Houston, TX

I meet my dad at hotel on San Jacinto. We're each a little travel weary, and decide that a walk and a beer will cure what ails us.  We take to the street, a bit muggy for us Arizona boys, but we saunter 12 blocks, scalp a pair of Suns/Rockets tickets, and find a bar to loosen up and cool down before the game. 

The bar is empty, the service slow, but it really doesn't matter. My dad and I are in our own little world, talking about life and times and the road ahead. 

The conversation continues well into the game, which the Suns lose, but I don't let that kill my spirits. Dad retires and I hit the Four Seasons lobby bar to see if I can conjure up some excitement. It's Friday night, there's gotta something going on Houston. 

I talk to the bartender for a while, a polite, but not terribly talkative kid. I meet a nice couple to my left, nothing compelling there either. Thankfully, some friends drop by to say hello. We have a cocktail and a nice chat at a dimly lit fourtop. It feels downtowny, haughty, later than it really is. I catch a ride to my hotel, certain there will be some action in the neighborhood. There is not. 

I find a bar on Prairie Street and chat with the bartender for a while, Nick. He's my age, a lifelong Houstonian, and he is mildly apologetic for the weather, the crime, the absence of young people around here. He wants to move to Austin. Someday. 

The kitchen is still open and Nick tells me the shrimp tacos are unreal. "Fried?" I ask, hoping their not. "You betcha." 

What the hell. I order some tacos and another beer and Nick and I shoot the bull for a while. I tell him that while Houston may lack some of the action and affluence of Dallas, the food and hospitality are the best in the state of Texas. And I can't describe to you how proud he is to hear it.