Photos by Nicholas L. Hall

Likely the only time I've found myself wishing for a third ball (cue groans).

It's very difficult to predict the half-life of a tunnel restaurant. In a certain respect, it's the perfect arrangement. Fixed hours, captive audiences, little competition. I have no doubt the rents are high, though, the restrictions many, and the notion of "little competition" is a rather assumptive assumption, based around the general lack of quality food to be had underground. So, I guess, it's also a very dicey proposition.

Still, I'm convinced that if you can find your niche down there, you can have a real shot. Although there are certainly many things stacked against you, it's hard to get away from the allure of that captive audience. There's a reason so many subpar restaurants thrive in the circuitous rabbit-run under downtown, after all, even while charging excessive prices for their mediocre fare. When places down there do it right, even if the prices are a little steeper than maybe they should be, I think they stand an even better chance. Anything to save us from the never-ending feedback loop of chicken salad --> submarine -->crappy burger --> taco salad (repeat).

That brings us to Brooklyn Meatball Co. Apparently, it used to be called Saucy Balls, and is the brain child of erstwhile reality TV personality Joseph Galluzzi. I don't really care that he was on TV, or if he wants to have an entendre entrée. I just want it to taste good. It does. For $5.40 after tax, though, I'd have liked more balls.

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Photo by Nicholas L. Hall

It just occurred to me that the previous occupant warned me of spicy food, too. Theirs was an empty threat. This one was pleasantly valid.

I do most of my tunnel exploring blind. Figuratively. Though the low light is beginning to take its toll. What I mean is, I typically just stumble around down there until something looks interesting, or until I've walked far enough that my breadcrumbs are nearly used up. The thought of getting turned around down there, wandering aimlessly like Link in The Lost Woods, is terrifying. North...West...South...West...

Where was I? Oh, yes. I mostly find my own way down there, but am occasionally given a tip by another Downtown Daniel Boone. My most recent suggestion came by way of a former coworker, Palak, who pointed me toward Deli Deluxe.

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Photo by Nicholas L. Hall

Not bad for a bunch of mole-people.

I love breakfast. I also love sleep. These two conflicting concerns often result in hunger, crankiness and disappointment.

You see, I have figured out, down to the minute, exactly how late I can wake up and get to work on time. This does not allow for breakfast. It barely allows for basic hygiene. This leaves me with a daily quandary: either consume a somewhat sad bowl of instant oatmeal at my desk or descend to the tunnels and return with a sad foil packet of instant breakfast tacos. I usually opt for option three, which consists of six or so hours of hunger, followed by an enormous and (usually) ill-advised lunch. I think this vicious cycle can be roughly blamed for the 40-some pounds I've gained in the seven years since taking this job.

Of course, my quest for a decent tunnel breakfast isn't driven by a desire to eat more healthily or shed a few pounds, but by a more immediate, visceral and sensuous set of interests. Basically, I want something in the morning that will take the edge off of the fact that I have to be in the office before my kids have to be at school. Were it socially acceptable, I would ensconce myself in velvet love a caffè corretto, but since it's not, I don't think a decent breakfast should be too much to ask.

Awhile back, one of my readers took note of my plight, offering the suggestion of Poblano's. It took me awhile to get down there, but it led to the discovery of an entirely new subterranean chamber of Tunnel Explorer options. I had, apparently, never turned left at the end of the food court underneath McKinney Place.

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Photo by Nicholas L. Hall

This would probably taste better after a few dozen beers.

I used to work with a guy who looked a bit like Franklin the Turtle. He was slightly narcoleptic. You always knew when "Franklin" was going to drift off, because he would bring his right hand up to his left shoulder and start massaging his collarbone. Within minutes, he'd be out. Franklin was a good guy.

He was also a tunnel-dining trailblazer, having charted an impressive mental map from his years of working downtown. Back when we worked together, he used to go on and on about Pastabilities. I never made it down there to check it out back then, so when the name popped up in the comments below a recent post, I decided to give it a shot, finally.

Once I made it down there, I wondered how I'd missed it so many times. Located underneath the Esperson Building, Pastabilities is right around the corner from my chiropractor's office. Had I known, I might have stopped by sooner, consoling myself with a slice of pizza after being attacked by the crazy lady with the belt sander who does my adjustments. Just kidding. Sort of.

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Photo by Nicholas L. Hall

There are others like them, some good, some evil. In the end, there can be only one.

In the battle for downtown dumpling supremacy, there can be only one. For years, the hotly debated rivalry has stood at a relative impasse between Doozo and Baoz, each with its own adherents, locked in a timeless struggle for dumpling immortality. None had risen to even attempt a challenge. Until now.

Star Chef is tucked into the the food court underneath McKinney Place, at the end of what is fast becoming the underground's closest thing to a Restaurant Row. I'm not sure how long it's been there, but I started noticing it a few weeks ago. It's had a line every time I've passed it, and the majority of its patrons seemed to be Asian. Politically incorrect or not, I generally take it as a good sign when I see a bunch of Vietnamese customers tucking into plastic bowls of phở, even in the tunnels. Maybe especially in the tunnels.

I wasn't there for phở, though. I was there for dumplings. I think it's been said before that, when the name of the joint is a particular dish, that's what you should be eating, and I took that advice. I'm glad I did.

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Photo by Nicholas L. Hall

Pale and sad, isn't it? Maybe the result of sunlight deprivation? Mole-Crepe.

While my forays into the tunnels occasionally reveal bright spots, signs that, perhaps, someone is trying to make good food underground, I'm still overwhelmed by the sheer mass of careless, pointless dreck foisted on us tunnel dwellers.

