The Problem of Choice

For us Brits, ordering food at restaurants is an activity fraught with danger. It’s no good just placing your order – oh no, that’s not the end of it; first there’s the obligatory request to repeat the order because the wait staff hasn’t got a clue what to make of the accent. Then come the decisions: do I want tomatoes, onions, skinny milk, soy milk, cinnamon, salad, sprinkles, ice cream, whipped cream, no cream with that?

The thing is, I’m just not used to choice. I order something from a menu and eat whatever is placed before me; a nice, simple procedure involving very little brainwork for all concerned. All this business of ordering food exactly according to my own taste just gives me palpitations and heart failure. I mean, I really have to think what I want and how it should be prepared. No, just give me what I ask for, and hold the questions. Otherwise, I’ll only have myself to blame if I don’t like it.

All About The Rodeo

A low, mournful moan slices through the hubbub of the city and the air carries a musky, sweet smell; the unmistakable aroma of fresh poo. This can only mean one thing: the rodeo is coming to town.

For the uninitiated, the Houston Rodeo is an annual celebration of cows, broncos, sheep and all things that potter about on four legs. More particularly, it is about food. Every year, gourmands from all across the land visit this culinary mecca. Here, one can sample traditional fare such as deep-fried turkey legs, deep-fried Mars bars and – my personal favourite – deep-fried cheesecake. What’s more, you can completely immerse yourself in this feast for the senses by bringing your own food for frying. Peanuts, cakes, bananas – all are cordially invited to the fray! The more discriminating palette will no doubt savour the complex notes of the deep-fried Twinkie as it playfully passes through the mouth, and only the most sensitive of taste buds can truly appreciate the sophistication of half a cow crammed between two slices of bread and smothered in what can best be described as 'sauce.' One can only wonder who can resist such marvels.

This is Texas at its best. Only here can you see ‘barbecue’ spelled fifteen different ways (I’ve counted) and a two-year-old chewing enthusiastically on a piece of meat that’s twice his height. Most people who have been to the rodeo can’t tell you what event they saw or even who won, but they can tell you exactly which chilli they tried and how many sausages make the perfect hotdog. After all, these are the things one needs to know.