Pierson's BBQ just keeps on smokin'

"Trinity Plate!" shouted the lady at the pickup counter at Pierson & Company Bar-B-Que in Houston's Oak Forest neighborhood. Five minutes before I had stood at the adjacent order counter and requested a three meat plate: brisket (loose cut), ribs and sausage.

Trinity Plate at Pierson's BBQ - Brisket, Ribs, Sausage

I looked up at the lady and she looked back, blinking and thinking, I'm sure, "What's this guy waiting for?" Then it dawned on me: Trinity. Three meat plate. I stood up and meekly gathered my plate. The lady smiled knowingly. I've been to alot of barbecue joints, but I've never heard a three meat combo called a Trinity Plate. I liked it. It's one of the many endearing eccentricities at Pierson & Company Bar-B-Que that keeps me coming back.

Read More...

Of course it all makes sense. Brisket, pork ribs, and sausage is the holy trinity of Texas barbecue. Every barbecue joint worth its salt is judged on those three dishes. When you talk about barbecue in Houston, Pierson's is always mentioned as one of the best when it comes to "the trinity." By some counts, there are over 200 barbecue joints in greater Houston. As I sat in the mesquite-drenched air of Pierson's small dining room, working my way through generous portions of fatty brisket, fall-off-the-bone ribs and meaty, spicy sausage, I thought about the other reasons I keep coming back to Pierson's, and why it's held in such high regard in a crowded field. Of course, you consider the food. And you also consider the people who make the food.

The barbecue at Pierson's is often described in the context of the East Texas/African-American tradition of barbecue, that is, with a focus on a sweet sauce as a complement to the meat (often chopped instead of sliced). This is certainly true, but I would also argue that Clarence Pierson, the owner, is a quintessential pitmaster, a smoke man, very much in the tradition of the legendary Central Texas pitmasters. In fact, when someone asks me where they should go to get Central Texas-style barbecue in Houston, I usually refer them to Pierson's.

In the Central Texas barbecue joints that evolved from meat markets run by Czechs and Germans, it's all about the meat and the smoke. Side dishes like beans and potato salad are secondary; barbecue sauce is an afterthought. Heck, most of the big traditional joints like Kreuz and Louie Mueller don't even provide plates or utensils. Smoked meat is served on sheaths of butcher paper. You eat it with your fingers.

Clarence Pierson

It's this almost religious devotion to the infusion of meat with smoke that sets Pierson's apart. Pierson smokes his meat for fourteen hours using mesquite wood that's fed into a mammoth David Klose-built upright smoker (David Klose is the pre-eminent maker of barbecue rigs and smokers, and is headquartered in Houston). After three years of continuous smoking, the inside walls of this smoker are incredibly well-seasoned. You can taste it in the barbecue here. "When I had David build this smoker for me, I had him add a gas-fired heat source to the fire box. That was a waste of money. I never use it. A pile of coals and four pieces of mesquite is all that's needed to fire it up."

Similarly, there's a devotion to and respect for the meat, especially the brisket. A brisket is basically two slabs of meat (the "point" and the "flat"), one on top of the other, separated by a layer of fat, with the outside surface covered with another layer of fat (the "fat cap"). Some barbecue joints consider this fat a nuisance and trim it off; Pierson trims off very little of the fat and this ensures the moist, smoky and flavorful brisket for which he is known.

Now, you'd think that this devotion to smoke and meat would be de rigueur in Houston (or all) barbecue joints. It's not. Through some process of devolution or just plain carelessness, many barbecue joints will trim almost all the fat off the brisket before cooking, and then only smoke it for a few hours. This results in the dreaded dry brisket with a "roast beef-y" flavor. Of course, if you're just chopping the brisket into sandwich meat and dousing it with sauce, this may be okay. But it's not great Texas barbecue. It takes an individual with single-minded devotion to the art of smoking meat to make great Texas barbecue.

Native Houstonian Clarence Pierson came to barbecue almost by chance. After high school, working as a machinist, he frequented a barbecue joint tucked away in an alley near the intersection of 19th Street and Shepherd in The Heights. It was called Po-boy Joe's Bar-B-Que and the pitmaster was a man from New Iberia, Louisiana named Joseph Bourda. Clarence and Joe became fast friends and Clarence eventually became a partner in the business. Joe taught Clarence everything he knew about smoking meat.

