This past weekend we went up to Dallas to pick up Jigger, our mascot/dog, from Tipsy's parents' house, where he had been staying for the week while we were on vacation. The date so happened to coincide with Tipsy's brother-in-law's 40th birthday, and being good catholics there was naturally a party where copious amounts of booze were being consumed. So festive was this particular soiree that they rented a margarita machine. I was offered a glass of the frosty liquid upon my arrival, and not wanting to seem inhospitable, I accepted. I am not generally a fan of the frozen margarita but since we live in what must be the frozen margarita capitol of the world, I have consumed my fair share. They are generally quite bad though In many restaurants they are passable, and occasionally even good. The "margarita" that came out of the machine on this particular evening did not register on the usual scale of terrible tipples. A whole new system had to be created to rate how bad this drink was. The heartburn, for one, was instantaneous, a swift rebuttal from a system seeking comfort after the long drive. The lime did not taste like lime so much as it tasted like lime Jell-O, or something else that is supposed to taste like lime but doesn't. The taste remaining in my mouth was as refreshing as a glass of water that has been poured from a soda gun that hasn't been flushed--unclean.

Paradise City? More like Cape Fear

The next morning I awoke on the sofa in the same room as the margarita machine. You would think that it would be difficult to sleep in the same room with a contraption demonic enough to have dispensed such a hideous libation, but since I found a few other things to drink after disposing of the malgarita, I slept fine. It was waking up that was hard to do. And the first thing I saw when I woke up was the machine in the corner with the sign reading "Paradise Margaritas." Paradise, I pondered. No, Paradise is not quite right. Incarcerated felons, I had to think, would expect a better beverage upon their release than the ones that came out of this machine.

Jus look at that ingredient list!

When I cleared my eyes I noticed that the jug of margarita mix was sitting near the machine. "Jus-Mix", by Jus-Made LP, Dallas, Texas. There is something that is jus not right about this product: HFCS, yellow #5, blue#1. 0% Fruit juice! Two different preservatives and "natural flavors"--where do those come from if there's no juice? Impossibly gross. It's truly amazing to me that people buy this crap. What would be the motivation? Isn't it disturbing that we have degenerated so far as a drinking culture that someone would look at a bottle with ingredients like this and say, "I want to invite everyone I know over for a special occasion, and celebrate with this!" I don't understand how the 'national drink of Texas' has become this endangered: at this and countless parties around the state, our unofficial official drink has been reduced to a simulacrum: instead of fresh juice we have 'natural flavors'. Instead of natural color, yellow #5. Instead of sugar, High Fructose Corn Syrup. Triple Sec is only optional, and not in anything resembling the proper proportion. This margarita is, to put it in bushese, a threat to the security of our culinary heritage. And I think I was the only person who noticed.

Ball-Throated Grackle sighted in South Austin

Speaking of invasive species, there is something else that has been bothering me since I got back from vacation. There is this grackle that has been hopping around the yard that has a strange growth on its throat/neck that resembles a pair of testicles. Large ones, almost human in scale. And I have never seen such a thing. Could it be that this grackle got ahold of some of that carcinogenic Jus-Mix margarita? I'm not sure. I have a cousin who is an ornithologist but I haven't talked to her in a couple of years, and I feel awkward calling her up to ask her about this bird with the neck scrotum. I'll let you know if I get up the, ahem, gumption to call her.

Two weeks ago Tipsy and I boarded a plane for Colorado, where we would celebrate end-of-season discounted pricing, and more importantly for me, end-of-season minimal crowds. Vacationing for me is not relaxing if I have to share the moment with thousands of strangers. Hence no history of trips to Europe in the summer or to South Padre during spring break (with the exception of this well-documented moment from last year).

The first cocktail, of course, starts on the plane. Or at the airport bar, which was closed because this is Texas and we left on a Sunday morning. I knew we should have packed a to-go before we left! I used to bring my own hooch on the plane until they put in place all of those restrictions on liquid bottle sizes. The good thing is that while waiting in line at security, a group of Southwest flight attendants asked if they could cut in front of me in exchange for some free drink tickets. A note to all flight attendants: asking the Tipsy Texan to barter for liquor is like asking a politician to meet his public, and will always be greeted with an enthusiastic reply.

My first apres-ski martini on Day 1. I was very excited about this because there literally were snowflakes falling into my cocktail as I took this photo. Having lived in Texas my whole life I have never had the opportunity to garnish a cocktail with fresh snow.

I had never been to Breckenridge before and had somewhat high expectations for it. For one, I assumed that there would be no shortage of quality dining establishments, though I did not see anything that looked very fancy as we were driving around.

"Where are all the nice restaurants?" I asked a woman I met. "Aspen," she replied.

So as it happens we ended up cooking a lot of meals in our hotel. When I was growing up my mother always scoffed at the idea of hotel rooms with kitchens. "Who would want to go on vacation just so they can cook?" She would ask. It was only after I grew up to become an adult who likes to cook that I realized that her aversion wasn't to cooking on vacation, but to cooking in general.

