Boxcar Boardwalk Takes Shape

All Aboard Deli
Dirty Dogz
One Cute Cupcake Boutique
Box Car Creamery
all at 5300 McCullough

(in The Yard shopping center in Olmos Park, behind Olmos Perk)

For many a year, a line of six old box cars sat vacant in the back of the Yard shopping center, on McCullough in Olmos Park. The owner of the shopping center had an idea, but apparently lacked the will to bring it to life. In the past year, though, that vision has started to blossom, and now the cars are all refurbished, and occupied, and open for business. One is a candle and gift shop, and one is a salon, but the other four have become, just within the last few months, four of the more interesting new small food establishments in town.

Last city inspection: August 2011
6 demerits

The first to open was the All Aboard Deli. I've been two or three times now, and have recommended it to a number of friends; all of whom, I suspect, have promptly forgotten about it. Out of sight, out of mind, no doubt: the biggest problem for All Aboard Deli's success, like all of the excellent new businesses in The Yard, is  invisibility. 

All Aboard Deli features a decade of sandwiches with railroad-related names, a gimmick that comes off as clever without being cloying. Some of the ingredients are rather too new-age for my own tastes — can you say 'sprouts'? — but there are plenty of people in the Midtown area, including some whom I respect and admire, for whom New and Trendy are not necessarily things to disparage, and these sandwiches should attract their interest. I will probably never order anything that boasts homemade mango avocado spread, but there are plenty of other things to interest me: excellent meats, really, really good breads (including a rye that, I find, I must exclude from my general dislike of rye bread), and tasty cheeses (Swiss, havarti and feta; the only real drawback about this place is that, with the low volume of business they presently have, they can't afford to offer a wider variety of cheeses), plus the fundamentally desirable combinations of textures that come from the use of high-quality, fresh ingredients.

My most recent choice was the Train Car Club. (Shouldn't that be the Club Car Club?) Lots and lots of thinly sliced turkey ("Black Forest Turkey," it says on the menu; is that a brand, or a style? I neither know nor care; it was good, and there ends my interest) and equally thinly sliced ham ("Tavern Ham," it says; that must be a brand name; but again, who cares?) with crisp bacon and all the right accoutrements to make the price seem more than reasonable; and all nestled between two marvellous slabs (i.e., thick slices) of a wonderfully tasty and surprisingly light bread. My friend Rick went with the Reuben,* piles of warm pastrami on that excellent rye bread I mentioned, plus sauerkraut (which isn't bad stuff, kids, despite the name) and Swiss cheese, with a homemade dressing. It was all I could do to keep from swiping half his sandwich.

All Aboard Deli is a wonderful out-of-the-way spot, and I'm torn between the desire to see them succeed, and the fear that they will succeed and be ruined for me. 

Two cars over is Dirty Dogz, a very new place looking to capitalize on the current trend toward gourmet hot dogs. Six months ago I would have sneered at the very idea that hot dogs are real food; but then, under pressure from family members, and displaying the lack of resistance that comes from being on vacation, I succumbed to the idea while visiting the gulf coast. OK, I admit it: hot dogs are not just for children, nor is their approbation limited any longer to cookouts, ball parks, movie theaters, visits to Chicago or New York, or quaint little carts on downtown sidewalks in tourist towns. Hot dogs, properly done, can be not just a meal, but a fully satisfying meal.

No city inspection yet

In this case, three hot dogs split between two people proved to be almost too much of a meal. Surprising, because they really didn't look all that big. We tried the Dirty Italian Meatball Dog, the Dirty Stuffed Jalapeño Dog, and the Dirty Kraut Dog. Based solely on the listed ingredients of each, I expected to like the meatball dog best and the kraut dog the least. Didn't happen that way: I couldn't pick a favourite. The kraut dog: nicely grilled onions and lots — even too much, if that's possible — of spicy brown mustard, and the overstuffed Nathan's dog. I wouldn't mind if the bun had been toasted just a little longer; that's true of all the hot dogs we sampled, because they tend quickly to turn to mush with the application of moist ingredients, of which there are plenty. But toasting buns is a finicky thing, so I won't hold the soggy buns too much against the kitchen here. In any case, even with the depredations of mustard (and other liquids) on bread, there was still enough of that crunchy, crumbly texture to titillate the tongue as these hot dogs vanished in quick succession. 

