For breakfast Lilli had another omelet, but I decided to try the
huevos rancheros ($14 a la carte), described as "Two Sunny Side Up
Eggs on Top of a Tostada and Black Beans. Served with Breakfast
Potatoes and Salsa Roja & Chile Toreado." It had less good points,
good points, and an excellent point. The less good were pucklike
eggs that actually had some sunny-side-upness but a fully cooked
grainy underside by the somewhat overdone and resilient whites;
also the chile toreado was a roasted jalapeno of basically no heat
whatever. The good: the red sauce, quite savory and would have
gone well scooped up with a soft tortilla, of which none came.
Also good was that there had been a roasted pepper at all. Best:
a crisp-fried puffy tortilla, greasy but not too greasy, smeared
with low-salt but tasty black refritos.

Another side of sausages, the same, good enough that Lilli ate a
whole one. More orange juice ($4), coffee ($4 - though one could
walk to the lobby and get it for nothing) for her. All comped
again, and another 1/1200 of a stay added to the Hilton account.

It would have been remiss to miss Bryan Caswell and Greg Gatlin's
joint enterprise near Minute Maid Park, Jackson Street Barbecue,
so we dropped our traps off at the front desk and walked down
there, a blasted and urine-soaked half mile to this barnlike
restaurant that didn't have smells - good ones anyway - coming
out of it. Luckily, when we opened the door, the atmosphere
was BBQ in every sense; sort of like Kreuz in Lockhart in Houston.
You get in line in the usual way and order off the board in the
usual way. I had to have Lilli read the list.

A half pound of fatty brisket had a terrific bark, was exceedingly
luscions and tender, nicely smoky. Downside - the bark was hugely
salty, remedied by a dunk in water, which made the meat tepid.
Perhaps I should have asked for a cup of hot water, but I wasn't
thinking fast enough. The halfwit at Texas Monthly had slapped
the brisket for not being salty enough, so these guys must have
listened, to fell effect.

A sampler of ribs - yes, there are ribs in Texas, and people buy
them, but they're generally not as special as farther east - was
fine, the meat with just enough resilience and cling-to-the-bone
to make them interesting, nicely flavored, with just a touch of
that extra sweetness that the reviews complain about. They were
maybe good enough to order again, quite a bit better than your
normal Texas pork rib (until recently a contradiction in terms
and to me still pretty close to an abomination).

The place was written up for great dirty rice, but guess what,
it's no longer on the menu, so we passed on sides, which are
generally a waste of stomach real estate anyhow..

A local draft lager was okay; a glass of cheap red ink was no
worse than it had to be.

We chose a different route back to the hotel.

After collecting our bags, northward on the #6 bus, which was
tardy but worth the wait, as it was 60c for the both of us
instead of the $50 of a taxi or Uber. The bus let us off half a
mile from the hotel; it had started pushing 80, and Lilli
informed me testily that it was worth $50, that half mile. So
I treated her to a glass of red plonk at the Four Points on the
way, which has the only bar in the neighborhood. I had some
awful light beer, as I too was thirsty and off carbs for the day
- plus it was the most affordable thing in the drink department.

It's two doors down to the Homewood IAH again, where probably owing
to my exceedingly cheap rate we got a much smaller room, though
suitable for the purpose.

My flight was scheduled to go at 08 something; Lilli had somehow
booked an 0505 departure, pretty awful. So we agreed to try to
meet halfway and rebook something 6ish so she could get another
hour's sleep. I called and got mine squared away; she ran into
a snag; despite her uber-super-elite status, American wouldn't
give her a confirmed seat, blaming high loads and the grounding
of the 737MAX fleet. So we had to go on the 0300 shuttle (there
is no 0330 shuttle) and got to the airport way early.

There is no United checkin at terminal A, the signs pointing to
terminal B, so we took the first tram (0330) there. At terminal B,
we were informed that the terminal didn't open until 0530! but as
the Chicago flight goes at 0530, terminal C was working. Back on
the tram only to find that although the terminal was open, checkin
was not. I went around a stanchion to the group checkin and found
a machine that would accept my data and print boarding passes.

As I left triumphantly all the rest of the machines in the
terminal magically sprang to life.

Nonetheless, I was out of there and back to terminal A, where
the Admiral's Club welcomed us (welcomed Lilli and tolerated me).
Good fresh pineapple and melon; no berries, but the United Clubs
in Houston don't open until 5 at least. The hot chocolate here
is the dreaded Nestle. Shortly before 5 I escorted Lilli to her
gate and went off in search of the people mover to terminal E.

At this hour, it comes only on demand, which I didn't know and
stood around until some employee summoned it.
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