By the most conservative estimate, my dear departed father ate at the Nighthawk, near the UT campus 18,237 times in his eighty years on this earth. That’s lunch every working day for 35 years (he was a journalism prof), followed by a snack in the middle of the afternoon. The waitresses would spot him coming a half-block away and have his apple pie and coffee waiting (he always sat at the counter). The Sharpes were a Nighthawk family, and I was semi-delirious when I moved to within three blocks of the Frisco Shop on Burnet Road in 1992 (the Frisco was the last gasp of the once-extensive Austin restaurant dynasty). Just like Daddy, I had Frisco burgers and “steakettes” there a lot–not every day, but a couple of times a month, along with all the other hoary regulars and the few computer nerds and impecunious tattooed types who thought the Shop’s tatty wallpaper and eccentric servers were cool. So when the Frisco closed down a couple of months ago, in preparation to moving to a new site up the street, all of us curmudgeonly Austinites grumbled, “It ain’t going to be the same.” How wrong I was. The Frisco is open again and it’s just like it was, only better. On opening night, you couldn’t even see the front door, the queue was so long. Inside, the line crept along (kind of like most of the customers, quite a few on walkers, cupping their hands behind their ears, shouting “What!!!???” to each other). Most of the former waitresses are still there, including the one with the starched blond bangs. The food is really just like it was–I had a steakette, and they overcooked it, just like always, and I had to send it back, just like always. (It was fine the second time around). This morning I went in for biscuits and gravy, which were great — just be sure you request a fresh biscuit, because they tried to pawn off an overdone one thinking I wouldn’t notice that it was half as hard as a rock underneath the gravy. Ha. The place is bigger, thank goodness, quite slick, actually, with dark paneling and a kind of vaulted ceiling and pendant lights that remind me of the old Nighthawk on South Congress. But it doesn’t feel too “done.” In fact, it feels like going home, and that’s a good thing.

To hell with Zagat. What you want is The Ultimate Food Lover’s Guide to Houston. A little larger than a pocket book but still handy (at 5″ x 8″), it is a smart, witty, 352-page guide to not only Houston restaurants but the area’s entire food scene. I especially like that it’s not a mash-up of quotes from everybody and their dog. Rather, it is an intelligent, critical guide to Houston restaurants in every price range (cheap to wretchedly excessive) and ethnic category (Bosnian cuisine, anyone?). It’s brand new (and very up to date) and it comes from the folks at My Table–which, if you didn’t know, is Houston’s indispensable local food mag. Flip through The Food Lover’s Guide and you’ll find (besides restaurants) listings for wine bars, farmers’ markets, coffeehouses, cooking classes, and regional pick-your-own venues, and that is only the beginning. The price is $17.95, plus tax and shipping. You can buy it retail locally and also from my-table.com or amazon.com.

No, it’s not as lucrative as the Pillsbury Bake-off, but it’s not as nerve-racking either. Enter the Driskill Hotel’s first annual Pie Bake-off and you could be the winner of a $500 gift certificate from the historic Austin hotel. Plus, your pie will be famous not just for fifteen minutes but a whole year, on the Driskill’s menu. Don’t dilly-dally; you need to enter by August 15. The contest is August 30 (and will be judged by a panel including yours truly). Read all about it here.

Beaver’s Ice House, in Houston, has gone blue with a vengeance. You know Beaver’s, right, it’s Monica Pope’s retro-mod barbecue joint. Seems that the girl has thrown political neutrality to the four winds and is having what she calls “Blue State Tuesdays” there every Tuesday evening from now until election day. (That’s brave, considering that Texas was a red state the last time I checked.) Beaver’s will sell Blue Agave Margs and Blue Moon Beer and happy hour snacks and will put blues on the sound system. Plus, she’s invited blogger Bill Large to be there, as kind of an emcee, I guess. It’s a chance for blue-minded people to get together. Check it out–Tuesdays from 5 to 7 at 2310 Decatur at Sawyer, just south of Washington Avenue. And, hey, if you hear of a comparable red state happy hour, I’ll give it equal time. I just thought this sounded fun.

Paul Petersen, executive chef of Cafe Cenizo at the Gage Hotel in Marathon, is scouting locations in Austin. So says a trustworthy source. Plans are to develop a second restaurant here in town, with Paul directing both it and the one at the Gage. Fantastic! Read up on Paul in our July story, here. And wish him luck.

