Bottomless Pancakes and Grocery Ephemera

These pancakes has already become legendary in their own right.  My sojourn in God’s Country led me down some hard trodden paths, such as, choosing whether to see the Star Wars soundtrack performed in orchestral format by the dwindling light of eventide at a park on a hill overlooking the city.  My other option: bottomless pancakes at previously heralded Spiral Diner.  Never before had I had to face this decision, would it be nerdiness or delicious foods.  Ok, so maybe everyone else has already guessed.  For a brief few seconds there, I wasn’t sure.  So, bottomless vegan pancakes with vegan fixins and bottomless vegan coffee won out – man, speaking of, I totally want some of that non-vegetarian coffee.  With rendered fat floating in it.  I’m sure it’s a thing.

Oh, and we didn’t just go.  There is a process.  It involved starving myself and hitting the gym very hard and then waiting til like  noon thirty.  Hunger became the three of us – Alexandra’s roommates Liz joined.

Pretty much, this is all I can say.  When someone gives you unlimited pancakes, and some of those pancakes are chocked-full-o’ macadamia nuts, you have no right to complain.  “But I don’t like coconut OR macadamia nuts” – listen you self-righteous twerp, nevertheless, that shit ain’t cheap and you’re getting unlimited of it for 6 bucks.  Fortunately, I totally brought maple syrup to the party (Oh yeah, see that, it’s Camp Syrup, the Gold Standard of sugary pancake fixins) because like I said last time, they don’t believe in it.  We even asked the first time we went – “Hey, do you have maple syrup for the bottomless pancakes?”  And with a no-duh-like fashion, the Mantress responded, no just agave syrup <shit eating grin>.  So, nevermind the maple syrup apostates.  The food was heavenly.  And tofu egg scramble, totally tastes like taco meat – most likely because the powder on it was taco seasoning.

We all agreed to leave at 7 months pregnant.  No desire to be bedridden and comatose because of a little pancake lust.

I forget what we did the rest of that day, but in this penultimate entry.  I’ll go over some of the Texas-based insanity  I witnessed but haven’t yet entered here.

Grocery Stores:

Milk is fucking cheap in Texas.  I’m talking two dollars a gallon or less.  Don’t skim over that.  Let it soak in.  I really can’t describe to you what I did when I walked past the gallons of milk and saw 1.99 as their given price.  It was a mixture of elation and what-the-fuck?

There’s also about a million grocery stores in Texas.  Here in Florida, there’s maybe three or four.  Publix, Sweetbay, Aldi, occassionally you’ll see a Winn-Dixie that hasn’t been converted into a crack house. There’s an Albertson’s somewhere in this state still, that’s about it.

Texas has HEB – which Alexandra now tells me is pronounced H-E-B, although this is utterly disagreeable, we march on.  Tom Thumb, pretty much your standard Publix clone, except it’s really awesome inside, much better products than Publix and a bigger selection (cause it’s a huge store).  Aldi, I guess these are everywhere now? Albertson’s, more than in Florida, and none are burned out husks.  Kroger, just so you know you’re in the mid west.  Central Market – the Whole Foods equivalent, and an offshoot of HEB.  It totally has, like, a street side market feel in there.  There’s fish mongers and vegetable stands inside a big store.  It’s like a roller coaster ride through an old-world grocery market, but then at the end it’s just lines of cashiers to purchase from.  Sadface.  I’m sure there’s Whole Foods and Fresh Market here too. Still, do you need that much variety Texas?  Also, in the Inevitable City – the moniker I am just now bestowing upon the all Spanish-language city we drove past on the way to Austin – had its own Spanish grocery store.

Now that I go over what I’ve already done, I’ve pretty much hit all the high notes.  Great beer, terrible temperature, awesome food, bad driving, crazy amounts of the Spanish.  Yep.

Oh, maybe I’ll leave you with this puzzle while Alexandra and I went to play chess, ended up being dominoes, in a Ft. Worth Starbucks where we were served by a moustachiod barrista – he commented how my snide remarks about their new Iced Via tasting like honey maple ham steak had “made his day” and I told him his mustache (a quite awesome one) had made my day.

What’s wrong with this picture? Click to enlarge if you must.

So next, and probably last, will be the Amon Carter Museum.  Some finishing thoughts and a stern insistence that somebody – dear God, somebody – actually read all this.

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