Every morning before class I park in the Allen Center garage. I make the trek down Clay to San Jacinto every morning, and I can’t say that I pass much. The First Methodist Church, Houston Pavillions Garage, more parking garages… And Bouray’s.
You know you’re in Houston when one restaurant offers both a burrito bar AND vietnamese food. Yum Yum Yum. Melissa had a burrito, I had bun. It was glorious.
For downtown, the food was reasonably priced. I think my lunch, bun with chicken and a large iced tea, came in under ten bucks. They also let me put whatever I wanted on top of my noodles. I chose cilantro, mint, carrots, green onions… And probably five other things. It was pretty good, too. I can’t testify as to Melissa’s burrito.
It just goes to further my (longstanding, soapbox, unofficial) point: Houstonians, for the most part, really don’t care so long as the food is good and no one is hassling them. If the food is good, you’re likely to see a lesbian couple in one corner, a Muslim family in a booth across the way, a giant table of professional-types, who, having hired sitters for the night, are cutting loose with friends and a few bottles of wine, and a cop picking up takeout on his way home. The whole place, in my hypothetical, is run by a Korean man who opened up shop after arriving in the US three years ago only to find that if he wanted good kimchi he would have to make it himself.
Houston may not have New York’s glam, LA’s glitz, or New Orleans’s soul, but one thing it does have is good food and lots of it. It also has a giant, badass, mirrored armadillo with red eyes…