I think it’s weekend silliness setting in, but I am rolling on the floor (well, maybe flopping around on the floor is more like it) after reading the list of attractions for a trip to Palau, including fabulous waterfalls, jungle river-boat cruises, and fruit bat soup! Yes, “Survivor” fans will no doubt recognize the delicacy, made infamous on an episode of the reality show a couple of months ago. It’s best chilled, I hear. Let’s just hope the saying “You are what you eat” isn’t true.

I won’t mention the shock to a Texan’s system of seeing several signs in Vancouver for ‘Steamed Burritos.” I mean, I love the city, but are they INSANE in British Columbia? Oh, all right, I didn’t try one (would you?), so how can I criticize? Even so, the whole idea is horrifying. (I know somebody will set me straight on this–please do so immediately.) But enough with the burritos. What I set out to say is that the restaurant West is Wunderbar (and it has no steamed burritos, thank God). We did West’s “spring tasting menu” ($98 without wine for five courses plus petits fours), which made us very, very happy. You can see the whole thing by clicking on this link and going to Menus, so let me just mention one highlight: the risotto with spot prawns, preserved lemon, and tarragon, a miraculously creamy yet somehow still al dente risotto with the most perfectly fresh, perfectly cooked prawns I think I’ve have ever had. Falling-down good. Don’t miss it if you go north.

Wouldn’t you know it? I flee Texas for Vancouver, Canada and they’re having a heat wave–gawd, it must have been 90 degrees yesterday. There is no justice. But, still, what a beautiful city. Struck out on a couple of recommended places–don’t bother with Congee Noodle–it’s allegedly an authnetic noodle house, and maybe it once was a fine place, but the broth in our noodles tasted musty and the place was barely populated. But the night before, I did CinCin (”Chin-Chin,” a toast to good health) and it was fantastic. It looks traditional–the usual Mediterranean feel, well turned out, not obsessively mod. The menu, though is cutting-edge. Tried sablefish (roasted over a wood fire) in a green pistachio and agrionan olive vinaigrette-broth. The flesh of the fish fell off in beautiful, silky flakes; the broth was almost sweet. With it was a hunka hunka — hmmm, if my eyes were closed i would have said a cross between polenta and Yorkshire pudding–but it turned out to be a smooth, dense chick-pea cake (they call it a fritti). Wonderful, just right with the fish. More anon.

A skeptical reader has issued a challenge. He noticed that all of our top five picks in the barbecue feature (June 2008) were from Central Texas. Very suspicious, he says, given that the TM headquarters is in Austin. How do I know you guys didn’t just go to the places nearby and sort of phone in a lot of the rest? Fair question. Two answers: First, we have the receipts to prove all 400-plus visits. Just ask our poor accountant, who double-checked the math on the expense reports. But that’s still internal. More importantly, there is indeed a Central Texas “barbecue belt,” where the ‘cue is the best (by and large) in the state. It’s because of the long tradition of German and other Central European settlers opening meat markets here in the late nineteenth or early twentieth century and smoking the leftovers to sell on Saturday. Lots of experience, lots of dedicated folks. Other parts of the state don’t have that. Not to say they can’t do good barbecue, but there’s not a bedrock tradition like there is in and around Austin. If you’re still not convinced, ask Bud Kennedy, columnist for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, Robb Walsh, author of The Legends of Texas Barbecue and a food critic for the Houston Press, or Virginia Wood, food critic for the Austin Chronicle. They all have written about barbecue and none of them has any idea I’ve just mentioned his or her name.

In the “Know Before You Go” category, I’m just sayin’ that if you don’t get your pre-order into Snow’s by this Wednesday, June 11, you may come up empty (see post just below this one for details). I talked to Kerry Bexley, the owner (pictured), this morning, and he’s feeling a little like he’s been dragged by wild horses: In the two or so weeks that our June cover story has been in the hands of readers, Snow’s has gone from selling 300 to 800 pounds of meat on Saturdays. Holy cow! I didn’t know whether to congratulate the poor devil or offer to get him into the barbecue equivalent of the witness-protection program. He said, “I’ve got to cut off advance orders around Wednesday because we need some for our local walk-in customers.” He also said, “I’m really happy this has happened, and I’m amazed at the distance some folks have driven–we’ve had customers come from Austin, Houston, and San Antonio.” (The last is about 125 miles; only we Texans would get up that early or drive that far for barbecue.)