El Patio in Austin

Passing through one of the big HEB (grocery store), I noticed an end cap near the door, filled with day-old breads and El Patio branded tortilla chips.

While the image says, “Since 1954,” probably the late 1970’s or early 80’s before I ate there. What was weird, it was place known as a TexMex palace, but the establishment eschewed the usual chips and hot sauce for saltine crackers and salsa.

Not a big deal, order queso, and it arrived, melted cheesy goodness capable of clogging arteries on healthy young people? It would arrive with a basket of requisite chips.

Chips and salsa.

So seeing the chips for sale? Sort of brought back a weird flood of memories.

El Patio in Austin

Comfort food for old Austin, unsure if the place is still there, weird spot, packed with memories, but just another off-beat, slightly strange example of what made Austin, well, “Austin.”

However, now? As a store-bought, branded chip?

Begs a little question about shark-surfing.

El Patio in Austin

Next up is Austin, see listing for details.

astrofish.net/travel

#Austin

Post Easter Post

I don’t write too much personal information because I’m really a private person. Recently, around family, I found out that my family, originally worried that I would write about them, they are now worried that I won’t write about them

What are you going to do?

Shrug.

So Easter Vigil services, the Paschal Candle, and lovely services Saturday evening left a cool, dark and rainy Sunday without much on my agenda.

Started with sleeping late, then coffee at home, then coffee with friends, the usual Sunday morning coffee gang, and while there, a buddy pops up.

“He’s single?”

“Yes,” I said, “to the best of my knowledge.”

“Good looking. Why?”

Well, think about it. One of my friends. Probably got a skeleton or two in his closet. Who knows?

Chatted, talked Buddhist doctrine, meditation, and other crap. Got a second cup of coffee, and set out for a repast, just a quick meal on a dreary, rainy, cold Sunday morning in San Antonio. Thinking about all those people camped out in the city park. Weird local phenomena — camping Easter weekend in the city park.

Looked depressing.

Drove past El Jarro, closed for Easter. Same with Alamo Cafe, then El Chapparel, looped down to La Hacinda, the gate was closed there, too. 24-hour grocery store: closed. Walmart parking lot was packed, so that was hard pass. All the TexMex places were closed. Who knew?

“Try Torchy’s?”

Torchy’s Tacos is a chain, now, a national chain, but it started in the “aughts” in a trailer park in old south Austin. Rapidly grew, almost exponential growth, exporting that old Austin sensibility, just weird enough. The icon is a devilish cherub with a pitchfork, deep red, adorned with horns. Motto? Damn good tacos. Fact? Good food.

Post Easter Post

Commuting back to Austin, the old rock store was just south of the Mueller Airport (old Austin airport), and there was a new Torchy’s there. Perfect stop while waiting on traffic to die down. (As if.) I got used to the new Torchy’s at the old airport. Road food on Austin Tuesdays was either Torchy’s or What-A-Burger. Fast food done, well, fast food. The tacos are good.

So that’s how I found myself Easter Sunday, looking at a the “taco of the month,” a specialty taco that brought back a flood a memories.

It was a hamburger patty, like any kind of a fast food hamburger patty, a gray, circle of meat, or meat-like substance, griddled to death, folded into a taco with sauce and a sprinkling of garnish, some pico, some purple pickled onions, other stuff. First bite, though, rockets me back in time to Sandy’s in Austin, then further back to a Bob’s Big Boy, along the highway, or even the Melios Brothers with their “special sauce,” just ketchup and mayo whipped together. The flavor of a round patty of hamburger meat, griddled to death, then lightly dusted with lettuce, tomato, whatever.

That Torchy’s taco — the monthly special — tastes like a hamburger from the days of long before, when hamburgers tasted like they were full of youth and hope. How they captured that flavor — so exactly in a single taco?

Post Easter Post

It was an Easter miracle.

Riding the Bullet

Re-released as an e–book? A novella.

“There’s nothing like a wedding,” he said. “Yeah,” I said, “everyone should do it at least twice.” Page 19.

We do like our monsters.

