Waters has been preaching the gospel green since 1971.

​Alice Waters is a modern-day icon, the mother of the farm-to-table movement and of farmers markets across the nation, the originator of California cuisine -- for better or worse -- and of the notion that eating and cooking local, organic, seasonal foods shouldn't be a socio-political issue but one of basic common sense.

So when she enters a room, looking for all the world like the benevolent leader of a benign cult in a simple, shin-length blue dress and work boots that lace tightly around her tiny ankles, people take notice despite her slight stature and unsure voice. Waters has become the Mother Theresa of food in a society that is increasingly concerned with what we're putting into our bodies, our temples.

"Eating local, organic food in season, eating with family and friends: These are ideas that are as old as civilization," Waters assured the audience at the Wortham Center last night, as if preaching an ancient religion to a new world. She spoke of her time in Paris and the cities of the Old World, in which she -- as a young college student -- experienced a "way of life that was all about touch and taste and sound."

Waters never sought out organic food or seasonal produce because of any ethical or moral commitment. Instead, she told the sold-out crowd: "We begin at a place of taste, and then we get to the politics and the food policy." Lead with your heart; the body will follow.

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Photo Courtesy Nabi

Oh look, an ideal place to warn about towing.

​Getting your car towed in Houston is its own special circle of hell. Last Wednesday night, I met a friend at Nabi and when we finished our meal a little after 10 p.m., we walked the 328 feet (verified by Google Maps) to Anvil for drinks, leaving our cars in the restaurant parking lot. By the time we got back around 1 a.m., both our cars were towed.

We called the number for Ranger Tow on the sign that cites "abandonment" and "illegal parking" as vague causes for towing. Less than an hour later, we were waiting outside a dark, fenced-in complex and escorted into a dark office by an attendant who would not acknowledge me. (He only talked to my male friend.) The fee was $218.30 per car.

When we tried to explain that we had eaten at the restaurant where we were parked and just gone down the street, the attendant told us to talk to the tow truck company, which is separate from the tow-lot company according to him, although they are both named Ranger Tow and under the same address on the receipt.

If I had thought about it, I never would have left my car in that parking lot because I know that tow trucks are a persistent parasite in Montrose. But I was having fun, so I didn't think. Still, Nabi closed at 10:30, so our cars weren't taking any needed space away from other customers. It took the two of us less than three minutes to walk from the restaurant to the bar. Instead of doing that, the situation required that we both get into our separate cars and drive them the (again) 328 feet to our new location and re-park them, effectively rendering one of the busiest nightlife streets in the city unwalkable, and a game of musical chairs.

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Photos by Marco Torres

Bears Gone Drinking took home the [green-and-] gold.

​For a university that -- ostensibly, at least -- doesn't encourage drinking, Baylor turned out a hell of a One Pot Showdown team at yesterday's 5th annual competition held at the Saint Arnold brewery. The Bears Gone Drinking team, made up of Baylor alumni in a green-and-gold tent, won the competition easily with its clever shepherd's pie recipe featuring two Saint Arnold brews.

As is mandatory in the yearly cooking competition, the team had cooked everything for its entry in one pot -- including potatoes cooked down with Elissa IPA and then put through a ricer to achieve maximum fluffiness. Beef cooked in Winter Stout brought another element to the recipe and ultimately won Bears Gone Drinking the grand prize: $500 and bragging rights for at least the next year.

This was my fourth year to judge the One Pot Showdown, which featured 47 entrants -- an increase from the 30 contestants that competed when the Showdown was still held at Saint Arnold's old brewery. And it also marked the finest year of competition yet: I was impressed with nearly every bite that I tasted along with fellow judges Ronnie Crocker (Houston Chronicle), Ben Fullelove (Petrol Station), Caroline Gallay (CultureMap), Rebecca Masson (Fluff Bake Bar) and Courtney Zavala (KPRC).

When nearly every team ups their game, however, it can mean that some former favorites get left in the dust: Neither The Carnies -- who have always placed in the top three each year -- nor last year's winners, The Eatsie Boys, made it to the final round of competition.

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Photos by Groovehouse

Lindsay Heffron moved like a blur during the knockout rounds of competition, eventually securing herself second place in the Speed Rack challenge.

​An arc of Plymouth gin shot briefly through the air at Gallery M Squared on Sunday night, leaping out of the bottle like liquid sparks as bartender Lindsey Heffron battled her way through a roster of drinks at the Houston leg of the Speed Rack bartending competition.

Joan Jett's "Bad Reputation" blared from the speakers as Heffron moved like a blur through the bottles in her well. In only two minutes and ten seconds, the Liberty Station bartender had made a dry martini, an agave Old Fashioned, a Great Surprise (a Lillet-based cocktail) and a Cosmopolitan.

After finishing all four drinks ahead of her competitor, Ellaine Cullom of Double Trouble, Heffron began cheering on Cullom as loudly as the rest of the crowd. After all, although Speed Rack is a serious bartending competition, it's also about supporting the industry's few but ferocious female bartenders and raising money for a worthy cause: breast cancer research. Speed Rack has already raised $12,000 this year with stops in cities like Boston, Los Angeles and San Francisco, with the ultimate goal of raising $75,000 in time for the national finals in New York City this May.