The problem with the Italian meatball dog — I say problem; it was no problem — is that I'm pretty persnickity about all things Italian. What little sense of ethnic heritage I have, being an all-American boy from way back,** is tenuously linked to a couple of Italian grandparents, one of whom could cook and the other of whom could eat, and both of whom could talk about food. So I'm disinclined to be appreciative of generic marinara sauce and commercially available mozzarella cheese; which, naturally, are what one finds on the Dirty Italian Meatball Dog. Still, even I, curmudgeon that I am, and dago-snob par excellence (or should I say per eccellenza?), can't deny that even mediocre generic marinara sauce and commercial mozzarella on generic meatballs out of some food-supplier's stock make, in combination, a delicious meal. It's all in the spices. Add to them a big ol' fat beefy hot dog and a toasted bun (soggy from the mozzarella, yes, but you know the kitchen-sink corollary to the mess-to-sandwich ratio) and you've got something worth having. And at four and a half bucks, I could stay fat on these things alone.

Then there's that stuffed-jalapeño dog: a nice kick to it, but one that sneaks up on you. After one bite I thought about old girlfriends who would just lie there. By the second bite I was picturing fantasies no mere woman has ever lived up to. Marvellous combination of flavours, as in a well-made stuffed jalapeño (and better, in fact, because it has bacon too), but without the deep-fat-frying. Again with the toasted bun infused with all the liquids of the ingredients, but also again, still enough crunch to satisfy that need for texture. Saying this was my least favourite of the three is like saying that big piles of Euros are my least favourite currency, compared to dollars and pounds. I would not turn them down, even in today's international market.

Last city inspection: November 2011
six demerits, half of which
I'd say don't count

So after you've downed a big, thick sandwich or a gourmet hot dog, you're faced with choices for dessert. Your choice becomes a conundrum, a Gordian knot of spectacular finishes, in the guise of businesses located at either end of the row of box cars. At the north end, you've got One Cute Cupcake Boutique, run by two women who know cute, and cupcakes. Being proudly male, I wasn't too enthused by the elevated cuteness quotient of this little bakery, but I couldn't help but be impressed by the cleverness of its operators (not to mention their exuberant enthusiasm for their products) or the variety of goodies on offer. 

the goodies

Having already stuffed myself with hot dogs (and ice cream, but we'll get to that), I couldn't bring myself to have a cupcake. Or, at least, I managed to resist chowing down on half a dozen of these things right then. So I bought a few to go. I'm happy to report that all three managed to survive the three-minute ride home.

People who know me know that I have, not to put too fine a point on it, a weakness for baked goods, so I say with some small pride that now, several hours after fetching home these delightful, even whimsical little cakes — including something called the Elvis, and a version of Boston cream pie that I will undoubtedly save for last — two of the three I bought liveth still. The one that has succumbed to my lust was a banana-nut cake stuffed (and I do mean stuffed) with sweet cream cheese filling. The banana chip that graced the top was more a visual treat than a culinary one, but that is the nature of banana chips. The cake was moist and firm and just sweet enough to be pleasing; the filling was very sweet, with a velvety texture and a good creamy flavour. Thank the Lord I only bought one. If I'm very lucky, I will not hear the others calling out to me in the middle of the night.

No city inspection yet.

Toward the other end of the boxcar boardwalk is the Box Car Creamery, open now about a month, I think. It presently offers about a dozen and a half flavours of ice cream. When I asked him where it's made, he said "Up north," which I thought meant, you know, New York or Cincinnati or some other foreign place, so I sardonically said, "You mean, like, Boerne?" Well, yes, turns out Boerne is exactly right. (In the owner's defense, I should mention that he comes from California, where people can't be expected to understand the deep cultural baggage that the term "up north" carries.) It is not, technically, home-made ice cream, but it is certainly artisanal ice cream. Rich, heavy, sinfully creamy ice cream, with intense flavours and no skimping on the ingredients. The chocolate is too chocolate-y to believe, the cookies and cream too thick with cookies. The amaretto peach pecan, my early favourite, proved to be too much for me. I will have to work up to it, I guess. 

