255 more Texas
From
MICHAEL LOO@1:123/140 to
ALL on Wednesday, April 17, 2019 11:26:12
Someone told me that my friend Sheila had moved to
Houston, so as I was going to be there anyway, it
was a no-brainer that I should try to see her.
When I got in touch, she suggested we meet at the
Coppa Osteria in Rice Village, as her retirement
job is as a docent at the museum at that university.
It's a trendyish spot in what used to be a kind of
rundown neighborhood that has picked itself up
remarkably in the recent years of the Houston
renaissance. Essentially it's gone from faculty
housing to student rentals (which it was when I lived
in this town) to trendy hipster quarters.
One of the reasons she'd moved down was her family's
concerns for her health - back in the day she had been
a high-powered businesswoman with a bad schedule and a
bad diet; the new environment must suit her well, because
she's looking very good, rather alluring in fact, and she
dresses much more fashionably than when I knew her.
She'd got there early and was sitting at a nice table
out front and made a nice welcoming little picture.
I think she was genuinely glad to see me; in any case
we spent a pretty jolly time reminiscing about our
experiences from 10-20-30 years ago.
The time went fast, despite the food.
According to its name, the restaurant should be serving
Italian fare, and it does, by its own lights, but no
Mediterranean native would recognize it.
I ordered porcini pappardelle with jumbo lump crabmeat,
lemon, and salumi toscano, which was an ill-conceived
perversion of all that's delicious but that I found
actually quite edible. The porcini were in evidence
only as little flecks in the thick housemade noodles,
looking like mashed-up insect parts and imparting
little - perhaps a little tang and umami, but bug bits
would have done the same; these had been tossed in a
thick lemon cream with lots of torn pieces of basil.
The lemon cream was actually kind of tasty, but there
was far too much basil, and I picked out and left over
half of it. Crabmeat? Well, maybe a few shreds. Until I
got to the bottom and found a big clot of the stuff, a
couple ounces at least, that would have been welcome if
strewn over the top rather than hiding under the hot
pasta, which overcooked it to the point that one might
have thought it came from a mediocre can; in fact, I
suspect that it had previously lived in a good can,
like the crabmeat in Denver. What actually topped the
dish was some crumbles of either dry-fried or freeze-dried
ground-up salami - very strange. The dish was also bizarrely
overpeppered, enough so I suspect normal people would have
been pur off, but I was amused. A massively misbegotten
and peculiarly executed, but it turned out satisfying and
decent tasting, though quite expensive for what it was.
My friend seems to be going keto or Atkins or something
and had what was represented as an Italian salad; this
was iceberg lettuce, bland mozzarella, and that same
salami sand. There were a couple assorted other things,
cherry tomatoes, cucumber slices, but all in all, this
could have been the product of a bad restaurant in 1965,
when I lived near here.
I had a Blonde Bombshell beer (the waiter characterized
it as "super delicious"; Sheila tossed down several doses
of Diet Coke, which came in a cocktail glass, so one was
paying $3 for about half a cup of beverage and a lot of ice.
==
I decided to go to a fancy Hilton before my 0500 flight;
the bus goes right by there from downtown, and bang goes
60 cents. I got there just in time for the manager's
reception, which apparently takes the place of the
executive lounge but happens only on Tuesday, which must
represent a substantial cost savings. The offerings were
crap beer and wine and respectable liquors, the best of
which was the 1800 Reposado, so that's what I had.
Snacks were abundant. I didn't try the tomato artichoke
finger sandwiches, which didn't look all that appetizing,
but maybe I should have had one for research purposes.
A peculiar riff on satays, skewers with an inch or two of
scallion, a square each of red and green pepper, and a
chunk, a scanty ounce, of actual sirloin, marinated in soy
and garlic and hot pepper, done pink - decent food and
much spicier than I'd expected - I had four of these.
Sweet-sour chicken nuggets - these were hand-cut chunks,
about the same size, of Srirachaed and breaded velvety
tender chicken breast - I had two and debated going back
and making this my dinner but decided against.
This guy sitting by me who looked and sounded Good Ol'
Boy, made the surprising recommendation that I try the
Vietnamese fresh rolls, which he reported to be excellent.
They were in fact nicely done, rice noodles, lettuce, mint,
and thin slices of boiled shrimp in the rice wrapper. Turns
out Eric was not a southerner but a New York (probably
very lapsed) Jew whose mom had been hired to run a textile
mill in North Carolina and dragged him along when he was 13.
It was generous for a happy hour but kind of scanty for
dinner, and I toyed with going back down to the restaurant
for a full meal but found two forgotten bananas in my carryon
and had those instead.
Something I ate let loose all the little internal marbles
and turned them miraculously into, well, you don't want
to know. Probably the dairy from lunch.
It turns out that the hotel shuttle doesn't start until 0500.
Though it bills itself as an airport hotel, this Hilton is in
reality as close to downtown as it is to the terminal, and so
that meant a $30 cab ride (it's 50 from downtown), so that
made the room quite a bit more expensive.
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