Kevin "House of Representin'" N.'s Profile

The Stockyards isn't so much an assemblage of individual parts (although it certainly is that) as it is an ethos, an ode to a time past that all of Texas (certainly North Texas, but all of Texas, I'd wager) leans in to seek, when digging for the celestial diving rod of what makes Texas, well, Texas.

The aesthetic trappings are obvious; the cobblestone brick-centric bumpy ride that reminds you when you wander in that you're on some Texas hallowed ground. The cattle drive, though based on recent experience know that the trail ride does not wait for any man -- certainly not this one -- as they moved cattle through. Know that when they say 4pm, they mean 4pm sharp, friend. The cattle move and if you miss em, you miss em.

The area's zoned as an entertainment district, so what that means (and definitely check this with your bartender first) is that you can wander the rest of the district with a 'traveler,' which while quite familiar in New Orleans, isn't something that happens here all that often. Which doesn't mean much, really, if your immediate goal is finding something long and flavorful to draw from. And telling stories besides.

Know that if you're coming in here on a special occasion -- let's call this one 'Mother's Day' -- that you'll need to book your reservation well in advance, as the word's long been out on Cafe Modern and they're pulling in patrons from all four corners. Perched on the idyllic setting at the edge of the Modern Museum and bubbling along the surface of the shallow pond that greets the back of the structure, the Cafe represents an opportunity to savor upscale dining in a relaxed setting, and they do a pretty spot on brunch here.

I'll be eager to head back on a date that's not a particular landmark on the calendar - they did seem a little harried - but if the goal was to order something tasty, prepared with an artisan bent, and not so outrageously spendy as to make everything else untenable (and to do so within a first-class museum framework), I think Cafe Modern largely stuck the landing. I reeled in a Grilled Apple-Wood Smoked Ham salad, and truth be told the dressing was a little heavy on the lemony side, but, you could argue that much of that could have been best cut with the egg topper. Ultimately I was never bored, and though things weren't flawless there were plenty of spots to find optimism lurking.

A work in progress but a pleasant one - and a happy spot for a special occasion. Be ready to linger a little.

They appear to be a partnered business with the Crockett Street Bottle Shop next door and local, and as the Bottle Shop has kept me in indie beers for a bit, I'd have been remiss not to pop in and give Momma's a whirl when my threads up and went wrinkly.

It's a pretty simple formula as one might imagine - a slender operating space, quick turn on dry cleaning (a day or same day in some cases), and it sounds like they do alterations too, though admittedly I've not tried to tweak any of my clothes that didn't just need to look more fab in the short term. I do have something that could use some alteration love, but I'll save speculation on how that might go should that bit come to fruition. In the mean time, I ran up against a closet full of threads that were looking like I slept in em and it was prime time to reboot the look without going shopping. Dry cleaning here without any special bells or whistles ran me about three and a half or so bucks and with the turn time, I'd use em again in a heartbeat. Imagining how my clothes manage to look over time, I assume that time's coming.

Far as I could tell no one stole anything directly, nor was there any sort of an investigation going on when I slipped in, menu in hand, to see what might possibly be happening with the current menu. All of the wine seemed to be present and accounted for.

That said, occasionally these experiences are best borne out by the characters that you encounter, and there's not much more entertaining on this planet than the guy in the Deep Purple shirt and the France hat (same font? maybe), who had nothing but constant unsolicited advice for our bartender from the time he sat down: about how they do things in NY, London, lots of opinions about napkins and vintages and protocol. It really was fascinating stuff, and were it that I could get a film crew and Dr. Drew in place in order to solve the matter that would have been one thing.

But in this case we were relegated to a particularly patient barkeep and an otherwise mellow room. It made for grand people watching but my genuine guess is that most nights in here things tend toward relaxing - at the very least that seems to be the aim here, and it by my estimation means a little that they seemed to do as much local bidness this night as was charged to a room.

It's not a perfect arrangement: the Omni in general can still occasionally wax a little precious, but that wasn't my experience here - the staff was attentive, pretty patient, and available. There may be no magic formula but the first step is being human. And this night, in Wine Thief, they were. No sirens necessary.

Tucked back into orbit behind Super Target, the Fort Worth Food Park connotes a pretty simple concept and executes it well: six food trucks, each bringing their own take on what we're having today (on this day, Italian, bacon, grilled cheese, veggie/vegan, new American and one other that I don't recall straightaway), rolling into place with street parking at the ready and standard indoor outhouses to boot.

In the end, I nabbed penne pasta marinara and a strawberry balsamic lemonade and camped out at a picnic table to chomp. With enough food options here and a regular crowd, I'd assumed that a Friday evening might turn elbow to elbow, and while they were bustling, the crowd was easygoing and the trucks supportive of one another. It was a great, laid back scene, and though we got cut a little short by the rain, I can't wait to go back again. Some trucks take cards. Come hungry. BYOB.

I find it at least somewhat ironic (if not *mostly* ironic) that as I make my way through the Jobs biography during my slim bits of free time, I would wander into an Apple store so packed with toys and tools I'd love to have or already own, and then have such a substandard experience: for realz...left to my own devices (pun intended) and some sort of Herculean budget, I could spend mad bucks in an Apple store.