Po-boy Joe's closed in the 1980s and Clarence went back to conventional day jobs for the next decade or so. But his skill at smoking meat did not languish and was not forgotten; over the years he continued to perfect his technique by cooking for family and friends. In 2007, having "gotten tired of working for other people," Clarence resurrected the memory of Po-boy Joe's in his own barbecue joint on West T.C. Jester: Pierson & Company Bar-B-Que.

Today, the Pierson's operation is run by Clarence who prepares and cuts the meat, his sister Diane works the pickup window ("Trinity Plate!"), and his niece Britny takes the orders. On a recent afternoon, Diane and Britny were bemused that a writer was interested in taking pictures of their brother/uncle, and asking him alot of barbecue questions. But in Texas, whether east, west, south or central, if you stake a claim to smoking meat and creating the best barbecue that Texans love to eat, you will be recognized.

Pierson & Company Bar-B-Que
5110 West T.C. Jester
Houston, TX 77091
713.683.6997
11am - 7pm Tues. thru Sat.
If you're going late, call ahead to make sure they still have BBQ available.

This blog entry was originally posted 29 September 2010 on the www.29-95.com website.

Bandeja Paisa: South American Sampler Plate

In the pantheon of international cuisines that grace Houston's culinary landscape, Colombian food often gets short shrift. Not unexpectedly. The starchiness of Colombian dishes dominated by staple crops like beans, rice and potatoes looks positively stiff compared to the salsa and salsa-dancing flavors of spicy Tex-Mex.

Bandeja paisa at Mi Pueblito

Thai food? Rightfully celebrated for the fireworks of spice, flavor, color and diversity of ingredients. Japanese food? A balletic combination of raw and cooked fish, meat and vegetable. In a neighborhood of flashy ethnic food competitors, Colombian food may seem like a dreary storefront, a single neon "Open" sign flashing longingly, beckoning passers-by to step inside and give it a whirl.

As well we should. Far from being a one-dimensional cuisine, Colombian food represents a rich mix of cultures, ingredients and preparations. Colombia is blessed with a diversity of regions and ingredients, from the seafood of the coast to the staple crops of the Andes mountains. A melting pot of indigenous Colombian traditions, African/Caribbean influences, and Spanish colonial techniques fuses into a rich comida criolla ("mixed cuisine").

Read More...

There are many typical dishes of Colombia, all vying for the title of the country's national dish. There's sancocho, a hearty soup made of potato, yuca, plaintain and corn with a meat component of chicken or beef. Ajiaco is a potato soup traditionally made with three types of potatoes, chicken and the herb guasca (known as "gallant soldier" in the United States). Arepas are the fried or grilled corn cakes that accompany every Colombian meal. Tropical areas of Colombia provide a rich palette of fruits that form the basis of traditional fruit juices made from blackberry (mora), mango, passion fruit (maracuya) and soursop (guanabana) to name a few.

But arguably the best-known of Colombian dishes is bandeja paisa ("platter of the paisa people"), a colossal plate of meat and starch that is often served at lunch, traditionally following a long morning at work, and then followed by a siesta before resuming work in the afternoon. Originating from the Antioquia region of the Andes mountains (where the local population are known as "paisas"), this South American sampler plate combines many of Colombia's most popular dishes and ingredients. Recipes vary by region, but the basic components include red beans, rice, chorizo sausage, chicharonnes (fried pork rind), grilled flank or skirt steak, fried plaintains, avocados, arepas, a fried egg and a salsa-type condiment (usually a hogao sauce made of tomatoes and onions).

Certainly an ambitious dish worthy of national recognition. Indeed in 2005, the Colombian government under the administration of Álvaro Uribe (perhaps not coincidentally born in the Antioquian city of Medellín), decided to make bandeja paisa the official national dish of Colombia. Unsurprisingly, this did not go over well with the population in other parts of Colombia, who argued that the dish represented only a small fraction of the country. In a somewhat clumsy compromise, the government offered to rename the dish bandeja montañera ("platter of the mountains"). Many believe it's just a marketing gimmick to raise the profile of Colombian cuisine, much like the fabled Juan Valdez did for Colombian coffee. Protestations aside, bandeja paisa is now generally recognized as the national dish of Colombia.

In Houston, bandeja paisa is featured prominently on most Colombian restaurant menus. On a recent lunch visit to Mi Pueblito, one of Houston's best known Colombian restaurants, I sat down with a dining companion at a small table by the window. Surrounded by photographs of Botero sculptures and a wait staff wearing starched blue shirts sporting the restaurant's logo, we told the server we wanted to order the bandeja paisa. With a straight face that would make Roy Scheider proud, he replied, "You're gonna need a bigger table." Relocated to an adjacent four-top, we sipped our Mexican cokes (we'll get the fruit juices next time) and waited for the bravura feast to begin.

