Blueberry Buttermilk Flapjacks (adapted from Saveur: The New Comfort Food; serves 2-4)

2 cups flour
2 tbsp. granulated sugar
4 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. fine sea salt
12 tbsp. unsalted butter, plus more for serving
2 cups buttermilk
1 tsp. vanilla extract
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1 cup fresh blueberries
Maple syrup, for serving
Confectioners’ sugar, for serving

1. Put the flour, granulated sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt into a large bowl and whisk to combine; set aside.

2. Melt 4 tbsp. butter. Whisk together the melted butter, buttermilk, vanilla, and eggs in a medium bowl. Pour the Buttermilk misture into the flour mixture and whisk together until just combined to make a thick batter. (For tender flapjacks, don’t overmix the batter.) Fold in the blueberries.

3. Heat an 8-inch nonstick skillet over medium heat. Add 1 tpsp. butter and heat until the butter’s foam subsides. Ladle in about 1/2 cup of the batter. Cook the flapjack, turning once, until deep golden brown on both sides, about 5 minutes total. Transfer to a large ovenproof serving platter and keep warm in a low oven. Repeat the process with additional butter and remaining batter to make 8 flapjacks in all. Serve hot, topped with butter, blueberries, maple syrup and a dusting of confectioners’ sugar.

Our first stop was, well, back to Luckenbach. Larry had enjoyed our visit there the previous day so much that he wanted to go back. This time with a mission—to film himself singing Waylon Jennings’ Luckenbach, on stage in the dance hall. Only a few select family members and friends were granted access to the footage. But I’m the only lucky one who can say I witnessed it firsthand.

Next, we made a quick stop at Becker Vineyards.  For a $10 tasting fee (which included a cheesy souvenir glass I didn’t even attempt to fly home with), I tried the ‘11 Viognier, ‘10 Roussanne, ‘11 Provencal, ‘10 Reserve Grenache, ‘09 Malbec, ‘10 Reserve Merlot, and the ‘10 Reserve Cabernet-Syrah. The wine was fine, but what I like most about Becker is the breathtaking Hill Country scenery and lavender fields, as well as the impressive tasting room re-purposed from an 1800’s stone barn. It’s all quite charming.

Larry then spontaneously pulled off the road to take a few pictures of a field of wildflowers. Everyone had the same idea—there were cars turning off the highway left and right.

Back on the road, we drove through Johnson City, whereupon we began a two-day obsession with Lyndon and Lady Bird Johnson. Although we didn’t stop at the historic Texas White House (maybe next time), our road trip ponderings did fuel quite a bit of web research back at our hotel room, as well as the next day’s visit to the LBJ Library and Museum. Back at the hotel, Larry told me about the famous phone call of Lyndon B. Johnson ordering pants. It was horrifying to listen to and tainted my impression of LBJ forever. But even so, I did enjoy learning more about the Johnson’s experience in the White House.

The highlight of the road trip was stopping for lunch at The Salt Lick BBQ in Driftwood, Texas. I had been there for dinner during my last trip to Texas, but was eager to get back and share the experience with Larry. I was starving, which we all know is the best way to begin the ultimate barbeque feast.

I opted for Thurman’s Choice, known on the menu as “the plate poppa always ate,” which includes brisket, pork ribs, and sausage, with sides of potato salad, cole slaw, beans, and bread, and pickles and onions on the side. Somehow we also found room for dessert—peach and blackberry cobbler. The meal was mouth-watering good, but even more than the food, I enjoyed the atmosphere—a giant open fire pit with meats a ’smokin, on an old Texas ranch with beautiful views of the surrounding rolling hills. Needless to say, I was rolling out of there myself.

Back in Austin, we took a short break at the hotel before venturing out for dinner. For once I wasn’t really hungry, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try yet another Austin food cart. This time we headed to Torchy’s Tacos in the South Austin Trailer Park. I tried the Baja Shrimp Taco (hand-battered fried shrimp with cooked cabbage slaw topped with pickled jalapenos and onions, queso fresco, cilantro and a wedge of lime with chipotle sauce). It was one of the best tacos I’ve ever had, and wish my stomach would have been able to accommodate a few more samples. 

Our final destination of the day was to The Broken Spoke for Texas Two-Step lessons and live music from Americana singer/songwriter Jesse Dayton. It’s another place I had visited during my last Trip to Texas, but was eager to return to, especially since I now had a dance partner! Larry was a hesitant yet willing participant, and for that I give him major credit. The Broken Spoke is the ultimate Texas dance hall. It’s legendary. So is the woman who was our dance teacher, Terri White, the daughter of famed owners James and Annetta White. Although we certainly weren’t the best Texas two-steppers out on the dance floor (far from it), we got better as the night progressed, and had quite a bit of fun learning and trying. 

]]> http://www.madcitygirl.com/2012/05/austin-tx-hill-country-day-4/feed/ http://www.madcitygirl.com/2012/05/aspragus-breakfast-sandwich/ http://www.madcitygirl.com/2012/05/aspragus-breakfast-sandwich/#comments Thu, 17 May 2012 14:31:39 +0000 kristin http://www.madcitygirl.com/?p=10151 Asparagus. Fried Egg. Hook’s Aged Cheddar. On Stella’s Multigrain Bread.