So why, pray tell, the three star tome then? Well, for starters, there's a design flow flaw here (at least with this store on this day), and believe me, I'm aware of the irony. So there are a few things at play - the Genius Bar actually opens before the regular sales floor opens, and I don't take issue with that. However, should you wander in (as I did) and want to buy something (say, for instance, a simple gift card...a transaction that should take five minutes), you'll have to wait until the sales floor opens. That doesn't mean that there's not anyone on the sales floor. It's *all* the sales floor. You just can't tell who's able to ring a transaction and who's not. Know why? Because they all can, from the looks of things. Except when they can't.

Once the clock rung ten, I was ready to get the show on the road. But with the Genius Bar being the most traditionally logical spot to gravitate to and all those folks being helped based on online appointments...*and* the fact that all other sales people were congregated at the front of the store. If you missed em coming in, you were stuck. So I literally had to accost/beg someone to help me for a simple gift certificate.

Once I had the right person at the right time, it was easy. But there was enough broken until that point that I can't be the only person frustrated by the meandering.

It's quite a scene going down over lunch at Angelo's, and it didn't take long on a Wednesday to sort out that I was in the presence of regulars: not one, but two separate tables jammed with septa-genarians (octa-genarians? Definitely senior citizens), sipping on ice cold schooners of beer over BBQ lunches and sides, sprinkled with hearty conversation with one another. I kind of love the idea that retirees pull up a chair and start sipping on cold ones at noon. Enjoy your golden years.

The setup here is pretty straightforward and seems to have been that way for years, from the separate stations for plates and sandwiches to the friendly chatter sprinkled in from staff. They're clearly having a good time here, and the service comes off like a labor of love, which I got a kick out of. You get the impression that this place is perhaps divided into camps of regulars and those who might one day be, and you can count me among the latter. I dove into a brisket sandwich with a side of beans and happily rolled out full. Closed Sundays. Get in and get your 'que old school.

Funny thing, this ebb and flow they see at the Stockyards, and I'm guessing this is surprising to absolutely no one, but then again, that never stopped me from telling a tale before.

Sounds like Stockyard Saloon isn't particularly busy, except when they're not, and I happened (fortunately, actually) to pop in one night during baseball season when the Rangers were piling on some hapless opponent (let's call them, for the sake of the story, the Baltimore Orioles), and this joint played a little like a Texas postcard. A little smoke wafting about, a little pool playing in the back (bathed in florescent hues), jukebox numbers that clearly had been cranked up by someone still in the building. A bartender who knew everyone in the room by name. Cause that's what bartenders do.

The beer choices are pretty middle of the road (although I do profess a soft spot for a Lone Star or Shiner every now and again), and the conversation was lively. I asked, and was told that they do karaoke Wednesdays and sounds like there's a regular room for that, and in the mean time, the gang that knows the room well ambles in for their regular thing - pool, sports on the big screen, chatter amongst friends.

I'm reserving more love for the time when I get to know this place better, and sounds like they don't have much trouble squeezing folks in on weekends. I'll look forward to soaking that in. But I don't mind much about chilling in the time in between either.

It's been said that "the best revenge is a life lived well," and if that's the case, then they were serving all kinds of comeuppance recently at Mercury Chop House, the carefully lit homage to steak and fine dining elegantly stuffing diners in downtown Fort Worth. You'll pay for the privilege, of course, but that's to be expected, and I entered knowing full well that two things were likely to go down here - three bills and an ostensibly luxurious meal. Both ideas reached fruition.

At this point, you likely know that Fort Worth is a town that honors its steaks with a kind of reverence, and most establishments remain happily aware of charging real money for the experience. In the end, this time out I went with an eight oz. filet and asparagus in Hollandaise sauce, both of which I managed to Hoover right off the surface of the plate as if on a mission. They do offer additional sauce selections (such as the 'dynamite' sauce, a Cajun-specific concoction). Service was on point and friendly.

I can't claim that I'll camp out here, as I'm not always packing the mafia wad with time to spare, but I do want to come back and aim for cocktails. The food will no doubt thrive, it's just more time in this kind of limelight that transports. After all, who doesn't need a little transporting now and then?

I can only imagine that as the days draw longer and the sun lingers higher in the sky, I'll find myself lounging away at Curly's, this ode to much of the goodness of summertime, whether your preferred method of culinary escapism means chomping on a Nathan's hot dog (I only ate one, but the thought of those Coney Island face stuffing competitions did cross my mind); or, perhaps you're a custard, or better yet, a sundae aficionado, and you're ready for your mind to open with with sugary possibilities. You'll like it here.

On a Sunday afternoon things were pretty tame, but I have a feeling that this is indicative of not much - when it gets hot out, we'll crave sweet respite, and whether your new best friend is a bananas foster sundae or some sort of berry custard concoction, or something else altogether recently smothered in chocolate, there's plenty of tasty for what ails ya. And I've only just started to sample that menu. I'll be back to start rounding out my repertoire.