The size, quantity and quality of food was excellent. The platter covered a good quarter of the table surface, steaming and piled high with the traditional ingredients of bandeja paisa. A pool of red beans with an adjacent pile of rice was delicious and perfectly cooked, worthy of any Cajun red beans and rice recipe to which it might be compared. A generous slab of thinly tenderized flank steak lined the bottom of the platter, nicely marinated and flavorful. A sinuous strip of pork rind was scored into bite-sized chunks and then deep fried into knobs of pork "candy" that could be snapped off and popped into the mouth. The chorizo sausage was diminutive and overly pungent with cumin, really the only misfire of the dish. Pucks of fried white corn meal - the arepas - were included, along with a garnish of fresh avocado and an over-easy fried egg piled on top for good measure. A saucer of aji, a chimichurri-like condiment was also provided.

The bandeja paisa at Mi Pueblito comes in two sizes - "medium" and "regular." The medium size is clearly meant for one person, the regular size is meant for two, and indeed my dining companion and I easily finished off the regular size. At $13.45 split between us, this giant plate of food was a delicious bargain.

And really, this type of dish is meant to be served family-style, with each diner picking and choosing from the components, combining them in different ways, adding garnishes and sauces here and there. It's not a coincidence that bandeja paisa is served on (and named after) one big platter. Individually, the ingredients and components may seem dull, but it's really how you blend and mix them up that makes this a fascinating dish, both culinarily and culturally.

This blog entry was originally posted 21 September 2010 on the www.29-95.com website.

The Woodlands is Becoming a Dining Destination

For a lot of Houstonians, The Woodlands is that place up north where you go to see concerts. We make the trek up I-45 to the Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion to see the likes of Jimmy Buffett, Van Morrison, or, perhaps because we got free tickets, Creed.

Pulled pork sliders at Jasper's

We may catch a bite while we're there - maybe a sandwich shop or Landry's or the Cheesecake Factory. And when the music stops, we drive back to the cocoon of the inner loop.

Recently, The Woodlands gained notoriety for more than just concerts. Travel + Leisure Magazine named The Woodlands one of the "Coolest Suburbs Worth a Visit." Uber-indie rock band Arcade Fire wrote a whole album called "The Suburbs" inspired by the founding members' experience growing up there ("Living in the sprawl/Dead shopping malls rise like mountains beyond mountains"). And Hubbell & Hudson, the gourmet supermarket and foodie mecca, was named Retailer of the Year by the National Association for the Specialty Food Trade.

Read More...

Hubbell & Hudson Market & Bistro

It's this last bit that I find particularly interesting. Recently, I've had the opportunity to spend time at several of The Woodlands' best restaurants, always with an obligatory trip to Hubbell & Hudson before dinner to pick up some fresh pasta, dry aged steaks, or bread that's baked fresh several times throughout the day. After dinner, on the way back to Houston, with a cooler in the trunk filled with Hubbell & Hudson goodies I can't get inside the loop, I've found myself in agreement with something others have noticed: The Woodlands is becoming a legitimate dining and food destination.

And it's more than just the restaurants that make it an attractive source for good food. As an urban development, The Woodlands also benefits from an enlightened sense of design and planning. The Town Center area is built around pedestrian friendly areas such as Waterway Square and Market Square. Restaurants, bars and shops commingle in a sophisticated way to encourage outdoor eating, strolling from restaurants to coffee shops or wine bars for a nightcap, running into neighbors, lounging on benches, listening to free concerts and eating ice cream with the family. Of course, The Woodlands can't measure up to the well-established and effortless urbanity of the piazzas of Europe, but it would be difficult to find a better-planned and more successful urban experience in the greater Houston area.

Which, I believe, adds to a great dining experience. Sidewalk cafés may be both a cliché and a holy grail of utopian city planners, but the fact is that most city dwellers enjoy the bustle and camaraderie of outdoor dining, busy sidewalks and adjacent piazzas filled with families strolling around in a suburban Texas version of the la passegiata. The Woodlands creates this sense of urbanity in a convincing way, and this adds to the attraction of many of its finest restaurants.

