2006

A is for Art: we ambled on up to AMOA where the Christo and Jeanne-Claude exhibition was running with an informative little documentary. We came out of there just itching to wrap something – anything – up in saffron fabric and a bit of old string…

B is for Barbecue!At last! I have been initiated. On the recommendation of a local gal working the AWP registration desk, we walked behind the convention centre to the Ironworks, which provided authentic and delicious Texas barbecue with all the fixin’s. Perched over a creek (where we spotted a jumbo turtle – snapper? – and three smaller ones frolicking, or perhaps terrorizing one another) with plenty of autographed testimonials on the walls, it had lots of selection for carnivores and even a good little salad bar and tasty beans for the vegetarians. A couple of locals gave me some guidance for choosing my meat. “In the south-east,” she drawled, “they *think* that barbecue is pork. But in Texas, it’s beef.” And so it was.

C is for the fabulous, the legendary and the conveniently local Continental Club, where we attended happy hour and the musical stylings of blueser Gary Clark Jr. Lanky is one word for him. Limber of plectrum are a few more. To these old ears he proved that good things come in threes: “Shame, Shame, Shame” and “Mercy, Mercy, Mercy” were among his repertoire. Best of all, he was playing for tips at an hour we could manage (7pm). There are two late night shows, 10pm and midnight. If we have the stamina for a return visit post-conference one night, he’s playing again on Friday, and the Seatsniffers from Belgium (?) are on tomorrow.

Yesterday’s rambles took us from commerce to culture. We caught the ‘Dillo, a handy free bus service in reproduction trolley cars, and alighted opposite the Texas State History Museum, where we dodged flocks of school children to get to the excellent gift shop, stocking up on postcards and a few portable Texas flavoured knick-knacks.

By the time we got to Guadalupe on the other side of campus, it was high noon and we had to rustle up some grub. One of the travel forums had mentioned the Chipotle Grill, which was crowded with grateful students eating their incredibly good tacos and burritos for around $5. Thus fortified, we carried out a gruelling investigation of every clothing store in the area – and there are many, all of them apparently catering to twenty-something anorexics – after which we found our way to the Harry Ransom Center to see the Technologies of Writing exhibition.

Its many wonders included a note written to Arthur Miller in lipstick by one of his wives (not, apparently, Marilyn); and a sequence of 8 radiograms written by Ernest Hemingway, reporting from Madrid in 1935. One of them described “gastric remorse from excellent pre-battle celebration.” A letter from Tennessee Williams described how his Jaguar had crashed into a tree in Italy, after he’d taken two or three medicinal swigs from his thermos to counteract his nervousness, and he was struck on the head by his portable typewriter, which was damaged worse than he was. There was a page of manuscript from The Green Dwarf, by Charlotte Bronte, in such microscopic print the curators explained it must have been written with a sparrow feather quill. We saw Anne Sexton’s typing manual, and her Quiet De Luxe Portable Typewriter. Also one of Edgar Allen Poe’s writing desks, and a splendid “writing chair” created for one Compton Mackenzie.

We also visited a gallery on South Congress, Yard Dog Folk Art, where we saw some pieces by Tom Russell. Not *that* Tom Russell, we wondered? But yes, the writer of Navajo Rug (and my personal favourite, Road to Bayamon) is also a painter. Not my cup of tea, glass of beer, sip of water, but good on him just the same.

Disappointingly, Chipotle Grill was to be the culinary highlight of our day. We had a spectacularly average supper at Guero’s Taco Bar. The place – a cavernous silver room – was heaving with diners even at 9pm on a Tuesday night, so in my most charitable mood I can speculate that perhaps there are more reliable choices on the menu than the red snapper and vegetarian dishes we ordered. And nicer wait staff. Say no more.

Our momentum slowed by an incipient cold for one and a resurging migraine for the other, we decided to pass on the poetry open mic at Ruta Maya and ended the evening watching The Philadelphia Story and hoping for more stamina in the morning. We’re expecting a high around 30c today after which it should cool to the mid-twenties again…

We left Victoria on Sunday morning, dressed in our winter clothes, appropriate to the 5 degrees or so that it was at 5am. And when we stepped off the plane in Austin at around 6 that night, it was 24 degrees (78f), and muggy. Which of course means we must go and buy new clothes at the earliest opportunity.

Which is not yet. We got distracted today by wandering through our neighbourhood – Soco (South Congress), a funky, fashionable area of alternative art galleries, great restaurants and even Allen’s, the cowboy boot emporium where we tried on many colourful pairs but decided we didn’t have the $300 – $400 necessary to complete our ensembles.

We have been knocked out by the food. We are dangerously near Magnolia Cafe, which is a 24 hour diner serving more than above average food. Had a chicken piccante there last night which was cooked in wine, lemon and capers with some smoky heat to season it to perfection; served with a mountain of grilled vegetables – yellow zucchini, red peppers, mushrooms, and a foothill of garlic mash. Judy had an amazing bowl of black beans with a cornmeal cake generously larded with jalapenos (we liked the way it showed on the bill: ‘japs in cake’). All washed down, of course, with a couple of Lone Stars.

Before dinner we’d made our way to a fabulous grocery store, the Farm to Market, which stocks amazing local products including Texas honey, Austin salsa verde, spelt crackers, fresh yogurt, great and varied cheeses, and gorgeous crusty bread. Friendly owners who volunteered their services as advisors on anything we wanted to know about Austin.

Lunch today was terrific as well: the South Congress Cafe, very chic and stylish with friendly staff and wonderful food – a duck and oyster gumbo followed by a seared ahi tuna salad with avocado vinaigrette for me; a shrimp and artichoke soup and a garden salad with jicama and a lime chipotle dressing for Judy, and some purdy pink hibiscus flower iced tea to drink.

Tonight we stopped in at a wonderful place, Cuba Libre, which we’d wanted to see because they advertise Martini & Manicure nights on Thursdays ($10!). They had great decor – leather benches and raw glass lampshades – and the most excellent entry: you open the front door and just as you’re wondering how to tackle the floor to high ceiling sheer curtains, they part magically at your first step, giving you a splendid grand entrance. They promised the best mojitos in Austin – they were very good indeed – and it being two for one appetizer night, we had plantain chips with pineapple mojo sauce and chipotle ranch dip, and some plantain-breaded oysters with a heap of lovely black beans. So much for supper.

We haven’t seen any cowboys, or even horses, but we have seen a lot of grackles! And last night we met a couple of Texas-sized cucarachas americanas. Too big to step on, too small to wrassle, so we compromised by relocating the one we captured: it scampered off to start its new life on the streets of Austin, and we wish it adios and good riddance.