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Photos by Groovehouse

John McIntyre attacked his Zombie banh mi with all he had, but it wouldn't die.

​"I'm ready to start eating," muttered a nervous-looking John McIntyre, a senior linebacker for the University of Houston, as he waited for the 22-inch Zombie banh mi to land in front of him at Cafe TH on Saturday night. "I'm sick of waiting," he sighed.

In the crowd, a friend of his who had just returned from tasting the banh mi's topping of Zombie hot sauce -- after which the 4.75-pound sandwich was named -- had a light sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Someone's gonna die," he announced with a broad grin. McIntyre moaned softly at his end of the table.

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Photos by Francisco Montes

​From the moment I saw Chef Tommy Birdwell's tamales plated and handed over to eager guests, I knew he'd brought his A-game to last Thursday night's Tequila & Tamales event at Xuco Xicana. Each corn husk had been tied and butterflied open with a flourish, showcasing the rust-colored tamales inside.

At first glance, I thought the deep-orange hue came from something like an achiote pork filling, but I was wrong. Birdwell's twist on the traditional tamale went further than that: Instead of corn masa, he'd made a sweet potato masa that hid a filling of rich, fatty duck.

So it was no surprise that evening, as we tallied nearly all 200 votes, that Birdwell's tamales from his restaurant, TQLA, had come out in first place. The crowd cheered loudly, claps and whoops reflecting the wide margin of votes cast for the nuevo Southwestern/Tex-Mex joint on Washington.

TQLA's tequilas also did justice to their namesake restaurant, garnering an impressive second place with a hibiscus-mint blend that was refreshing and light. But that was far from the most creative tequila cocktail of the evening.

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Photos by Rachel Bohanan

The Alabama Theater, complete with tiny, edible movie posters, was one of the most heartfelt entries in Saturday's competition.

​For David Stagg, Caitlin Kaluza and the rest of their team from Schipul, their gingerbread house was meant to evoke emotions: a vintage Alabama Theatre, captured in a moment already past, showcasing both the inherent impermanence of gingerbread as a building medium and the city's mercurial attitude toward historic preservation.

For the Courtney Harper & Partners team, it was about celebrating a local landmark on the occasion of its 40th birthday, and compelling people to view Rothko Chapel in two unfamiliar aspects: both made of gingerbread, and turned upside down -- edible root balls of candy trees surrounding the Chapel towering against the sky.

Whatever their design process, however, it was clear that Houston's architectural landmarks -- both big and small -- dominated AIA Houston's 3rd annual Gingerbread Build-Off this past Saturday afternoon in Market Square Park.

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Mikkel Borg Bjergsø, left.

​Mikkel Borg Bjergsø moved around the crowd last night at the Night After Monsters beer tasting like a virtual unknown. Clad in a red plaid shirt and a scruffy beard, Mikkel looked more like any other Montrose resident who'd walked over to Whole Foods for the tasting than a world-famous brewmaster.

Mikkel and his Danish compatriots had just gotten off a flight to Houston from Denmark, their home base, and both still seemed a little stunned by the unseasonably warm weather and the crowds of people wanting Mikkel to sign bottles or growlers of his beer.

As Mikkel worked his way through the crowd, his brewing partner Thomas (pictured above, on the right) laughed to me about the weather: "We'll trade you our winters for your winters any time," he said. When asked if his first visit to Texas was what he expected, he nodded.

"Is that good or bad?" I asked.

"Good," he laughed back. "I expected lots of flat land and huge cars."

And beer, of course. Thomas was enjoying an Independence Brewluminati, one of the dozens of rare craft beers that were on draft at Night After Monsters, a rare beer tasting that was among one of the dozens of events taking place during Houston Beer Week. Most other attendees were there for the Mikkeller beer, though.

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Photos by Mai Pham

Suckling pig with buns and sauce, one of the many dishes from Kata Robata's izakaya

​Twice a year, Kata Robata transforms its patio into an izakaya, a casual after-work drinking place with Japanese bar food. Izakaya-type food is not fancy. They are the Japanese equivalent to Spanish tapas, small dishes meant to be shared over Japanese sake or beer.

To my knowledge, Houston doesn't have any bona-fide izakayas, so when I heard the announcement about their "Aki no Matsuri!" Izakaya Autumn Festival, I made a point of being there.

The izakaya format can be a la carte or all-you-can-eat. In fact, the ones I've visited in Vancouver are typically a la carte. But Kata Robata doesn't do anything halfway, and for an entrance fee of $45, guests were regaled with dish after dish, free-flowing sake provided by Virtuoso Selections, custom drinks created by David Buehrer, and more. To set the mood, in the background, the smoky vocals of a live Japanese jazz singer turned the patio into a bona-fide lounge.

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Photos by Groovehouse

​Now in its fifth year, the annual No Holds Barred Chili Cook-off at Shady Tavern has become a neighborhood institution in the Heights. This year -- appropriately enough -- the competition benefited the Houston Heights Association. The HHA itself also won Fan Favorite, which came with a cash prize as well as the money raised by the cook-off. You can't say the Heights doesn't support its own.

This was my third year to judge the competition, and my second time to judge it without suffering from food poisoning. (The food poisoning wasn't from the chili, but rather from a fancy restaurant.) And it was the Holy Cowboys' second time to win the competition, which they did handily.

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