Jasper's

Take Jasper's for example. Billing itself as "Gourmet Backyard Cuisine," this Dallas-based restaurant anchors the west end of the Market Square neighborhood. Fancy slogans aside, Jasper's offers kicked-up comfort food in an urbane, upscale setting. The food is consistently well-executed and the service is always professional and friendly. Two large outdoor seating areas overlook the rectangular greenspace of Market Square. Jasper's outdoor seating areas, with their groupings of tables, couches and fireplaces, contribute to the uniquely urban quality of Market Square, especially when the weather is cooler in the spring and fall. Not to be outdone, the highly-regarded 1252 Tapas bar sits on the north side of Market Square, adjacent to the always busy Crú Wine Bar. The east end of the square is anchored by the Tommy Bahama Café - named after and adjacent to the clothing retailer of the same name.

Of course, The Woodlands isn't without its perceived drawbacks. It's both blessed and cursed by its image as an unmistakably wealthy enclave (median family income is $113,243). On the plus side, it's a relaxed and comfortable place to bring a family for dinner or a concert. On the other hand, its predominantly white population (92%) may feel homogeneous and sanitized to some people. Wealth and status are revered and flaunted here, from the obligatory Bentley parked in front of the best restaurants to the tanned and toned soccer moms driving Cadillac Escalades.

Still, a palpable sense of community and urban living in The Woodlands can't be denied. And the dining options continue to expand. It's been reported that Marco Wiles, the quintessential inner loop chef and restaurateur, is venturing north to open a restaurant in the space formerly occupied by Tesar's Modern Steak and Seafood. Though for some it may seem like a world away, The Woodlands continues to build on its growing reputation as a food and dining destination for all Houstonians.

This blog entry was originally posted 16 September 2010 on the www.29-95.com website.

Last of the Summer Crabs at Benno's

On a recent Saturday afternoon I sat on the patio at Benno's on the Beach in Galveston eating what seemed like bushels of whole blue crabs.

Time for crabs at Benno's

I was with four of my most die-hard blue crab-loving friends. Amid the cacophony of a choppy Gulf surf, screeching seagulls, and the roar of Harley-Davidsons cruising Seawall Boulevard, we quietly assumed the position of all serious crab eaters: heads down, wooden mallets at the ready, reams of paper towels within easy reach.

Eating blue crabs is somewhat of an art. The technique of eating whole blue crabs often takes years of delicious practice: the ability to delicately crack the claw without damaging the meat inside, extracting chunks of meat from even the tiniest of crevices in the crab's body, twisting and turning a crab leg so it pops out with a nugget of crab meat known as a "crab lollipop." On this day we sat and worked earnestly, employing our learned technique, goggling at the occasional jumbo lump of crab meat extracted, oblivious to each other except for the occasional wayward bit of splintered crab shell that would fly into our purview, courtesy of our neighbor's overexcited mallet.

Read More...

Among many blue crab connoisseurs in the greater Houston area, Benno's is the gold standard in both quality and size of crab, as well as in the consistency and diversity of preparation. In my small group of crab aficionados, the phrase most often heard is "I've never eaten a bad crab at Benno's."

"We source all of our crabs directly from local crab fishermen around Galveston," says Tracy Deltz, Benno's owner and manager (and son of founder Benno Deltz). Alluding to the consistent quality of his crabs, I asked Tracy about the rumor of Texas crab fishermen reserving Texas' best crabs for high-paying distributors along the east coast, particularly Maryland. "I've heard of that happening, but we certainly aren't affected by it. Our sources provide us with the best crabs that Galveston waters have to offer." On the day I visited, the crabs bore this out - big, meaty "jumbos" measuring 5-6 inches across.

Blue crab season traditionally runs from around March through October when waters are warmest. However, because Texas Gulf Coast waters are relatively warm throughout most of the year, Benno's can offer whole blue crab almost year-round. According to Deltz, the current harvest of crabs is a bumper crop: "Earlier in the season after the Gulf oil spill happened, supplies tightened up. But now, we're seeing the most crabs we've seen all year."

Benno's serves its crabs using two basic preparations: boiled and fried. Boiled comes in the original and the garlic-butter variety. The original is the simplest preparation: just a blue crab boiled in water and seasonings. If you want the most pure and essential flavor of blue crab, this is a great choice. Kicking it up a notch, the garlic-butter option douses the boiled crab in an unctuous sauce of garlic-infused butter that seeps into every crack and crevice of the crab. Gobs of the butter sauce fill the crab's body cavity and pool in the bottom of the tray in which the the crabs arrive. Fresh garlic bread is provided for sopping up the remaining liquid.