Hat tip to the master, Stephen King.

King, Stephen. Riding the Bullet. Scribner: NY, 2000.

Oddly Enough

Oddly enough, still applicable, seldom asked questions.

Oddly Enough

I See You’ve Called in Dead: A Novel

From the introduction?

I know that you—all of us—should have the answer to one question: What would you write if you had to write your obituary?

But I know. During the pandemic? I hashed out an obit for myself. What I wanted said. What I left out — on purpose. Bit macabre, but it was a dark time, indeed, the specter of death looming overhead. I did want to have some control over the narrative, though, my own narrative, and leaving anyone from my family in charge is highly suspect.

The premise to the novel is simple, an obit writer gets toasted and accidentally publishes his own obit. Much hilarity ensues.

“Give me a drunken, middle-aged writer over a millennial any day.” Page 146.

So, a comic novel about suicide, depression, funerals, death, and friends. A sad comedy of manners? Include some hope for redemption?

I See You’ve Called in Dead: A Novel

Enjoyed the book immensely.

Kenney, John. I See You’ve Called in Dead. Zibby Publishing: NY, 2025.

Pink Cake

From whence the name is derived.

This is exquisite example is from the Mermaid Cafe.

Pink Cake

April 1. This is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are like on the other three hundred and sixty–four.
Pudd’nhead Wilson

(Mark Twain)

Pink Cake

Traffic Tickets and Procrastination

Many years distant, I mean to the point that it’s slipped off my traffic record? Last time I pulled my driving record, neither infraction was still listed, but years ago?

I had a bench warrant for an unpaid speeding ticket. It was so long ago, it was when the jail was in its old location, on top of a federal building, part of the court system. I was on my way to work, speeding on a motorcycle, and I was stopped, dutifully pulled over, and then running my license at the time? It popped with an unpaid ticket, which then meant a trip downtown — jail.

I was wearing a bright orange Hawaiian shirt with light purple floral shorts. Summer. Think I had on sneakers of some sort because I was headed to work. Someone hollered out the window, while I was stopped, “Hey Kramer! Caught you?”

Ha. Ha.

It was 5:30 PM rush-hour traffic, and I spent a few hours getting booked then the tip jar paid my fine. Forgot about the experience.

Not more than a few years later, same experience, unpaid traffic fine, trip downtown, and the tip jar paid the fine. Third time, I wasn’t so lucky, and I had to spend a night in jail, and gratefully, it was a Thursday night, but in all the examples, it was simply unpaid tickets. Just ignored them and hoped the problems would all go away.

“I’ll fix it later.”

Hint: it doesn’t go away.

The next two traffic tickets? Court appearance for any reason? I showed up on time, and usually nicely attired, sport coat, jeans, boots.

I was thinking it happened twice, but there was a murky third time in there, as well. Plus another “evading arrest,” but I swear, to this day, I pulled over as soon as I saw the flashing red lights behind me. That I crossed county lines? I just shrug.

Last time I was in front of a judge? I won on the appeal. I explained that I learned the error of my ways, I didn’t break any of the rules of the road, not in a mighty long time.

Traffic Tickets and Procrastination

But this isn’t about a bench warrant for evading arrest, which never was a thing, and it wasn’t about going to jail, not exactly. It’s about putting off certain, inevitable actions.

Locked up three times for something as stupid unpaid traffic tickets?

Suggested as the follies of youth? Don’t procrastinate.

It is so much simpler to pay the fine rather than do the time, whatever is required, a little action can prevent a couple of hours’ delay while sorting through bail, bonds, and time away from what we want to do. Overnight, one time, something as simple as merely paying a speeding ticket would’ve prevented a night in jail.

Traffic Tickets and Procrastination

What did we learn?

As Lady MacBeth would say?

“What’s done is done.”
(III.ii.12)

So, what did we learn?

Wish you were here

Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change? Did you exchange
A walk-on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?

Verse 2, Roger Waters and David Gilmour, Pink Floyd, 1975.

Wish you were here

Remarkably prescient?

Wish you were here