I knew that I needed to get back to try the food. I was even more inspired to make a return trip after reading Isthmus food writer Andre Darlington’s review of Mi San Juanito in late March. I had to try those chilaquiles, flautas, and Tlacoyos.

When we walked in on Monday night, I was surprised by how much the whole place had been transformed since our last visit—the emphasis had noticeably shifted from the market to the cafe. Aisles of food had been pushed aside and the meat counter re-purposed to make room for a full-fledged eatery. Seating had dramatically increased from one table to eight.

We took seats at one of the tables near the back. Our server Jaime (originally from Mexico City) delivered fresh salsa and chips, and told us about the specials. The chips were perfectly salted and the fresh salsa had nice flavor and consistency—not too thick or thin. The extensive menu (also seemingly expanded since our last visit) includes tacos, quesadillas, burritos, huaraches, gorditas, nachos, tortas, tlacoyos, chimichangas, seafood, and house specialties like chilles rellenos and green chilaquiles.

Although we were hoping to try the cemita, Jaime informed us that they were awaiting delivery of papalo, a Mexican herb similar to cilantro, apparently an essential ingredient for the sandwich. We decided to save the cemita for our next visit and opted instead to try both specials—chicken tinga and ribs in salsa verde, both of which came with a side of beans, rice, lettuce and tomato, and warm tortillas. For $6.99 each, the meals were an incredible value. Tasty and filling.

The best part of the meal was when Jaime came to deliver two big pieces of Tres Leches cake…sent by the owner, on the house. Actually, it was probably more like four pieces of cake. And we finished it all.

I will definitely be back for more. I’m looking forward to trying that cemita. And maybe, as Andre Darlington suggests, chilaquiles with eggs on top for breakfast.

First, I stopped at Whole Foo Market.

Then I bought some Bazil at Copps.

I felt confident going into the race. I knew the course well, having done the race in both 2010 and 2011. I had done several training runs on the Nordic trails in the weeks leading up to the race, and two 50k races in February and April. Although I had altered my training a bit—replacing  my Sunday “sandwich” runs with long bike rides—it seemed like a  plan that was working. Or so I hoped. And despite the usual set-backs—this time plantar fasciitis and heel pain in April—the pain eased up, allowing me to do a final 32 mile training run on the trails. All in all, I felt prepared and ready to race.

The race began in La Grange (at the Nordic Trailhead) at 6 a.m. on Saturday. I settled into a comfortable pace during the first 9-mile loop. It was a beautiful day—70’s and cloudy, maybe a little humid, but much preferable in my mind to the rain and hail of years past. I focused on nutrition from the beginning—popping salt tablets, drinking a combination of Gatorade and Heed, and sucking down as many PowerBar Gels as I could muster. I patiently walked the steepest hills. I loved seeing so many Dailymile friends out there competing. I was also immediately struck by the talent on the women’s side—the competition was fierce. But everyone was very friendly and encouraging, which made it all fun. I even received an invitation to a kiddie pool ice bath party after the race from a speedy woman who playfully ran down the hills with her arms raised to her sides like an airplane.

I felt pretty good until about mile 26. At that point, everything became harder. My stomach turned and heaved. I was forced to pull off the trail several times to relieve myself in the woods (and prayed the poison ivy and ticks would stay away). My legs ached as if I hadn’t trained for the distance. I asked myself repeatedly, why do you do this to yourself? Wouldn’t it be so nice to be walking around the square at the farmers’ market right now? I watched as other runners dropped out of the race and contemplated doing so myself. I was in a world of hurt. For someone who prides herself in staying positive, I was hurdling negative thoughts at myself left and right.

I can’t tell you how many times I tripped on roots and rocks on the trail. It seemed like anytime I’d look up from the trail (to say hello to a friend or just look forward), I’d inevitably trip and begin catapulting forward. And as I became increasingly tired, my ability to simply lift my feet from the trail, enough to clear small obstacles,  dramatically lessened. I also remember being frustrated by the number of racers rocking head phones (I saw dozens), which, according to the rules, were prohibited. These were inevitably the runners who weren’t present enough to know that someone was trying to pass by them on the single track trail. And, honestly, I would have given anything to be able to listen to music during those darker miles.

The miles seemed to tick by so slowly. I’d think I was almost at mile 40, only to come to mile marker 33. Damn. My only saving grace was seeing Larry and my friends Miranda and Shayla at the aid stations. Larry helped fill my water bottle and sent me on my way, replenished with gel packets and salt tablets.  His only advice was to keep running. Ok, I can do this, I told myself. I knew that if I could just get to mile 40, I could find a way to get the last ten miles done.