The fried preparations, on the other hand, infuse the crab meat with an additional complexity of flavor. There's a traditional fried crab which is breaded and then deep fried. The other dish is called "Cajun-fried" but is equivalent to the traditional Southeast Texas "barbecue crab" preparation. The cleaned crab is dredged in a spicy Cajun-influenced dry rub, then flash fried until the meat is moist and flaky, but not mushy.

Traditional fried crabs at Benno's

A note on ordering and atmosphere at Benno's. You place your order at the counter, then take a number to your table where the food is delivered when it's ready. At the height of a summertime weekend, the line can get long (a 20-30 minute wait is not uncommon) and it can take just as long to get your food. But that's just part of the summertime tradition at Benno's. The atmosphere is casual. Families literally step off the beach, cross Seawall Boulevard and get in line. At the height of summer it's not unusual to see the patio filled with families wearing bathing suits or wrapped in beach towels. Fortunately, on this Saturday, there was no line and the restaurant was half full, thanks to summer winding down and school having just started the week before.

Whole blue crabs are ordered by the pound. On the day we visited, the cost was $15.95 for two pounds. This is equivalent to about four large or five medium-sized crabs. Among the five of us, we ordered two pounds of each preparation - original boiled, butter-garlic, traditional fried and Cajun fried - for a total of eight pounds. Combined with the included garlic bread, french fries, and corn on the cob, we were all well-satisfied.

After polishing off the last of these summer crabs, we glanced around furtively at each other, orgy complete, the flotsam and jetsam of crab guts ringing our mouths, crab shell pieces pooling in our laps. We surveyed the destruction before us. Trays of deconstructed blue crabs covered the table, picked so perfectly clean that they appear to have been run through some type of crab woodchipper. Benno's never disappoints.

This blog entry was originally posted 8 September 2010 on the www.29-95.com website.

All In the Indian Food Truck Family

The sign on the food truck parked next to a Valero gas station in the hinterlands of northwest Houston reads, "The Original Desi Dhaba." I found this to be a curious statement. I mean, in order for something to be original, there has to be more than one, right? And there aren't a lot of dhabas in Houston.

Mr. Vinod Mehra welcomes you to his food truck

A dhaba is a traditional roadside food stand of northern India that, depending on who you ask, serves either the most dreadful and dangerous, or the most delicious and authentic, Indian street food.

I had ventured far north on Veteran's Memorial Drive to specifically check out this truck. The food truck craze sweeping through cities like New York, Los Angeles and Austin was slowly making its way to Houston. There had already been several high profile successes and failures of "gourmet" food trucks in Houston and I wondered what makes a food truck successful. I wanted to find a food truck in Houston that was both successful and different from the ubiquitous taco trucks for which Houston is well-known.

Read More...

A South Asian friend of mine recommended Desi Grill and More, a food truck that's been around for several years, mostly flying under the radar, probably due to it's relative inaccessibility on a rough stretch of Veteran's Memorial near FM 1960. The first thing you notice when you pull into the parking lot is the size of the truck, one of the smallest I've ever seen. If it's a slow night, you'll also notice a South Asian man sitting in a lawn chair near the front of the truck. This is Mr. Vinod Mehra. He is the owner, host and chef of Desi Grill and More.

Every time I've visited his truck, Mr. Mehra has stood up and welcomed me to his establishment. The menu features north Indian/Pakistani cuisine and often includes new or special items. Mr. Mehra is always happy to recommend dishes. After ordering, you take a seat in the slapdash seating area behind the truck. A blue tent covers an endearingly ragged collection of mismatched folding tables and reclaimed Dairy Queen-style booths. One night, a South Asian woman tended a young child laying on a flat, sofa-like day bed of woven fabric. Electric fans offer respite from the summer evening heat, and an old-school boom box blasts desi music.

In terms of pure atmosphere, there are few places in Houston that can match the communal seating area of Desi Grill. Every time I visit, I strike up a conversation with fellow diners, mostly South Asian, who are more than happy to offer recommendations for Houston's best Indian dishes and restaurants. And this is one of the most important factors in a successful food truck: a seating area, small or otherwise. Unfortunately, seating areas are restricted for food trucks in the city limits of Houston. Desi Grill is located outside the city limits, and the seating area serves it well.

Tandoori Mixed Grill Plate at Desi Grill and More

As for the food, it's great. Mr. Mehra has worked as a Indian food chef in Houston since the 1980s. A recent dinner included an enormous Tandoori Mixed Grill Platter of moist chunks of chicken and minced lamb. Eminently soppable juices from the chicken, lamb, tomatoes, onions, jalapeno peppers and lime coated the bottom of the platter. Fragrant garlic naan (flatbread) arrives at the table so hot you can't touch it for a few minutes. Tearing it apart releases a cloud of steam and reveals generous chunks of sweet, tender garlic. Sopping ensues.