When physically exerting yourself it is wise to gorge yourself on fatty foods like bacon. And eggs fried in bacon. How could anyone not liking cooking on vacation, when days start like this? And end w/ snow-garnished martinis?

As the lifts came to a halt and as we came off the slopes, it came time for that fabled WASPy moment, the apres-ski cocktail. We opted not to don sweaters and earmuffs and head for the bar. Instead we put on swim trunks and made martinis to-go for our trip to the hot tub. This posed a few problems because while the hot tub is a perfect setting for the contents of a martini, the glass itself does not belong there. A styrofoam cup was not an option.

Glass containers, naturally, were "strickly" prohibited in the pool area


Psych! No cups.

Since the venue failed to provide an alternative to glassware, and since "safety first" has always been the Tipsy Texan way, I decided to improvise. The first step was to saw off the tops of plastic water bottles. The second step was stir up a righteous martini--make mine a double! It's a long walk back to the room--and garnish it with a lemon twist and some ice, to compensate for the temperature of the hot tub.

Hot tub martinis, the Tipsy Texan way. A girl sitting across from me kept asking me where I got my glasses. I thought she was just being an asshole. But I realized that she sincerely thought, through the steam and booziness of the hot tub, that my sawed-off water bottles were some cool glasses.

Though we were there in mid-April, this festive wreath brought holiday cheer to the (imposing, eastern-bloc-y) facade above the pool area

"This place is very 1991" is how I heard a man describe the resort to whomever he was talking to. I don't know what year it was built but it definitely was sporting a late 80's/early 90's look. And something about the buildings looked somehow collegiate, not unlike some of the buildings at my alma mater here in Austin.

Resort or... music building at your local University? You be the judge

Tipsy wanted to make a Whiskey Daisy but lacking in yellow Chartreuse, came up with this tasty beverage instead.

The Oopsy Daisy: a classic Whiskey Daisy, substituting dry vermouth for the Yellow Chartreuse

The interior designers of this resort (I actually think they were called decorators back when this project was done...) had an affinity for silk plants & flowers. In this picture are parts of no less than three different fake plants, of a couple dozen that were in the suite. Unfortunately the fireplace here did not come with any wood, though you could call the front desk and have it delivered. We called, but no delivery came.

When the wood delivery failed to come, I had the bright idea of taking some wood from the stash I remembered seeing downstairs in the public area.

On closer inspection, however, I discovered that the wood was a prop

The artwork in the suite totally sucked. It reminded me of the type of prints my mom would buy at festivals and then have them framed and hung on the wall-- "art work" where the frame is more valuable than the contents. I understand that a hotel of this type is not going to put original works of art on the walls, but their prints were really really tired. They drove me to drink. But then again, so does waking up in the morning.

This print, which was hanging in the bathroom, is the type of art work that is one be-sunsetted mesa away from an Amado Peña, one gas street lamp away from a Thomas Kinkade

What is up with this? Those clouds look like colo-rectal poylps

Every cup can make a difference! Especially if you fill it with strawberry-lemon gin punch and take it down to the hot tub.

Mike Rypka has done it again: at his renowned Trailer Park eatery on S. 1st St, he has debuted a fabulous brunch menu which we recently partook of in its entirety.

The Trailer Park concept started with Torchy's Tacos a couple of years ago in an empty lot a block or so up 1st St. Though they have hit a few snags along the way, it appears that the concept is finally starting to bear fruit. After moving the Torchy's trailer here, Rypka opened Shuggies last fall as a burgers & seafood stand. Once the cold weather came they shut down Shuggies to reopen this spring. A few weeks later, brunch.

If a picture could speak a thousand bites, it would be of these grits. Garnished with bacon and cheese and spiked with enough butter to clog a pound cake, the shrimp & grits are the star attraction.

Because Shuggies is in a trailer, they are unable to serve alcohol, so we generously brought our own. Amazingly none of those photos survived. What we did is take two bottles of sparkling wine and mix in a picture with black currant juice and mint syrup. And then we drank it.

The menu consists of
Fried Chicken & Waffle
Pecan-crusted French Toast
Doughnut Holes
"Elvis Cristo"--battered & fried peanut butter & banana sandwich
Shrimp & Grits
Migas
(all are pictured here except the migas)

The donuts were nice and light (as far as donuts go). In my ideal brunch fantasy, I would have had these as an appetizer with my coffee, while I waited for everything else

I felt that the french toast was the only item on the menu that was not a real winner. When we make french toast at Tipsy Manor we soak the bread in the batter til it soaks it up thoroughly and the end result is moist and custard-like on the inside. This toast was pretty dry.

The Elvis Cristo: cornflake-crusted, fried peanut butter & banana sandwich

I had the pleasure of tasting an early prototype of this sandwich a few weeks earlier and chef sampled it to us with a strawberry compote as a topping. When we came for brunch, we just got syrup. The syrup is not a bad accompaniment, but it is kind of repetitive when you've already had syrup with the french toast and the waffle.

Chef Mike with Jenna of Edible Austin. Mike said his girlfriend might get mad if I took this picture. Attn Mike's Girlfriend: Please note that both hands are on the table and that I made him pose for this picture. Thank you.