle. The main dishes were similarly designed, if a little less daring: my salmon arrived aside fingerling potatoes and a delicate sauce that evoked mango lassi. It was unassuming and delicious.

We were a large group - maybe 20 - and we were a little demanding. When we sat down, we placed orders for wine, hoped for bread, and selected some appetizers. Slowly, these things came to us. They were very, very good, but they were slow. And we were pretty hard on the waitress regarding the pacing of delivery. Her even, sincere, unfazed graciousness in excepting criticism was what got me thinking about how much I miss this business. There was something about the calm confidence in her response that neatly summarized how much this place does exactly right.

Monument Cafe: If Alice Waters had been born in Small Town Texas

This weekend, while visiting my sister's new class room in Georgetown with Tracy and the kids, we had occasion to have lunch at Monument Cafe. Both Tracy and I had been there once, and both of us shared memories of a place that made a hell of a chicken fried steak. Neither of us had much confidence that the place was going to stand up to the 3-year old memories.

Monument is in some ways a completely typical Texas Diner. There's the black-and-white checked floors, the booths lining the windows, the specials chalk board with the day's pies, soups, and lunch features hanging above the counter. And the menu is pretty typical too: there's all kinds of burgers and fried chicken; there's meatloaf; there's fries, and onion rings and green beans; there's fresh lemonade.

But that's sort of the tail end of the typicalness. The food is unbelievable. All the standards were just as luminescent as we remembered them. Take the kids menu: nearly every time chicken strips appears on a kids menu, no matter how inspired the grown up food is, it's the same frozen crap from one place to the next. Here, the chicken was fresh, the breading home-made, and the taste was on an entirely different plane than is the usual. So too was the food we all had, down to the lemonade.

Which gets to what sets this place apart: The veggies are locally grown, the eggs from free roaming chickens at farm just down the road, the milk is organic, and the beef is all Kobe beef, from well-treated (to a point, naturally) cattle. What is says to me is that local doesn't have to mean health food, that supporting organics can lead to inspiration in menus that have been deadened by years of increasingly industrialized food production. It says that just because food isn't fancy or exotic or expensive doesn't mean that it can't provide first rate eating.

Georgetown is a hike from Austin, but we figure it's just a few minutes north of the new Ikea, so thankfully, we'll get the chance to back a little sooner next time.