On several visits, Mr. Mehra has stopped by my table to inquire about the meal. One night I took the opportunity to ask him about the curious tag line on his food truck.

"Why do you call yourself the "original" desi dhaba?"

"Well, a new dhaba-style truck recently opened on Highway 6 near Sugar Land."

"Is it any good?"

"I hope so. It's owned by my son."

Tandoori Nite food truck

The Tandoori Nite food truck is parked in a Phillips 66 parking lot on a stretch of Highway 6 about halfway between Interstate 10 to the north and Sugar Land to the south. It sits across the highway from the Old Hickory Barbeque Inn, and is sandwiched between a Palace Inn motel on one side and a shopping center with an African grocery store on the other. Sitting in the small seating area (it's also located outside the city limits) is a feast for the senses. Unmistakable scents of Indian spices - cumin, cardamom, turmeric - waft from the open windows of the truck as you watch the comings and goings at the gas station; the incessant whoosh of traffic on Highway 6 competes with, but never drowns out, the sound of desi music emanating from the truck.

In India, dhabas are manifested as roadside food stands often associated with crossroads and truck stops. In an Indian society that still retains traces of a caste system, dhabas are known as gathering places for Indians of all castes and backgrounds. The location of Tandoori Nite truck certainly captures this spirit: a shiny new Mercedes SL roadster sits at a gas pump across from a Ford F150 with it's hood up and "Ruben's House Painting" etched on its side. Foot traffic between the Palace Inn and the gas station convenience store is constant, marked by individuals whose lives may be charitably characterized as "in transition." Novels could be written, I'm sure, of the cast of characters who flit and float through this unremarkable gas station in far west Houston.

Tandoori Nite is owned by Sakun "Ginny" Mehra, the son of Vinod Mehra. As voluble and gregarious as his father is taciturn and formal, Ginny grew up in Houston and most recently worked as a service rep in an AT&T Wireless store. Several months ago he decided to join the family business and open an Indian food truck for himself. Not unexpectedly, the menu and recipes are similar to his father's truck. "My father roasts and grinds his own spices," Ginny notes, calling his father a "master chef." Everything, according to Ginny, is "fresh" and prepared daily. As noted by one of my dining companions, the presence of coriander stems and big, unseeded chunks of jalapeno in several of the dishes bears this out.

Tandoori chicken at Tandoori Nite food truck

As the truck's name suggests, the Tandoori chicken is a great choice here. Big pieces of bone-in chicken are liberally marinated in a yogurt and masala sauce and roasted until each piece has a slight char. On the days I visited, the chicken was moist, with a wonderful (and surprisingly high) level of spicy heat. Small cups of a bright, addictive coriander chutney are offered as a condiment.

Butter chicken, chana masala and mutton korma at Tandoori Nite

Other dishes sampled include butter chicken, chana masala and mutton korma. The korma was a standout for me, with a well-balanced sauce and fresh pieces of tender, but not mushy, lamb.

Neither the Desi Grill nor the Tandoori Nite truck sell alcohol, but it's perfectly acceptable to go to the adjacent convenience stores and bring back a beer to drink with your dinner. Sitting at one of the picnic tables one night, lingering over the mutton korma and a bottle of Shiner Bock, I asked Ginny why he chose this location for his food truck. Was there a big South Asian community nearby?

"Not really," he said. "But it's a good central location, a crossroads. There's a big South Asian community in Sugar Land, and a growing one in Katy. And the South Asian community around Hillcroft Drive is within striking distance."

He also noted that he is friends with the South Asian owner of the gas station where the truck is parked. Which is another clue as to how a food truck can be successful: a support system that is both family and business oriented. The South Asian business community in Houston is well-organized, and a good relationship with a property owner is one of the biggest factors in the success of a food truck.

Ultimately, there are many factors in a food truck's success: a cuisine and culture with a tradition of street food, a strong family and business support system, advantageous government regulations, and, most importantly, great food made with care and sincerity. Would-be food truck entrepreneurs riding the crest of the wave into Houston would be wise to take notice of the success of the Mehra Indian food truck family.