It's our own fault, I suppose. Certainly, we could come above ground, brave the weather and the cross-walks, and have an actual meal. Still, I don't think it's too much to ask that I be able to find, for example, a decent breakfast down here. That's what I was looking for a few weeks ago when I found my most recent ray of sunshine.

In this case, I suppose I should have known better. Expecting the bright personality, lively flavors, and attentive execution of, say, Melange Creperie from a dimly lit tunnel stall is practically begging for disappointment. Still, it shouldn't have been too much to ask that my breakfast be competently prepared. Sadly, that was exactly the case.

Off-the-beaten-path options are always a bit of a crap-shoot in the tunnels, but I tend to see someone doing something different as a sign that they're trying, at least. So when I saw crepes listed on Zaytona's menu, and a round crepe griddle on its counter, I decided to give it a shot.

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Photo by Nicholas L. Hall

Halalelujah!

The tunnels never cease to amaze me. While the preponderance of crap is a constant, there's a spirit of endless possibility there. Every once in a while, I stumble upon a small diamond amidst all the rough, something unexpected to make me smile, and to give me hope. Recently, it was the discovery of a little shop putting out sandwiches. Funny, then, that my most recent fit of optimism should be found right next door.

I stumbled across Rico Mexican Food while beating a path in search of a decent below-ground breakfast (still looking). Zigging through one of the many mini-hallways that stitch together the tunnels, I nearly ran into the sign, then walked right past it. Something, though, caught my eye and turned me back. Halal. While there are many parts of Houston in which storefronts so emblazoned are a dime a dozen, the tunnels are not usually so worldly.

A quick investigation revealed that this unassuming Mexican joint is totally halal, and is now serving a modest assortment of Indian dishes, alongside food-court Mexican mainstays like taco salads. Among the offerings are several vegetarian plates, centering around chickpeas and cauliflower. I can only imagine that interesting vegetarian tunnel fare is even more difficult to come by. I continued on my breakfast hunt, but returned for lunch.

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Photo by Nicholas L. Hall

A perfect example of the iPhone's ability to take inexplicably good photos.

I probably should have known better. In fact, my better instincts were telling me to keep moving when I stumbled on Howdy Burger while exploring the tunnel section stretching underneath the Esperson building. The glossy signage and faux-kitschy decor, heralding all of the same canned touchstones that have Top Chef pissing off food loving Texans, were out in force. The menu was confused and confusing, ranging from the expected burgers to New York-style hot dogs, with an odd swerve toward Mission-style burritos and a perplexingly pan-cultural array of salads and sandwiches bringing up the rear.

Photo by Nicholas L. Hall

Remember the clip art you used to play with in Windows 3.1? Yeah.

It's one of the amusing idiosyncrasies of Tunnel Dining that I've learned to be leery of any place that seems too well put-together, as if the corporate-style, homogenized packaging is a harbinger of the food. Such was the case with Howdy Burger. Take a look at the menu photo and graphics: it's like some PR flack took the first stock images available for "burger" and "Texas," superimposed them on one another, and called it a franchise concept.

Figuring I should go with their advertised strengths, I ordered the "Howdy Ultimate Bacon Cheddar Burger" (emphasis theirs), sided with onion rings. Preparation of my meal took forever, which had me (momentarily) hopeful that perhaps I'd gauged Howdy Burger all wrong. Scenes flashed before my eyes of a cook hand-shaping my burger, slicing and battering onion rings while I waited amidst the bucolic photos of cows and over-size wooden six-shooters that lined the walls. The reality was somewhat different.

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Photo by Nicholas L. Hall

Thankfully, not quite as "fusion" as you might be expecting.

One of my first tunnel explorations had me hopefully sampling Vietnamese food, resulting in something of a lukewarm response. Funny, then, that I've found myself missing Cafe Basil since my office moved to the other end of downtown. When I noticed a new stall in the food court under McKinney Place, promising "Asian Subs," my interest was cautiously piqued. I could swallow a whitewashed euphemism for bánh mì, as long as the taste held true.

Top Taste Asian Subs and Grill opened back in August, as far as I can tell, but I only stumbled upon it recently. As expected, this isn't a wholly authentic take on Vietnamese food. As long as you go in with that understanding, though, it will do in a pinch (as seems to be the theme in so much tunnel dining).

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Try and forget you're eating in an office-complex mini-mall.

When Tejas Grill and Sports Bar opened up recently, several people joked about creating a Batman-esque Tunnel Explorer signal. It would be mounted to the roof of the Houston Press offices, and shone into the sky to alert me to new tunnel eateries requiring a visit. I'm all for this idea. I'm thinking A simple superimposed TE, but I'm open to suggestions.

It took me a while to get down to Tejas Grill, despite the fact that it's only about 100 yards and a few escalator rides away. I'd been so busy at work recently, that I'd been brown bagging at my desk everyday. If you haven't figured it out by now, I have an endlessly glamorous job.

I'd been looking forward to Tejas Grill since the brown paper went up over the windows of the defunct Monsoon Wok and Lounge, the space's previous tenant. It seemed the intent was to create a restaurant environment that might actually be able to half convince you that you were eating somewhere other than the ass-end of an office complex mini mall. Lunch breaks are best used as a restorative break from the workday, and the further removed your mind can be from the office, the better.

It looks as if they did a pretty good job. Though my necessary to-go order didn't allow me much time to soak it in, the interior was bright and bustling, and people seemed to be genuinely enjoying themselves.

That to-go order is the first bone I have to pick with Tejas. I stayed on hold for nearly ten minutes before being allowed to place my order. I recognize that they were busy, and that they probably don't plan on the bulk of their business coming from to-go orders, but it seemed a bit excessive. I'm pretty sure they forgot about me, given the slightly confused "who are you holding for?" that greeted me when the phone was picked back up. All of that could have been forgiven, though, if the food had been good.

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