Photo by John Suh

Lotus Blossom

​Or was I just really feeling fat(z)? For those who don't skulk around the Heights looking for new places to prowl like me, perhaps you haven't stumbled upon this little dessert/coffee/hot dog shop. When I first heard about Happy Fatz, I thought it was an interesting concept. Who would've thought to put together frankfurters, cappuccinos, and cupcakes? But, the idea just sounded so right. Now I can satisfy my craving for an unhealthy all-American meal; follow it with unhealthy sweets; and then to fight the food coma, chase it with loads of caffeine so I can stay till closing time and pretend to do work on their wifi even as my head and my stomach fight over which will explode first.

Open for less than two months, Happy Fatz is one of the many newcomers to this booming part of town. And like its many Heights counterparts, it's housed inside a bungalow, which offers its patrons that "come hither and dine in my house like we're old friends" feel that is so coveted nowadays thanks to our growing cyber-dependency. There's a the quintessential wraparound porch, the hollow sound of footsteps on floorboards and the wooden furniture set cozily close to one another to promote (heaven forbid) conversations with strangers. At first glance, Happy Fatz fulfills every notion of a charming "mom-n-pop" shop typical of the Heights, and charmed I was.

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Disarmingly, surprisingly good. Also, a lie.

​I had to go to Charlie's Old Fashioned BBQ (713-750-0562) three times before I made up my mind about it. For a while, I was half-convinced I had stumbled on some unexpected gem of Houston barbecue, hidden in the bowels of the First City Tower. I don't know if it was wishful thinking or the generous opinion of a growling stomach that clouded my judgment, but Charlie's, I'm sorry to say, is exactly what you're assuming it is.

It's easy to walk right on past Charlie's. It doesn't have much in the way of signage, and is tucked into the corner of a turn in a hallway leading from one stale-aired stretch of the tunnels to another. It looks like it must be a newsstand. I'm not really sure what lured me in to begin with, aside from a shrugging sort of "what the hell" curiosity.

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​As Lennie Ambrose mentioned the other day, we here at Eating Our Words occasionally consume meals of which we are less than proud. We know it's hard to believe, but even we who breathe the rarified air of the food blog occasionally fill our breathing holes with unadulterated crap. In fact, sometimes we revel in it.

For me, there are few such indulgences that top the Whataburger taquito. I was among those who literally cheered out loud upon hearing some time back that the glorious breakfast wrap would be made available all day.

My taquito of choice has always been the potato, egg and cheese variety. The interplay of silken eggs, gooey processed cheese, and crispy hash brown sticks is a thing of beauty, even though I know it's really an abomination. Sometimes I even get an extra order of hash browns, and stuffing those inside my taquitos. Topped with Whataburger's version of Pace Picante Sauce, nothing else beats it when the craving hits.

I was intrigued, though, upon hearing that Whataburger was adding chorizo to the list of available taquito fillings. A fan of the spicy, piquant flavor of a good chorizo, I wanted to see how Whataburger's offering stacked up.

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Vegan migas con chorizo

​The reason I first started eating Soyrizo had nothing to do with health concerns or the welfare of the animals that were going into the tasty Mexican sausage with the trademark bright-orange grease. No, it was a much more selfish reason than that.

I was living in a small town during college and simply couldn't find any real Mexican chorizo anywhere, no matter where I looked. Yes, there were "Mexican" restaurants in Waco, but while I was there, none of them had chorizo, even the more authentic establishments like the amazing coastal Mexican place that served up plump pulpo al vino.

Resigned to only eating chorizo on rare weekend trips back to Houston, I was surprised to see something called Soyrizo in the aisles of the brand-new H-E-B that opened up during my junior year of college. The H-E-B was absolutely immense; locals and Baylor students alike referred to it as "Taj Ma-Heeb." And it stocked foods we'd never previously had access to in the dusty Hill Country, foods like chorizo made from soy.

I grabbed a packet and tried it on a whim. And I've never looked back since.

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The Daily Cleveland Herald, in 1869, quoted lawyer-poet John Godfrey Saxe as saying: "Laws, like sausages, cease to inspire respect in proportion, as we know how they are made." In other words, both are nasty processes best left to others.

Cue Al Marcus.

Marcus, under the company name The Grateful Bread and Other Good Things, has been hawking his wares -- from Worcestershire sauce and homemade vanilla extract to smoked cheeses -- at local farmers markets for the last year and a half.

The best sellers are always the bacon and sausage, particularly the andouille (one of five or six varieties he makes), which we videoed this week.

Marcus calls his top seller "anti-andouille" because he doesn't smoke it, as is traditionally done. Customers like it better this way, he said.

Vegans might not rock out to this sort of footage, but for carnivores this is the real deal. Pork shoulder and spices -- no preservatives or slices of meat from the nether-parts of pigs.

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Photo by Robb Walsh

​I ate a brisket and sausage sandwich the other day at the new Brookstreet BBQ location on Westheimer west of Beltway 8. Ever since I ate the Bohemian Special at Mustang Creek BBQ in Louise, I have been trying to recreate the brisket and sausage sandwich at every barbecue joint I walk into. The counter man at Brookstreet had no problem with my request to make the sandwich with fatty end brisket instead of the lean flat he had out on the cutting board. And the sausage was excellent. Too bad Brookstreet uses Southern Pride barbecue ovens instead of a real pit, but what can you expect in a strip center?

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​I was singing "Kielbasa" by Tenacious D when the gorgeous blond waitresses delivered my hot sausage on a sizzling comal at Polonia restaurant on Blalock the other day. "I love ya baby, but all I can think about is Kielbasa sausage."

Next time I go to a flea market and see some those flat, oval-shaped Mexican comals set in a wooden frame, I am going to buy a couple. They became famous when sizzling fajitas were first served on them in the 1990s, but I have seen the little frying pans adapted to a lot of culinary presentations. Polonia's kielbasa and sauerkraut on a sizzling comal, for instance. Is this the ultimate in Tex-Pole cuisine, or what?

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Photo by jk5854

​It is a dinner that begins with pheasant sausage coupled with a robust pumpkin beer and ends with a stout (beer) ice cream.

Along the way there will be more sausage and bratwurst, a beer-braised duck and an apple tart (to go with the beer ice cream).

Once again, Chef Michael Kramer of VOICE (in Hotel ICON, 220 Main) will host a Fall Harvest Beer Dinner on Tuesday, October 13, at 7 p.m., complete with four-course meal and a variety of different kinds of beer -- all for $55 a person (plus tax and tip).

Asked who would be attracted to such a dinner, Kramer says, "People that love food, but obviously the more beer drinker. If you're not a real beer drinker it's probably not going to be your thing. Somebody who likes a little bit more hardy food."

The fall season seems to spark a new round of creativity among brewmeisters, Kramer says, hence the assortment of beer infused with essense of pumpkin and other flavors.

Contact VOICE at 832-667-4470 or online for reservations and, you know, come with an appetite.

Today's steaming Snackshot comes to us courtesy of Erika Ray and last weekend's Houston Hot Sauce Festival.

​From the photographer's description:

"Crawfish sausage in a pita with sauteed onions. YUM."

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Photo by J.C. Reid

On a recent trip to the Bolivar Peninsula with a carload of friends, I stopped in the small town of Winnie, Texas for a quick pit stop at the local Texaco gas station that had a hot food counter serving mostly pizzas and fried foods.

These counters, combined with a few picnic tables outside the gas station, are becoming more prevalent in small-town Texas. As mom-and-pop restaurants and big chains close in these small towns, this concept is taking their place.

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