Desi Grill and More
12672 Veterans Memorial Dr.
Houston, TX 77014
832.798.8196
Open 7 days a week - 6pm to midnite

Tandoori Nite
7821 Hwy 6 South
Houston, TX 77083
713.852.7642
Open 6 days a week - 5:30pm to midnite
Closed Tuesday

If you are driving far to visit these trucks, I recommend calling ahead to make sure they are open and confirm what time they are closing. Both trucks are 100% halal.

This blog entry was originally posted 17 August 2010 on the www.29-95.com website.

Bihari Kabab at Bundu Khan Kabab House

Bihar is a state in northern India. Its population is mainly Hindu, and therefore the cuisine is traditionally vegetarian. So it's ironic that one of the most popular dishes in neighboring Pakistan is a grilled beef dish called bihari kabab.

Bihari Kabab

The provenance of bihari kabab is disputed, but it likely originated among the non-vegetarian population of Bihar, and sometime later became popular as a fast food/street food in Pakistan.

Kind of an obscure topic, right? I mean, what does a trans-bordered (and trans-religion) food dish native to provincial areas of south Asia have to do with food in Houston? Because, according to my Indian and Pakistani friends, one of the most authentic (and delicious) bihari kabab dishes you will eat outside of Pakistan can be found in a hole-in-the-wall kabab house in far west Houston called Bundu Khan.

Read More...

Bundu Khan Kabab House

The first thing you see when you step into Bundu Khan is a refrigerated glass case stacked high with skewers of chicken and meat. Directly behind the case and the ordering area is a long charcoal grill where the kababs are cooked. The menu is small, maybe 7-8 main courses, and some drinks and desserts. I was here for the bihari kabab and placed my order with the young Hispanic man behind the bar (the owners are Pakistani, but in true Houston form the front-of-house staff is Hispanic).

"Beef or chicken?" he asked. The dish is traditionally beef, but in a nod to Indian Hindus who don't eat beef, chicken is offered. I went with the beef.

"How spicy?" This is always a good sign when you are a "Westerner" eating in an "ethnic" restaurant known for spicy food. More than a few times I've been to a restaurant and got the "gringo treatment" where waiters or chefs - without even asking - pull punches when it comes to exotic ingredients or the spiciness of a dish. I gave him a thumbs up and said, "Make it hot. Hotter the better." I also ordered a sweet lassi as a hedge against the potential heat of the kabab.

He wrote up the order and I pulled out my wallet to pay. "No worries, just pay when you leave." I like counter-service restaurants that follow this procedure. It's like they're saying, "You seem like a nice fellow, you're welcome here. We're going to make sure you are fed well first, then we'll settle up the bill." I sat down in a dining room filled with a South Asian clientele and waited for my order.

The recipe for bihari kabab varies, but the basic ingredients are thin slices of tenderized beef (pasanday), yogurt, papaya paste, and spices such as garam masala, cumin and chili powder. The spices, yogurt and papaya are combined into a marinade, and then the meat is threaded onto a skewer and marinated for several hours. The kabab is then cooked over a charcoal grill.

The bihari kabab at Bundu Khan is served with lemons, cucumbers and onions. A thin raita sauce (yogurt, cucumber, herbs and spices) and a sweet tamarind sauce are offered as condiments. The obligatory naan (oven-baked flatbread) is ordered separately for $1 a basket.

The first thing I did was to pinch off and taste a piece of the wonderfully tenderized and charred kabab meat. The spiciness, especially the cumin and chili powder, was so overwhelming you could barely taste the meat! With the array of ingredients and condiments before me, I knew there must be a technique for softening and balancing the flavor of the kabab. I stole a sideways glance to the customers around me and watched their technique. Here are a few tips for eating bihari kabab (note that these are based on the traditional etiquette of eating Pakistani/Indian food with your fingers).

First, completely drench the kabab with the lemon juice. Pour some of the raita in the individual plate provided to you. Tear off a piece of naan and use it as a pouch to grab a piece of the kabab. Wedge in a piece of cucumber and onion, and then dredge the lot of it in the raita on your plate. Take a bite. The combination and diversity of flavor and texture is astounding. The cucumber and yogurt of the raita combined with the fresh cucumber perfectly balanced and complemented the yogurt/spice marinade of the kabab. A hint of beef flavor emerged. If you want to add a touch of sweetness, drizzle on some of the tamarind sauce.