With the removal of Justin's from Main Avenue to the Riverwalk, the opening of the Box Car Creamery is an especially welcome addition to the mid-city area, one approaching the promise of salvation. In South Texas, good ice cream is a pleasure in December, but an absolute necessity in summer. Right now this place has very limited hours (noon to five, if I remember right), but if we're lucky it will survive long enough to expand the schedule, and will be there to fill our needs when the temperature outside starts to approach the average I.Q. Let us pray.

* He is so predictable.

** Though still only 49 years.

Good, as Steakhouses Go

Texas Land & Cattle Steak House
201 North St. Mary's Street

(in the Drury Inn, on the Riverwalk 

next to the Sniper Trees floodgate)

Here's the thing about steak houses: if you own an outdoor grill, and are willing to spring for the charcoal and some mesquite chips, and take the time to monitor your piece of meat on the grill, you can make yourself a steak every bit as good as what people seem willing to pay any amount for. 

It used to be that steak houses had access to better quality meats than you could find at your local supermarket, but that's no longer true. The HEB I shop at, much as it irritates me in oh, so many ways, carries some excellent USDA-Prime steaks, as good as any you'd find at any of the big-name places around town. So what you're buying at a steak house is the convenience of having someone else do all the work, and plying you with alcohol and all the good, hot bread you want.

The holiday season is a particularly good time to visit
restaurants on the Riverwalk

Because I have that knowledge firmly lodged in my brain, I can't bring myself to go, any more, to the really high-end steak houses. I've been to all of them, I believe, and I've never yet had a steak that is really worth the exorbitant charges they ask for. When I have that yen to let someone else cook my meat, there are only a few options for me*, and all of them chain restaurants: Outback, which has franchises in twenty countries around the world; Saltgrass, a part of the Landry's Restaurant empire; and Texas Land & Cattle, which at least has the advantage of being Texas-born, though it now has a few locations beyond the light of the Lone Star.

All of these steak houses offer high-quality meat, properly cooked, nicely accompanied, and served in a comfortable setting. They compete on seasonings, which is purely a matter of personal preference, and on gimmicks like Outback's "bloomin' onion" and it's Australian theme. Texas Land & Cattle's gimmicks — it's "signatures" — are the smoked sirloin and the lettuce wedge, both of which found their way to our table last night.

The lettuce wedge is exactly that: a big chunk of iceberg lettuce, gussied up with bleu cheese, bacon, tomato and croutons. As salads go, if you like bleu cheese, this is an excellent choice. It's crisp and fresh, and it's so large you might want to just have the rest of your meal served in a go-box. Personally, I rate bleu cheese right above molded bread on my list of favourite foods, so I opted for the tortilla soup as an appetizer. The creamy broth was reminiscent of the excellent tortilla soup my wife makes, with the added bonus of smoked chicken, which imparted a pleasing flavour, lifting the soup above the ranks of the merely good tortilla soups. The serving should have been larger, the tortilla pieces more plentiful, but overall it was a satisfying prelude to the meal.

The smoked sirloin is the item that keeps this restaurant at the top of my steak-house preferences, such as they are. It is a sirloin, the whole thing, coated with cracked pepper and smoked, which is something I can't do at home. It's the item I've chosen from the menu probably nineteen times out of twenty. Last night my wife chose it (in combination with the lettuce wedge), and it was as good as ever. But I decided to sample some of the other items on the menu for a change, so I went with the TXLC Trio, a sampler plate with a six-ounce sirloin steak (graded USDA Choice, not prime), a mesquite-grilled chicken breast with barbecue sauce, and four medium shrimp (fried or grilled; I chose grilled). The menu lists a rice side-dish, but I got a baked potato instead. 

