From Austin, down I-35, towards San Antonio, there’s the sign, along the roadside, seen it all my life: Breakfast Lunch Dinner Jerky.
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[/style>New Braunfels Smokehouse. “Quality smoked meats since 1945” (I knew it was older than me.)
I still prefer the slogan, “smoking the good stuff since 1973,” but that could be me.
On the ay out to the lake, Saturday morning, I passed along the observation that the interstate – the freeway in Austin – as near as I can recall, had been under construction all of my life. In a similar vein, I’v seen the billboards for the New Braunfels Smokehouse – all of my life.
So stopping there on Saturday evening, while I was headed on down to Floores Country Store, just seemed like a natural. Give in to those childhood urges. The yearnings – for years – to stop someplace that advertises Breakfast Lunch Dinner Jerky. Like the four food groups.
It was okay. Not anything that great, but not bad. I’m not sure it was worth the hype, though. Perhaps that’s the let-down that comes with years and years of anticipation. Or maybe it was the way my parents repeatedly denied me, only to find out it really was an overpriced tourist trap?
I had a sausage kabob with 7 different kinds of homemade sausage, like Apple, and Brat, and other wurst flavors.
The Taurus server was able to recite what each sausage was.
“One more Saturday night” (musical allusion)
“Kemosabe kiss my ass, I’ve bought boat, and I’m going out to sea.”
(Lyle Lovett’s “If I had a boat”)
It was a treat to see Kevin Fowler (and band) playing on a Saturday night, against the Balcones Escarpment – Floores Country Story (in Helotes, TX).
To me, it all looks like suburban San Antonio, not that it matters much, and not that my opinion matters, either. San Antonio keeps itself small-feeling by cunningly dividing itself up into myriad of tinier town rather than one big place. Hence Helotes, which hosts Floores.
I’ve tried to explain this before, and it played on a conversation in the back of the boat, Saturday morning, about flags and country and sense of place.
Kevin Fowler sings about “Hell bent 100% Texan til I die,” and that’s about right. Then, looking out over a sea of heads, the audience, all festooned in straw cowboy hats, Daisy Dukes (and boots), all hollering and waving all manner of symbols?
Kevin Fowler appeals to a largely anglo crowd, as if that’s any surprise. I was thrilled to see the crowds packed into Floores, must’ve been near record capacity.
The unasked question, left over from Saturday, and quite poignantly punctuated with the music?
“Them yankees talk funny, but they’re all right…”
The question? What does the New York flag look like? Anyone know?*
I tend towards very little “merch-ware” as in I try to stay away from wearing advertising that I’m not paid for. Like a decal on a race car, has to be something. One of the exceptions is a Kevin Fowler shirt. A particular fave, and design, or wording, anyway, that I’ve swiped. What disappointed me? No one even noticed.
“Yee-fuckin’-haw!”
*Does anyone really care? “This is Radio Clash”