There are a few things you should know before you try the Pakistani cuisine at Bundu Khan. Service can be gruff, or at least succinct. The service here is best described as accommodating and efficient. Also, the restaurant is housed in an older structure that is a bit worn around the edges (though perfectly clean). On the summer afternoon I visited, the temperature in the dining room was cool but not cold, and not uncomfortable. In other words, if you're expecting a T.G.I. Friday's experience, i.e. a smiling, flair-laden hostess seating you in a shiny new building air conditioned to arctic temperatures, then Bundu Khan may not be for you.

After demolishing my bihari kabab, naan and lassi, I approached the counter and paid the bill (about $12). As I walked out, I noticed a South Asian woman - who earlier had been working behind the counter - sitting down at a table. She was joined by two teenagers and an older gentleman. Were these the owners having dinner in their own restaurant? What looked like the entire menu of Bundu Khan was arrayed before them.

This blog entry was originally posted 27 July 2010 on the www.29-95.com website.

Black Summer Truffles at Tony's

Truffles are vaguely associated with French farmers who lead pigs around on a leash as they root around in the ground looking for expensive mushrooms that rich people like to eat. Actually, this stereotype isn't that far off.

Tony's Summer Black Truffles

Truffles are indeed a type of mushroom (the edible variety of truffles are classified as fungi, and more specifically as tubers). The difference is that the mushroom grows above ground, and the truffle grows below ground. Which is where the pigs come in.

Really, the only effective way to locate an underground truffle is through the sense of smell. By a fluke of nature, female pigs are perfectly suited to sniffing out these subterranean delicacies because the scent of a truffle has the same chemical characteristics as the scent excreted by boars (uncastrated male pigs) during mating season. Think about it. Human beings enlist pigs to find and harvest gourmet delicacies by tricking the pig into thinking it's going to have sex. It's one of those crazy natural coincidences that makes us believe God must have a sense of humor.

Read More...

When the pig locates a truffle, the farmer whacks the pig over the head with a stick to make it back off, otherwise the pig will immediately eat the truffle and keel over in orgasmic spasms. Once the pig stands down, the farmer digs up the truffle and away they go. To avoid the pig-in-heat complication, more truffle farmers are enlisting truffle hunting dogs that can be trained to recognize the scent of a truffle. And it doesn't look stupid to put a leash on a dog.

There are various kinds of edible truffles that are highly prized by gourmands. The white (Alba) truffle comes from the Piedmont region of northern Italy and is considered the most desirable and expensive of all truffles (a 3.3 pound white truffle sold for $330,000 in 2007). Similarly, the black truffle is associated with the Périgord region of France and is also highly sought-after. The French think their truffle is superior to the Italian truffle; the Italians respond by not caring what the French think. Both the white and black truffles are harvested in autumn and winter.

Not to be outdone, the black summer truffle is harvested starting in June and July. Although not quite as sought-after, and arguably less pungent than its cool weather cousins, it's still a mainstay of summertime haute cuisine. Recently, Tony's in Houston started serving black summer truffles from Lazio (the area around Rome, Italy) as an accompaniment to its regular menu. For about $30, you can have a generous amount of truffle shaved onto (or cooked into) any dish on the menu (call ahead for current availability and pricing). Never one to pass up the chance to sample an exotic delicacy, I rounded up three foodie friends and we headed to lunch at Tony's to get our truffle on.

Tony's Summer Black Truffles with Risotto

Upon arrival we were seated in Tony's ornate but comfortable main dining room. The atmosphere was surprisingly relaxed and friendly for a restaurant considered the fanciest in town. The very professional and accommodating waitstaff at Tony's — who, I imagine, have heard just about every crazy request imaginable — didn't even blink when we said we wanted truffle shaved on everything. This included a burger, risotto, grilled cheese sandwich, and a chicken involtini. If it had been a little less expensive, we might have had them shave some truffle into our iced tea.

As it turns out, the musky, earthy essence of the truffle added a fascinating dimension to the flavor of our dishes. I had it shaved over a plate of risotto al porcini. Certainly tasty, but probably not the best choice, as the mushrooms and salty stock of the risotto competed mightily with the subtle pungency of the truffle (a risotto Milanese probably would have worked better). More successful was the grilled cheese sandwich (a fancy, Tony's version to be sure, not the kind your mom made). The truffles were cooked into the melted cheese and a few were shaved over the top for good measure. The earthy truffle nicely complemented the yeasty bread and milky cheese.

Our black summer truffle lunch at Tony's was both an enjoyable splurge and a foodie adventure. We left satisfied. Only a few more months to the white truffle season. I'm already saving up for that adventure.

This blog entry was originally posted 8 July 2010 on the www.29-95.com website.