I don’t know if the shift was primarily mental or physical, but at mile 40, I felt an unexpected surge of energy. I picked up the pace significantly. Suddenly, I was a woman on a mission. I attached myself to the goal of finishing in under 9 hours. I couldn’t do the math, but it seemed remotely possible. At the 40 mile point, my nearest competitors had been 12 and 20 minutes ahead of me, respectively (or so I was told after the race). Over the next 10 miles, I caught both of them. It wasn’t really my goal, but it did feel nice. I felt bad passing one woman so close to the finish line—I didn’t see it coming, and it just sort of happened. Still, I’ve never enjoyed watching a runner pass another runner right at the finish line. So I’ve been going back and forth on that one—telling myself it’s a race and that was okay, while simultaneously scolding myself.

I finished 9th among females with a time of 9 hours and 33 seconds. Just 34 seconds shy of my last-minute goal of coming in under 9 hours. And all I have to say about that is close enough.

Now I need some time to forget about the pain again. The only problem is I don’t have much time.

I’ve been pretty consistent the past two years—placing 6th among females on both occasions, with more or less the same time (8:53 in 2010, 8:56 in 2011). I hope to feel strong throughout the race and just enjoy the experience and the community of other trail runners.

The weather should be great—cloudy, with a high of 69 degrees. I always enjoy a slightly warmer day. Anything beats the rain and hail during the 2010 race!

I love this picture of the trail  my friend Krista snapped during a recent training run—nothing looks more inviting! Let’s do this.

I’ve visited the cafe twice for breakfast—once in February, and again last week. It’s a quaint, order-at-the-counter type of place with maybe six small tables. Service is great—attentive, prompt and friendly. While the owners have implemented some cool design features (fresh flowers on every table, colorful wall clings, interesting table finishes) and carried the nursery rhyme theme throughout, the atmosphere still feel cold and industrial (boxy with cement floors). It’s not exactly the warm coffee shop where I could curl up with a book for hours. But it’s a fine setting to enjoy the newspaper and a breakfast sandwich. 

During my first visit, I ordered a sampling from the menu and bakery case, all in the name of a thorough review. I chose Breakfast Sandwich #2 (scrambled egg with bacon and Swiss on house-made biscuit, with seasonal fruit), a maple oat scone, and a blueberry cream pop tart. During last week’s visit, I ordered the Banana Bread French Toast with diced banana, toasted walnuts, whipped cream, and maple caramel, with a side of house-made bacon. Each time I also enjoyed a mug of coffee (Just Coffee is served).

More than anything, I was smitten with the breakfast sandwich—the warm, crumbly buttermilk biscuit is something I think about often. I love the fact that pop tarts are enjoying a revival in bakeries (this one is nice and flaky, but would benefit with a bit more jelly filling), and while the maple oat scone was no Lazy Jane’s,  it was among the more tasty I’ve had in Madison. The banana french toast was sweet, rich, and decadent—maybe a little too much. Usually I always prefer sweeter breakfasts, but I did find myself yearning for the breakfast sandwich I had enjoyed during my initial visit. The house-made bacon was okay—a bit too thin and lacking in flavor.

I hope to explore the lunch menu during my next visit (I’m particularly interested in trying the Cuban with 17-hour -braised pork belly, ham, Hook’s swiss, sliced pickles, pickled red onion, & mojo aioli on soudough). Still need a slice of that world peace pie, too.

Asparagus Rounds (from The Kentucky Derby Museum Cook Book; yields 7 dozen rounds)

20 slices soft white bread
3 oz. Blue cheese, softened
8 oz. cream cheese, softened
1 large egg
20 stalks freshly cooked asparagus or frozen
2 sticks butter

Trim the crust off the bread, and flatten each slice with a rolling pin. Blend together the Blue and cream cheeses, along with the egg. Spread the cheese mixture on each slice of bread. Place asparagus on bread; roll up. Melt butter in a small rectangular pan. Dip each asparagus roll in the butter then put on a cookie sheet. Freeze for 8 hours or overnight. Remove from freezer and slice each roll into 4 pieces. Put in plastic freezer bags. Remove when needed and bake in 400 degree oven for 15 minutes or until golden brown. Serve warm.

I’m very excited for tonight’s “This American Life LIVE! Things You Can’t Do On the Radio.” WBEZ’s popular radio show will be broadcast live from the NYU Skirball Center for the Performing Arts in New York City to more than 500 theaters nationwide, including Point Cinema in Madison. That’s where I’ll be enjoying the all-star lineup of David Sedaris, David Rakoff, Glynn Washington, Tig Notaro, Ryan Knighton, the Monica Dance Company and music by OK Go.

But more than anything, I’m looking forward to watching Ira work his magic. That’s what I remember being so fascinated by when I saw the last live show of This American Life (”Return to the Scene Of the Crime”) back in 2009. Watching Ira dramatically press buttons as he weaves together the music, interviews, stories, and commentary that make up the seamless weekly radio production so many of us have grown to love. That’s what makes these live shows so special. I love radio (there’s no better way to tell a story), but stepping beyond radio for just one night—to watch it come together and to see acts that just wouldn’t translate over the airwaves—is such a unique and interesting experience.