Having had my soup and two loaves of soft, crusty, hot bread, it's no surprise that about half my entrée made it home to be today's lunch. There is a lot of food on the TXLC Trio plate, enough even to make a curmudgeonly miser like me feel like I got a pretty good deal. (A nice, refreshing drink of bourbon helped, too.) The steak was cooked just a tad beyond the medium-rare I ordered it at, but close enough to call it done right. The chicken was cooked, I would say, just about perfectly too, though I found the barbecue sauce used to be much sweeter than I care for; a common complaint for me. The shrimp were cooked through and nicely seasoned, but the tails were burnt. I don't think it'd really be fair in counting off for that, though, since probably 99% of the customers any restaurant gets wouldn't give a hoot in Hell about the state of the meatless tail. But I'm one of those peculiar people who will usually eat the crunchy little buggers, so I was disappointed that they were carbon instead of calcium.

Latest city inspection: May 2011
33 demerits (rather a lot)

The baked potato was steroidally huge, and accompanied with all the fixings we want on a "loaded" potato, including a mixture of cheddar and jack cheese instead of the usual cheddar. If I'd've thought to ask for some jalapeño slices for it, it might have been perfect. (And another benefit to go to a steak house instead of cooking at home is, they don't serve microwaved baked potatoes at restaurants, and we all know there's a noticeable difference.)

The downtown location of Texas Land & Cattle is in a hotel. That would normally be a strike against it for me, because hotel restaurants tend to cater to a clientèle other than the local population. But a steak house is a steak house is a steak house, and besides, this particular hotel can claim some indulgence as part of a locally-owned chain. Besides, the Riverwalk is such a pleasant place, especially this time of year. I've also been to the location on Loop 410, and actually prefer it in some ways (convenient free parking, for example, but when the weather's fine, as it was last night, the distance from door to car is actually a point in favour of downtown restaurants). The interior décor is pleasing if not authentic, and the staff that I've encountered at the downtown location, and not just on last night's visit, has always been of the highest calibre for efficiency and helpfulness.

* There are some good independent steak houses around, but my wife doesn't ever want to go to those places.

Politically Correct Decoration by Committee

For as long as I can remember, the City of San Antonio strung those big old-fashioned coloured bulbs from the trees of the Riverwalk every Christmas. They would spend months, it seemed like, putting them up, checking them for burned-out bulbs to replace, and they would light them up for a month or so, then spend a month or so taking them all down. 

The county courthouse dome from the Riverwalk

Our present city council, not content to let San Antonio enjoy the lameness that is its hallmark, decided to get out in front of the politically-correct trend toward eco-friendly lighting, and spent who knows how much to replace the nearly quarter of a million old-fashioned bulbs with newfangled LED lights — millions of them. These new lights are brighter, the City points out (implying that brighter is necessarily better) and the two million or so lights we now have to decorate our Riverwalk with use half as much electricity as the 200,000 old bulbs did: ten times the bulbs, twenty times the light, for half the recurring costs. 

Not knowing how much the new strings of bulbs cost — knowing only that, when I price them in the stores for my own consideration, I still consider them too expensive — I reckon that, with as many lights as the City puts out every year, that reduction in annual costs is probably enough to make the purchase price worthwhile. 

So I was all gassed up to get downtown this year and see these newfangled lights, and have now done so.

The new lights certainly are brighter. In fact, they are positively garish in their glow. This might not be such an unpleasantry, if the lights were strung gracefully from the branches overhanging the water, as the old ones used to be. But these new ones are wrapped tightly around the trunks and major branches of selected trees, in the already-dated style popular in the early 1990s, to make the trees so illuminated seem like so many dead victims of lightning strikes. Colorful, yes; bright, yes; pretty, in some ways yes. But not nearly as attractive or as graceful as the old dangling strands of barely-bright lights were in years past.

I sure hope that next year, and on into the future, the people who decide how to use these things will devote a little more thought to the decorations than they did this year.