An ode to Houston’s West Paces….
Oh Houston’s, how I love thee so
Tried and true
Classic and comforting
Perfection is repetition
Happiness is a heavy-handed bartender, hints the “Houston’s Pour”
The lustful marriage of spinach and artichoke
Smoked salmon with a kiss of aioli, sure to make the ladies in the front row blush
A French dip to end all French dips, dare I say add a slice of pepper jack cheese?
Shoestring fries: not waffle, not steak, not crinkle cut – to sop up juices galore
I worship at the altar of Hawaiian Ribeye, for I am surely not worthy
Take thy eyes, but spare thy Hickory Burger
Who remembers the artist formerly known as ‘Evil Jungle Thai Noodle Salad’?
When the cold winds blow, impure thoughts of your Tortilla Soup invade my mind
It was written in the stars that our tryst would include a Fish Sandwich
My taste buds would never forgive me if I didn’t mention you, my sweet vinaigrette
The lowly spud – look what you have done, Cinderella would be beaming with pride
My father knew I had become a man when I ordered my first rack of your ribs
Don’t fret young children; the chicken fingers won’t bite (off menu, of course)
Have mercy on me!
– Michael S. McCord